Ivy spent the next several days practicing honing in on the source of her witch power. She didn’t leave Rose’s place once. If she couldn’t rely on it the moment she needed it, things may not go well for her in the future. She wouldn’t stay lucky forever. After a week, she still hadn't grasped it.

Forget about controlling or understanding the witch world. Getting into it reliably without Rose to guide her would be enough for now. But even that had been beyond her. She sat alone most days in Rose’s home, taking advantage of the comfy couch, struggling to get a handle on this witch thing.

Rose, on the other hand, had duties in the city, and left each morning with a sword curiously strapped to her hip. Ivy would have to ask her what that was about soon enough. Whenever that might be. Rose was gone all the time, leaving Ivy a bit dejected after that first day. She also refused any type of payment for letting Ivy stay with her, providing even food and drink. Ivy was left alone to stew, and with each passing day started to get more and more fidgety.

On the tenth day, she couldn’t stand it anymore, and pulled a chair over to the door leading out of Rose’s apartment and waited. She spent the time practicing as always, and eventually the witch returned home looking a bit weary, her trousers and tunic covered in splotches of dark brown mud. She halted mid-step at the sight of Ivy, her hand still on the handle of the door.

“Where do you go all day?” Ivy asked.

“Oh,” Rose laughed, closing the door and stepping in, “is that all? I thought you were mad at me or something. That little pouty face of yours almost got me. And this little ambush you prepared…” she kept laughing.

Ivy deepened her frown.

“Well?”

“I’m a sergeant in the palace guard,” Rose said.

She said it like it was nothing. Like a witch protecting the governor was the most natural thing in the world. Ivy had thought her life ruined after accepting the fact that she had awakened, but here was Rose, just doing her thing.

“A witch royal guard? And a sergeant?”

Rose un-belted her sword and hung the curved handle on a hook beside the door. She wore nothing else that might have marked her station that Ivy could pick out.

“It’s the last place the paladins would expect! Well, maybe the church would be the last place, but I’m not that crazy.”

“So you do admit to being crazy?”

Shrugging, Rose made her way to the couch and plopped down. Ivy had to spin her repurposed chair to face her again.

“It has its uses. How do you think I scared off those idiotic boys when we met? My dazzling beauty? Irresistible charm? No. That would have made things worse, I think.”

Ivy recalled how Rose had shown them something and they had immediately backed off. A token of her office, perhaps.

"Yeah, but...don't you wear armor or something?"

Ivy had never been to the palace before, but she assumed that the guards there were equipped with the best gear available.

Another shrug. "It slows me down. Besides, I wouldn't wear that heavy stuff all the way back here if I did use it." Rose raised an eyebrow. “So why the interest all of the sudden?”

“I think I might be going a little crazy as well. I need to find something to do.”

Rose’s eyes twinkled.

“Living under my wing a little too safe for my cute baby witch?”

Ivy scoffed.

“Sure, Rose.”

The older witch rubbed her chin, looking up at the ceiling.

“Hmmm. I don’t think I could find you a place with me. Not right away at least. A lesser patrol probably.” She turned an assessing gaze on Ivy. “You have any skill with a sword?”

“No.”

“Archery?”

“No.”

“Can you hit stuff with a club?”

“I don’t really have any skills,” Ivy said, “not of the savory variety, anyway. Before I awakened I was a criminal. I figured I’d try that again.” Rose frowned. “What, you don’t approve, o’ noble guardswoman?”

“I won’t tell you how to live, Ivy, but if we use our powers to help people instead of what the church preaches, then maybe one day the world won’t hate us so much.”

Ivy stared at Rose with her mouth half open. Could she really believe that? In some ways Rose felt like a wise mentor to Ivy. They had only known each other for a short time, yet when Rose joked about Ivy being her little sister, Ivy found herself wanting to believe it. Rose was obviously more knowledgeable, more worldly, and more confident in her power. Ivy could rely on her guidance. But this? How could Rose be so blind to reality? Ivy thought back to the younger witch hunter Perro and how quickly he had changed on her once the hunters had proven her to be a witch. There was no hope of turning the populace in their favor.

“You’re dreaming,” Ivy said.

“Maybe.” Rose stood and turned away from Ivy toward the single glass pane window in the common room. “But some years ago I needed a reason to keep on going.”

Redemption of the witches? Well, Rose didn’t aim low. Finding a place for herself was enough for Ivy, though. And to do that, she felt she needed to fit in somewhere in the city. Outside of Rose’s apartment.

“Rose,” Ivy said, “I…”

“It’s okay.” She didn’t turn from the window. “Do you need directions to a thieves' guild?”

Ivy let out a short chuckle.

“I think I’ll manage.”

A couple of hours later, Ivy was standing at the best smithy in the city, pouch of coins in hand. If she was going to do this, a better method of self-defense would be necessary. The dagger she had acquired while living at the farm had been an afterthought in case the worst happened. It possessed essentially no edge, only suitable for stabbing, and had begun to rust over the years. She needed something more appropriate if she was going to live in Atrican’s underground.

The royal smithy—while still being located in the market—had a different air about it than the rest of the district. Plumes of billowing black smoke still climbed high above its workshop, but it also contained a separate, less offensive storefront for the comfort of its noble clientele. A pair of four-horse drawn carriages were parked in a stable area that was private to the smithy alone.

Ivy walked up to the storefront with a confidence that she did not feel internally, and threw open the sturdy wooden door. A couple of lavishly dressed men in purple and blue suits took one look at her and sneered before averting their eyes. She had worn her nicest dress, but apparently that hadn’t mattered. She didn't give them a second glance.

No. Her attention was set on a solitary figure wrapped from shoulders to toes in shining silver platemail armor. Just past a shelf of similarly scintillating hunks of metal, the man stood stick straight. The single part of him not protected by his armor was topped by a close cropped mess of dirty blond hair. On his left hip, a broadsword hung in its sheath, while his right held a bulbous, dark canteen. But worst of all—the thing that made every inch of Ivy's skin prickle—was the emblem etched into the back of his breastplate. Carved into the metal for all to see, was a flowing triangular shape, the point of each of its three ends looped into a curl: the symbol of the church.

He didn't move, and neither did Ivy. His back to her, he just stared in one direction, almost frozen. Nothing broke his stance, nor did anything make the attempt. Ivy could only watch in mute horror until he suddenly shifted his whole torso to his right, angling himself toward a sound echoing throughout the smithy storefront. It was a rhythmic clanking, like metal hitting stone again and again. Every muscle in Ivy's small body was tensed, ready to spring at a moment's notice.

A few rapid breaths later, the source of the noise revealed itself. It had indeed been metal on stone. Another armor clad figure came into view. A woman this time, also choosing to forgo her helmet, her hair cut almost as close as the man's. Ivy's heart could not beat any faster.

Two. Two! There were two of the church's paladins not a stone's throw from her.

"Nothing," the woman said, her voice even and devoid of emotion.

"A rumor, then," the male paladin said.

"Like I said from the start."

"Yes."

Then, in unison as though compelled by some outside force, each paladin retrieved the identical flasks hooked to their belts, unstoppered the cork, and took a deep swig of whatever lay inside. A dribble of black fluid lingered on the female paladin's lips before she licked it clean.

Ivy could only see the woman's face from where she stood, and neither paladin had made any indication that they had even noticed her yet. She needed to run. Now. Or, maybe not? That would look bad. Real bad. The witch hunters had picked her out for acting out of place. Then—

“May I help you, miss?”

A voice from behind made her jump. She turned, doing everything possible to stop her legs from darting out the door. The door! She had just entered, and was standing right in front of it. If the paladins meant to leave, they'd practically knock her over.

"Miss?" A man in an ankle length leather apron stood frowning at her through a full beard covered in soot.

“I...I need a weapon,” she said, forcing her voice not to shake. Past the blacksmith, the noblemen were eying her again for some reason. She glared at one, willing him to look away, yet he just kept staring. What the hell. This was not the time to be the center of attention. If this creep got her killed, she would come back and haunt him forever.

“Yes?” the smith said, as though this was a waste of his time. She had almost forgotten he was there.

“Something light and agile. Small, suitable for someone of my size. Quickly.”

The blacksmith gave her a once over and deepened his frown. He was two heads above her in height and probably twice her weight, body hardened from hammering at the forge for decades.

“For you?” he asked. “Perhaps you should find a different establishment. This place is—”

“I have coin.”

“We don’t accept stolen goods here.”

The clanking of armored movement betrayed the actions of the paladins. They were coming. Ivy gasped, only half faking it. She tried doing her best impression of an offended noblewoman.

“I’ll have you know, smith, that my lady and I travel everywhere together. Even now she awaits my purchase in our carriage. As her lead maid in waiting, it is my duty to protect her with my life. Just yesterday we were attacked and barely made it through with our honor intact because of a lazy guard patrol. Should we not be able to defend ourselves? Huh? How much longer would you like to keep my lady defenseless?”

Ivy had practiced that speech a couple of times before coming, and she had been right to do so. The smith rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Very well,” he said, “this way.”

He directed her to a shelf of hardened steel blades ranging from around four inches in length to just over a foot. Behind her, the paladins did not linger, their footsteps soon fading away. It took all her willpower not to look back to see what they were doing. But they were gone, and Ivy had skirted by their awareness.

Now, in front of her, were an assortment of weapons for her to choose from. Many held edges, some double bladed, and others were designed purely for stabbing as her current weapon was. The grips were varied far more than the blades. From onyx to ivory; smooth, to the most intricately carved and gold inlaid designs, it was a bit overwhelming.

“Well,” the smith said, “see anything that fancies your taste?”

To be honest, she didn't really care about a weapon anymore, just wanted to get back to Rose's home, but she didn't want to waste the trip, either. So...she pushed the paladins out of her mind and eyed the display the smith presented. She valued function over pomp, and her eyes naturally drifted to less ornately decorated blades—which would likely hurt her purse less as well—but not even those instilled any motivation on her to purchase. Scanning over the rows of weapons again and again, she frowned.

“Nothing good enough for your lady, here, miss?”

She turned to regard the blacksmith, who was looking down at her with a scowl.

“No it’s not that, it’s just…oh!”

At his feet sat a half open crate of ungarnished, unpolished steel weapons. Some possessed no grip at all, or a flaw or two in the blade. Yet amongst the rejects which would be top quality elsewhere, a hidden gem poked through.

“Excuse me,” she said, crouching down and reaching into the box.

She pulled forth a single edged curved blade about the length of her forearm that ended in a wicked point. The smooth, solid dark grip settled in her palm below a subtle, straight crossguard. Its contours gleamed in the sun streaming through the windows, but at just the right angle, the steel turned an inky black, Ivy’s reflection fading within a bottomless void.

“Ah,” the smith said, “I had almost forgotten about that piece.”

How? Ivy marveled at the weapon. The thing was a genuine masterpiece compared to what she had now.

“It is finely made,” she said, holding it up and turning it over a few times.

“Not here it wasn’t.” Huh? “It was sold to us a few years ago, I think. I can’t really remember.”

It had been sitting here for years? How had someone not picked this up by now? She flipped it over and on the base of the pommel was the only piece of decoration on the whole thing. A depiction of a flying insect had been etched into the steel, and then colored in fine detail, though not with gemstones. It was as if the metal itself had been dyed in many colors to depict the small, iridescent dragonfly.

“What is this?” she asked, gesturing to the carving.

The smith shrugged.

“Beats me,” he said, “look, since its not from our forge, I can give you a discount. Say…nine royals?”

Nine golden royals? That was almost everything she had. Any other time she would have thrown the thing back into the crate, but it did not want to leave her hand.

“What about a sheath?” she asked, her mouth deciding and acting before her mind had come to terms with losing her entire fortune.

“Yeah I can find something and throw that in at cost,” he said.

“Oh. Thanks. I’ll take it.”

The man nodded and held his hand out. Ivy, barely able to part with the weapon, forced herself to drop it in his grip. She paced the perimeter of the shop until he returned a few minutes later, the handle of her weapon sticking out of a boiled leather covering tied to a waist cord.

“Alright miss, like I said, nine royals.”

She possessed the same hesitation fishing out the coins and parting with them as she had for the short sword. Her purse felt quite a bit lighter with only silver and bronze remaining after handing over the fee, but her mind was at ease, despite her close call with the paladins. Somehow it felt that the noble boy’s gift had been meant for this purpose. This moment. The coins had been a symbol of hope for her when her life had been upended, and now they had provided her a means to keep moving forward. She wasn’t quite sure why the blade had drawn her in, but it didn’t matter. She would follow where the darkness took her. It was right. It had to be. She smiled, wondering what the noble boy was up to, and if he still lived in Atrican.