Marina clenched her fists.

    1 minute and 32 seconds.

    That’s how long it’d taken for Marina to master her first spell.

    A feat which, if the Royal Institute of Mages was ever willing to acknowledge, would see her slightly younger version having already bested every achievement claimed by those hacks who unironically called themselves talented.

    It was a difference in both process and aptitude.

    For children, those first instances of elemental manifestation were always driven by emotion, then nurtured through rote learning and an environment free of flammable liquids.

    For Marina, it was different.

    She’d deliberately called upon her first [Candlelight] in order to frighten away a fruit slime trying to bounce through the kitchen window.

    Then, she’d refined it until it was strong enough to ignite the hearth, the threat of a bubbling saucepot and the heat of a flame acting as a deterrent greater than any broomstick she could have wielded.

    Whereas most children’s first experiences with magic was to singe, freeze or wet the hems of their own clothes, Marina was already putting hers to practical use.

    She still considered that first spell her very finest.

    Even though these days, physics was less an obstacle and more a plaything for her, that spark of controlled flame at her fingertip had set the stage for what the world could expect of her.

    Unlike those poets masquerading as mages who made up her peers, she didn’t spend a single moment eschewing the virtues of magecraft, debating the laws which should govern their kind or convincing the Holy Church to not let slip their mask and wield another crusade against all practitioners of magic.

    Marina had no interest in the world of magic. Only magic itself and how best to utilise it.

    It was a means to an end. A tool no different from her cauldron.

    And that meant she actually respected it.

    She knew not a single spell to transmute brie into edam or to make objects immune to coffee spillages. But she could shape the world.

    Because when her flames were hot enough to melt the ground itself, even destiny yielded before her.

    Marina Lainsfont was the most dangerous mage in a generation.

    Perhaps several combined.

    After all, while dragonfire could persist for over a century, the flames cast by the Witch of Calamity never ceased. They burned in the nightmares of children, kindled by the warnings of scolding parents and strange hermits in the night.

    It was a tale Marina would continue.

    She was now the arbiter of life and death. The axis upon which reality balanced. The inferno which snuffed out even the will of the gods.

    And that’s why–

    “... Unnnghhhh …”

    She had absolutely no reason to feel humiliated.

    Why did it matter if she was sitting alone in a restaurant frequented only by groups? That was utterly irrelevant. Solo dining was more than socially acceptable. She’d learned that in Rolstein. Nobody ever bothered her after a day’s work when she’d just finished plucking the eyes from newts.

    Moreover, Marina had no time to idly exchange gossip like the fools who frequented these places.

    She was extremely busy.

    Specifically … clenching her fists beneath the table while staring down at her cold stew.

    Marina did her best to hide her reddened face with her hood.

    It didn’t matter. She could still feel the stares. All of them. Fixated upon her as though she was some carcass in an archmage’s curio collection … and it was all because of the fluorescent plague known as the glowing ends of her hair.

    Flames. Scissors. Curses.

    None of it seemed to work.

    The more she tried to remove the strands, the more they stubbornly remained.

    Despite her awakened abilities, she’d spent more time leaning over a bathtub while trying to fix her hair than poring over grimoires to make sense of her powers.

    Not because she was necessarily mortified to the point that she wanted to burn the entire world down. But because the attention was highly distracting.

    “–Hi there! Is everything to your liking?”

    After all, it was more than giggling she had to ignore.

    It was also open mockery … including from the staff.

    Before her, the young waitress smiled, her hair tinged with whatever pixie droppings she wore.

    Marina had no idea when it happened. How it happened. Only that the entire town of Wirtzhaven now considered her the butt of their joke.

    She bit her lips while considering her response.

    It’d be so easy. With a click of her fingers, she could make all the embarrassment go away. But that wasn’t why she was here. Yet.

    “It’s fine.”

    “Great! Can I get you something to drink?”

    “No.”

    “Okay! Well, just give me a shout if you need anything.” The waitress pointed off to the side. “... Also, I’m not sure if you noticed, but I wanted to let you know that the apothecary you’ve been asking for is just leaving.”

    Marina blinked.

    Suddenly, her chair scraped back as she stood up. But as her eyes went to the door, she almost immediately sat back down again.

    There she was.

    A woman with dark robes, a crooked hat with a dipping tip and a cloak painted with astrological symbols. She even had a black cat, following after her with a donated sardine.

    All that was missing was a broomstick.

    Marina groaned.

    Charlatan.

    That was her immediate impression of the woman who exited through the door.

    The witches had long been out of mind and out of sight. A feat difficult to accomplish if they dressed in full regalia in busy restaurants. But this was no time to doubt herself.

    She needed answers. Whatever form they came as.

    Leaving her stew behind, Marina went to pursue the apothecary, ignoring the stares which went her way.

    Her hopes rose as the pungency of barrowroot welcomed her to the alley outside. An ingredient few knew how to use. Ashknot was more common and didn’t require perusing through a cemetery.

    Perhaps that girl with the abominable smile was correct.

    There truly was a witch masquerading as an apothecary here–despite the disguise being as effective as a lamb wearing another lamb’s wool. More tellingly, however, was the fact that this apothecary had little presence in this town.

    She possessed no shop, no stall and no carriage.

    A difficult mouse to spy in the daylight. But even the most reclusive of hermits needed to eat.

    As such, Marina permitted herself a small amount of satisfaction as she watched the figure round a corner with a bundle in her arms. Yet whether or not this was worth the days of querying and scowling would soon be told.

    She only needed to stop herself from hurling herself forwards.

    This time, no denting of her brows would be required.

    Only a smile. Which was fine.

    Marina could do smiles. She could do pleasantries.

    She could do manners.

    The fact she hadn''t banned anyone from entering her shop was evidence of that … although if this apothecary could explain how she maintained her living standards without the need for an income stream, Marina would certainly listen.

    … Especially since this hermit’s home was nicer than her own.

    The winding alleys continued onwards, but not the apothecary’s steps.

    She came to a stop outside a colourful cottage. Separated from the long rows of storefronts either side of it, enough flower pots existed upon every windowsill that the weight of the fragrance almost masked the magic which visibly rose as pink smoke from the chimney.

    That … should not be happening.

    Not unless a reagent with powerful arcane properties was literally being burned.

    Even then, very few things could achieve that.

    An arcana crystal would simply explode, as Marina knew from personal experience. Magic was unstable by nature. And something which could cause smoke to become such a vibrant hue when reacting to heat was even rarer.

    In fact, if she had to theorise … then the most likely reagent would be–

    “Pixie dust.”

    Marina’s mouth fell open.

    This apothecary … was using pixie dust.

    The same reagent used in those accused vials she was destroying at every opportunity when the shopkeepers weren’t looking. Or even when they were.

    It. Was. Her. Sёar?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

    Marina’s head went blank with outrage.

    Somewhere in the back of her mind, a distant voice called at her.

    It echoed like a desperate tugging at her shoulders, forcing her back. To remember pleasantries. To remember manners.

    She was here for a reason.

    What it was … Marina had no idea.

    All she saw was the apothecary entering her cottage without using a key, more concerned with the cat dashing between her legs than the mental torment she’d inflicted.

    Marina didn’t hesitate.

    She marched over to the same door even before it finished closing, fire and brimstone in her wake, fists scrunched and brows a single line of righteous indignation.

    Every prying glance beneath her hood, every mocking giggle and every restaurant she was now self-exiled from filled her vision as the burning core of her soul demanded vigorous justice.

    Wrenching the door open, Marina stomped inside.

    And then … she paused.

    Only a quaint kitchen awaited her.

    Scarcely different to the one in her own shop, a large pewter cauldron simmered away in the centre.

    On the countertop near it, the evidence of the apothecary’s crimes were there for all to see.

    Bowls of pixie dust so fresh they still glittered. Jars of dye extracted from orchid bloomfiends. And moonberyls used as a catalyst, crushed to a powder so fine she could smell the exertion in grinding them.

    Marina’s rage didn’t calm. But she did respect the quality of the reagents.

    She also acknowledged the magic imprisoning her.

    To instantly create a [Prismatic Barrier] the exact dimensions of a kitchen was not only quaint, but also impressive.

    Even a blemish would be seen by the worst of apprentices. But there were no hazy outlines betraying the cage which prevented her from exiting the door here, or indeed, the feedback which would send the back of her head rushing to meet the floor if she tried.

    Marina nodded.

    And then–

    “[Hexflare Nova].”

    Pwoooooooooooooosh.

    Telegraphing herself with only the briefest pause, the kitchen around her shattered.

    A fiery blastwave incinerated the reagents used to assault her dignity. Dishes, furniture and a pewter cauldron were immediately flung to the walls, smashing cleanly through crumbling cabinets before everything began to melt.

    However, while the walls buckled and groaned, the stonework didn’t disintegrate.

    Marina was mildly impressed.

    Not only magically warded, but specifically against flames.

    But perhaps that was only to be expected.

    “How curious,” said the apothecary, standing beside Marina as though she’d always been there. Judging by the faint glimmering surrounding her figure, she had. “Hexflare. I’m unused to such a particular designation of spellcraft.”

    Marina’s eyes narrowed as she turned to the woman still holding her lunch.

    To mask herself so completely was unheard of.

    True invisibility, after all, was a spell countless generations of archmages had dedicated their lives towards unravelling to little avail. And yet there hadn’t been a single hint of her presence beforehand.

    A curious thing.

    But Marina didn’t need to ask how it was possible.

    After all, the magic this woman used was not subject to the laws of the mortal realm.

    “... Would you care to join me for tea, Miss Lainsfont?” said the fae, her wings of summer glimmering behind the witch’s attire.

    She held up her lunch.

    A shiny red brick.