1. Leire #3
Morning comes dreary and damp, like every morning since I arrived. The mist is lighter today, more translucent, and when I open the shop at nine, actual sunlight filters through to make the crystals sparkle.
I take it as a good omen.
The citrine by the register seems to agree.
Three customers before noon. One buys a small selenite wand, one just browses, and the third—a witch with wild curly hair and an anxious energy that makes my wards twitch—asks if I do custom work.
“Protection charms, focusing aids, basic wards.” I lean against the counter. “Nothing too complicated, but I can—”
“Do you have a familiar?”
I go very still.
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry, sorry, that came out wrong.” She’s blushing, wringing her hands. “I just—I’m new here too, and everyone keeps talking about the Registry and familiars and I don’t have one and I wasn’t sure if—I’m Sakura, by the way, I’m opening a studio across the square, energy work mostly, and I just—”
She stops. Takes a breath. The lights in my shop flicker—her magic responding to her anxiety, not mine.
“I don’t have one either.” The words come out gentler than I intend. “So.”
Her shoulders drop about three inches with relief. “Oh thank gods. I thought I was the only one.”
We end up talking for an hour.
Sakura Tempest—and yes, that’s really her name, apparently her mother had prophetic abilities—is an elemental witch with more power than control. She moved to Mistvale hoping the concentrated magical energy would help stabilize her abilities. So far, it hasn’t.
“I made it rain inside my bedroom last week.” She slumps in the chair I’ve dragged over from the corner. “Just... spontaneously. I was crying about a sad commercial and suddenly there were clouds. Actual clouds. On the ceiling.”
I don’t laugh. I want to, but I don’t, because the look on her face says she’s been laughed at enough.
“That sounds incredibly frustrating.”
“It’s humiliating.” Her bright eyes dim a little, and I notice the shadows under them—the marks of someone who hasn’t been sleeping well. “I came here to be better, not to give my landlord water damage.”
I make us both tea—actual tea this time, not stress tea at three AM—and we talk about being new, being unanchored, being witches who came to Mistvale looking for change. A change we’re not sure we’ll find.
She tells me about her studio, Radiant Aura, which is still under construction across the square. Energy healing, chakra alignment, elemental balancing. All things that require control she doesn’t quite have yet.
“The contractor won’t even come in anymore.” She stares into her cup. “Last time he was there, I got frustrated with a stuck drawer and the wind picked up inside the room. Knocked over all his scaffolding.”
“How long have you been without a familiar?”
The question slips out before I can stop it. Normally I wouldn’t ask—it’s personal, raw, the kind of thing witches don’t discuss with strangers. But Sakura makes me feel like we’re not strangers. Like we’re both standing on the same cliff edge, trying not to look down.
“Always.” She shrugs, but there’s pain in it. “Never had one in the first place. My magic was too unstable for any familiar to match with. They said I needed to get control first, but how am I supposed to get control without an anchor?”
It’s a vicious cycle. One I understand all too well, from the opposite direction. I had control, once. Then I lost it—lost everything—and now I’m starting from scratch just like her.
“We’ll figure it out.” I’m surprised to realize I mean it. “Both of us.”
She leaves around noon, promising to come back once her studio opens.
I spend the afternoon finishing the protection charm I started last night. It takes longer than it should—my magic is sluggish today, probably because I didn’t sleep enough—but I manage to complete it without burning anything down.
Small victories.
At closing time, I’m sweeping the floor when movement catches my eye.
Outside. In the mist.
A shape. The same broad-shouldered silhouette from last night, standing across the street, half-hidden by the swirling gray.
Watching.
My grip tightens on the broom handle. My magic surges, instinctive and defensive, making the wards flare bright enough that the crystals in my window rattle.
The shape doesn’t move. Doesn’t react. Just... watches.
Then, slowly, it turns and walks away. Disappearing into the mist like it was never there at all.
I stand frozen for a long moment, heart pounding.
I set down the broom, lock up, and take the moonstone charm upstairs with me.
Protection, yes. But also... recognition?
“I don’t know what you’re for.” I turn the stone in my fingers. “But if you’re supposed to keep me safe, now would be an excellent time to start.”
The moonstone pulses, warm and steady. I’ll take that as a yes.
And in my little shop, surrounded by crystals that don’t judge and wards that are barely holding, I try to convince myself that I’m safe here. That the shape in the mist doesn’t mean anything.
I fall asleep clutching the moonstone, dreaming of nothing, and when I wake in the morning, the mist is still there.