A gentle shake wakes me. It’s Laura. I guess the morning bell failed to do the job—staying up late to write the letter took its toll. The guards are watching, so I can’t retrieve the letter and hand it to her now; I’ll have to wait until lunchtime.

As soon as the guards close the door, I unfold and read her letter:

“I’ve managed to contact a few priests who abstained from voicing their opinions about you. With some convincing, I managed to sway them to our side.”

Sway? I wonder how she managed that. How would a rookie priest have leverage over someone so high up? Unless she threatened them, which wouldn’t look good. In any case, more collaborators mean more moving parts—and more chances for things to go wrong. But then again, if they’re mages, my plan might improve. Laura mentioned she’s a mage, so it’s likely that those higher up are mages as well. Maybe sleeping in was a blessing after all.

No Red Water practice or physical training today. I need to conserve energy to maximize my chances. I’ll just make some noise here and there so the guards don’t notice any change in my routine.

“Safe to say we move at dusk? Hope your plan is ready, I trust your abilities.” The letter concludes.

She has really high hopes for me. With these new developments, the plan might work even better than I initially thought. As for these higher priests—I wonder how competent or trustworthy they really are. I trust Laura’s judgment, not that I have anyone else to rely on.

The next few hours pass as they normally do, except I occasionally make odd noises or grunt to keep the guards from suspecting anything. I look ridiculous, but it seems to be working so far.

Lunch comes, and I hand her my plan. She doesn’t give me anything in return, so I’ll take it as a sign that everything is going smoothly. Now we wait.

Dinner arrives, and she brings the usual porridge as well as a bucket of water for bathing. This time, she hands me a letter, which reads:

“Ask to go to the latrine the moment it’s too dark to read.”

Clever. A seemingly arbitrary time to enact the plan, yet it ensures we’re both on the same page without the need for a clock.

I ask the guards to go, and they escort me. I notice we’re following the old route—the door to the alternate latrine appears to be fixed, so our time frame to execute the plan is smaller than anticipated.

Upon reaching the latrine, I use it, just in case of an embarrassing emergency, and wait there until the guards start getting impatient. I need to stall as much time as possible.

One of the guards opens the door. The rule is that it remains unlocked each time I’m here. He looks at me and urges me to get out. I do as told.

Is everything on track? I’ve stalled as much as I could. We could try again tomorrow, but I’d rather not leave my head on the chopping block any longer than necessary.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“Fire!” a distant voice shouts.

The guards freeze—and so do I. Priests and monks begin rushing through the halls, and we’re quickly swarmed by an increasingly larger throng of clergy. Despite being jostled around, I struggle to contain my smile.

Being tall, I try to make myself as small as possible to blend in with the crowd. I pull my hood up and hunch my shoulders, hoping the guards won’t notice me, at least for a little while.

Laura mentioned a backdoor exit, one that’s rarely used. I’ll have to cross the courtyard to reach it—she said she’d meet me in the hall just before the door.

I sprint through the hallways, which grow emptier as everyone else rushes in the opposite direction. I glance over my shoulder and see two guards giving chase. I guess hiding isn’t easy when you’re this tall.

The plan was simple. The first version involved Laura setting a fire near our designated exit. With her Blue Flame magic, it should have been easy—or at least I hope so.

I’ve never seen magic in person in this world, aside from the summoning. Blue Flame and Red Frost. If those are the only types of magic, then how was I summoned? The book didn’t go into detail, so I’ll ask Laura once we’re safe.

But with others involved—likely the priests Laura persuaded—fires could be set in multiple locations at once, accelerating the spread and emptying the cathedral even faster.

I reach the hall and spot Laura waiting by the entrance to the courtyard. I shout and point back at the two guards chasing me. Her expression drops as she sees them.

Without thinking, I grab her hand and keep running, but she resists. I turn to look at her, and she seems eerily calm.

She’s a small woman, but she’s still a mage. I almost forgot that. I don’t know how powerful the Blue Flame is or how strong she is in particular, but from her expression, it’s clear she can handle those men.

“I should have known you two were scheming something!” one guard yells.

“Hand him over, witch!” shouts the other.

Witch? They’re keeping their distance, and their polearms are visibly shaking. Seeing their fear fills me with an odd sense of relief.

But Laura winces at the word “witch.” She seems like a strong woman—why is she visibly shaken by a mere insult?

She steps in front of me, her hand pushing me back. It feels strange to be protected by a woman half my size, but here we are. Just another thing I’ll need to get used to.

She turns to me, her expression solemn. That insult struck deep, but somehow it seems it’s not the first time she’s heard it.

She turns away and, with a shaky voice, begins to say, “I am a witch.”

The air grows cold, so much so that my breath becomes visible. Goosebumps prickle my skin. The chill is real—no illusion.

“Do you know why the summoning took decades to succeed? Why did the clergy fail time after time?” She says.

“Why?” I ask, shivering.

Her frosty breath turns red as the hall becomes even colder. She speaks again.

“You didn’t see me then, but I was there. I was among the few mages who summoned you”

The floorboards around her feet are coated in frost—Red Frost. It’s spreading fast. She continues.

“I’ve been treated as an abomination my entire life. ‘Goddess’s mistake,’ they call me.”

She turns her head toward me, a solid tear rolling down her cheek. “But when they realized they needed both magics for the summoning, who did they ask for help? Who pretended I was normal just to get my cooperation? I’m a freak, cursed by the magic of demons, but”—she stutters—“I was useful, so they pretended to tolerate me.”

I’m in shock. Everything makes sense now—her cooperation, her influence. My suspicions about her were grounded, but now…

“I’m tired of being a puppet,” she says.

The guards tighten their grip on their polearms and charge forward, screaming as they prepare to face the "witch."