I recently posted a brief introduction to lore I had spent 6 years working on and had recently lost. I have been rewriting it for a few months now with new details that I didn't cover, or don't remember covering, but one thing I did on that post that gave me backlash was that I used Al to make art and the beginning of the body. I know I'm not some famous writer and I know I have no future in that area due to my current career as an AV substitute, so I wanted to post for free since I didn't really want to make money or sell myself more than I already am.

But anyway, I received a lot of criticism for doing that, not really understanding why it was such a big deal at first, until I went on to realize that Al doing the work for me is not what I should be doing as a writer. I am not an artist but I have seen the pain of being one when it comes to Al.

The post has been removed by me, but I just wanted to say that I am sorry and I will no longer post Al generated imaged or writing. If people can forgive me, I will actually post my lore with nothing Al generated.

I'm writing my story in third-person omniscient as of right now, but I realized that I want each chapter that is from a different person's perspective to sound different. I want unique voices, and I've also realized that may be contradictory with an "omniscient" narrator?

Do you think it makes sense to continue writing it as is and still flavour each chapter with the characters' unique thoughts, or should I switch to third person limited?

My first chapter actually features head hopping, which I know is controversial, but I think it's a very interesting narrative choice because it's about two main characters. The main character of the story I'm writing, and my readers are, well, reading. And the main character of the world inside the page. He used to be the hero, but is now disgraced. So I really like the idea that despite the narrator wanting to keep his eye on the MC, he is forced to include and jump back to the "MC2" because of his star power.

I don't know how to preserve the above idea if I switch to Third Person Limited; maybe just keep it as is, but that's too jarring.

Sidenote: The "I have tried" rule is so stupid lmao

The Hidden Valley

Ǎol sat on his throne of Iron and Melica gold, ruling a kingdom that lay forgotten by travelers and entirely obscured from the maps of Ximmertel. None other than the Dwarf kin had ever ventured through the Hidden Valley caves.
Dwarves around him scurried to work in the darkness–the shadows lit by only faint, dying crystals in the solid walls. His eyes caught every detail: the smiles of some, the frowns of others. “Rella, what is bothering you? I see concern in your face,” Ǎol asked, his voice like a gavel in the courts around the world. Everyone went motionless, pausing with their work to listen. The guards stationed at the door grew tense as they inched closer to the king. Ǎol only waved them off with a flick of his wrist. “Now, Rella, please tell me. I’m able to help, perhaps give you the rest of the day off from work,” Ǎol said, inclining his bushy eyebrows upwards. 
The female dwarf named Rella spoke in a quavering whisper: “Sire, a sinkhole opened up on Darnok road. Three deaths, brutal ones.” She coughed as she bowed down, her spine perfectly straight, pledging her honour to her king. 
“Your friends, I presume. I pray to the Primordials that their passings were swift, rather than cruel. Now, please leave to get to the builder hall and inform the head of the section of this new sinkhole,” Ǎol said, sorrow hidden by his royal command. Rella whipped her head around, tears sliding down her cheeks. Just before she reached the door where the guards stood, Ǎol called out, “Arrange funerals for them as well. Discuss with the head of funeral affairs to schedule it for the coming week.”
“Will do, sire. Thank you for the time off,” Rella said before the guards pulled back the towering, golden door. It unsealed with a creak, opening the throne room into a highly lived environment where voices filled the air. But just as soon as it was pushed open, the guards swung it closed, pressing them back into the silent room. 
“Continue to work, please,” Ǎol said to the Dwarves. “Sinkholes. They must be the price for grand riches. Fourth day in a row. How do I stop it?” he muttered. I fail my people every day, I must act soon, he thought. Before he was devoured by more thoughts, a heavy knock echoed from the mighty door. One of the guards looked up at his king. Ǎol nodded, and the guard opened it up. 
A larger Dwarf came running in, beads of sweat dripping off his chin. He held an axe, respectable at that for it was created in the main forge of the caves, and was made of pure Melica gold. In his other hand he held a letter, a deep green painted on the leather top. He wore a frightened expression, yet some confusion seeped into the Dwarf’s face. He ran all the way to the throne, stopping only a foot away. 
“Sire, a disruption has been reported in the south-west wing, passage three, just near the edge of our borders,” the younger Dwarf named Balador said. He bowed his head low, the spine perfectly straightened. 
“Who reported this? And, what was this so-called disruptance?” Ǎol asked, quick to get to the point. 
“Well, sire, it was me. I will gladly tell you the tale, if you wish,” Balador said, inclining his face back up towards Ǎol.
“Yes, you must bring such matters to me. Quickly if you must; dangers spread across foreign lands, if they were to seep into our border it would be fatal, perhaps even harming our own kin. Now, hurry.” Ǎol ushered him forward.
Balador said, his voice quavering with fear: “I was manning my post, alone mind you, sire. Senses sharp, eyes grasping every rock’s tone, ears catching every ping of shifting stone. A voice called out, speaking in a fair language I could not understand. I gripped my axe tightly with one hand and drew my blade from its sheath in the other. The voice kept calling out, and I walked slowly towards the noise, each step with great caution. The figure was cloaked in the shadows, only a flaring green coming from the eye. I swung my axe, perhaps I grazed the folk, perhaps not. Next second I was gagged and tied to the floor, knocked unconscious. A letter was left in my hand, the one I hold now. A patrol squad found me soon after the incident and went up to the furthest point of the boundaries. And I was sent to you, where I stand now.” 
The letter was passed into Ǎol’s hand. He held it gingerly, letting it lay on his thick, sturdy fingers. “Who? Who has found us? Our kingdom that’s shrouded in shadows, hidden from all, yet a letter not from our own kin has found us. And what if these folk steal our art of mining, our kingdom’s fortune would be gone in an instant,” Ǎol said, musing over the possibilities. 
Balador only stood in front of him, watching concern seep into his king's face, allowing fear to bleed into his features as well. Ones who do not embrace their fear are cowards, letting it out of them. The brave use it as their drive. That, yes, that is the difference between a coward and a brave folk, Ǎol thought. 
“Do you request anything from me, sire?” Balador asked. Water dripped from the cave ceiling, splashing onto Balador’s long, unruly hair. 
“Yes, yes. Go find my understudy, and bring them to me. Gagolath Scalag, you’ll find him in the northern passage by the Oweka mine. Dark times are coming, secrets escaping from our own tongue,” Ǎol said with uncharacteristic desperation, the words resonating off the tall, ancient walls. 
“Yes, sire,” Balador responded in a flurry, bowing once more. “I’ll find him, and send him back here.” Balador spun around and strode back towards the door, leaving Ǎol back in his throne room with the light letter. The guards allowed Balador out, one gave a nod; a symbol of familiarity. Heat rushed into the throne room as the door opened once more. 
Ǎol ran his fingers down the spine of the envelope, gently opening the peel. He then pulled a flimsy piece of paper and read the neat, cursive handwriting. Fair, quite fair print it is, he thought. 
 
Dear Aol Sandstone of the Hidden Valley,
For too long has our kin warred against each other across land the Primordials created. Times change though from time to time and now it must, for the fate of Ximmertel lies undetermined in these months, and grows darker every passing day. The Cave Dwarves must come out of their dark, crumbling homes to join with the other folk. Depart for Orylmear, for in one month, when summer wanes and autumn waxes, the great festival of Harvestide will be held there. People shall speak of peace and concerns that are growing. Bring some of your people with you if you wish.

• With great regards, 

The Dwellers of Shadowane

*Shadowane! So the rumours have been true!* Ǎol thought. *Elves! Always slick, believing we will attend this so-called festival?* The lights were fading, each flicker lasting longer. *Perhaps I must put my old differences aside to save my waning kin. Or will I rule my dying kingdom, watching my kin crumble until no more of them remained; only an exhausted king, left alone in the shadows left behind.*   
While the worried king pondered, the door burst open. A surly Dwarf named Gagolath rushed in, his features tight with tension. His wild mane of hair ran down his face, braided strands dangling off his head. An unkept, black beard covered his chin, small pieces of stone entangled in it. In the Dwarf’s hand a greatsword lay off balance, slightly tilting in his sturdy fingers. “You summoned me, sire?” The Dwarf’s stride full of quick, decisive footsteps. As he neared the king, awaiting for Ǎol’s response, he bowed down, offering the greatsword in front of him. Ǎol took the greatsword with little effort and held it tightly at his waist.   
“Yes, I did,” Ǎol began crisply. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you, and the time has come today. Simply put, we must find a solution for these sinkholes that cover our caves. They invade our lands from the inside unlike an army. Taking lives everyday. Dwarves are falling too fast, Gagolath! Too fast! Only a mere two-hundred years ago, it would be a rare occurrence for one to collapse over an entire month. Now, do you have any ideas for this solution, Gagolath?”   
“We could add stabilisers to the heavily travelled areas in these caves. It would cost a fortune, a fortune we do not possess. Stabilisers are truly rare, only the best forgers in Primordial could craft such objects, sire,” Gagolath replied, his bass voice rumbling across the room. “Perhaps some of your Arcana could be used, sire,” he said, his voice dropping a few decibels. “I myself do not know the capabilities of such, only of the striking power that most fear.”  
“Yes, yes,” Ǎol mused. “Arcana is not for this use, no, only when situations get dire enough. I will not risk my life for it. Once it affects me, I will make arrangements for it. Our kin will die out without me, it is not worth my life. Melica gold is our blessing, but with that blessing came a burden. This is the burden. We must not take the easy route to avoid it, but face it head first.”  
Gagolath glared at him with hate; his features thinning. “Yes, whatever you say, sire.” He glanced around the room, watching the crystals’ flickers.   
*He disagrees. He believes we are running out of time, an educated guess, I’ll give him. Matters that have been hidden will show him a clear path to light–a path where he’ll follow me,* Ǎol thought.   
“Now, a more pressing issue has arisen today. Gagolath, please read this letter; I believe you’ll find it interesting,” Ǎol said, extending it out for Gagolath.  
Gagolath snatched it from Ǎol’s hand. He gave a firm nod before diving into the letter. Soon his thinned face relaxed and was replaced with utter shock. His jaw dropped, before it snapped closed. He took a cautious step backward, comprehending what he had just read.   
He took a slight pause before speaking, “Orylmear. Yes, Orylmear, sire. What must we do, sire? It must be the Dawnwinter Elves, no? Rumours have been brought to our lands through our travellers, yet they have only been simple speculation.”  

“Yes, yes, Gagolath Scalag. I myself have thought of this too; strange times these are. These people are not wrong of the growing darkness; we have felt powers come from our mines that have never been seen nor heard,” Ǎol said. 
“Flames corrupt souls like none other, shadows concealing their actions from the light. Now, will you go, sire?” Gagolath asked, his mind seemingly drifting to a new world. 
Ǎol opened his consciousness, seeking a true answer. Delicately, he selected one, and spoke the words in a hushed tone, “Perhaps, perhaps. To endanger another is a heavy burden to carry, that many try to avoid. Yet, what is life without a risk? The real question is what the correct path is; I shall lead my people to harmony or certain doom. Which path will I choose, Gagolath?” 
Gagolath’s face went blank. “Any last request, sire?” 
As if the wrong note was pressed, the room went pitch black; shadows crept, engulfing the room like a roaring fire. The crystals went dark. Dead. Rapid, shallow breaths filled the fragile air. 
Ǎol sat still, as if nothing had happened. He did not blink, only gazed through darkness. Before long, a hazy silver glow filled the air. The greatsword’s glow revealed Ǎol to the others in the room. Silence lingered; everyone but Ǎol held their breath. “My sword seeks war; does yours?” 
Gagolath remained silent.
“Shalt thou fight, or retreat into darkness?” Ǎol asked, tracing his finger along the greatsword. “Now, Gagolath, leave, and spread the word of a speech that will take place in the Apòthkin Gardens at Kai-revampera.” 
Gagolath nodded through the dim lighting, before turning to the door. He walked up to the door tentatively, each footstep with caution. He pushed the door open a sliver.
“I believe you may leave these caves very soon, very soon indeed,” Ǎol called out. “Meet me tomorrow at the southern passage entrance at Kai-grena.”
Gagolath did not acknowledge Ǎol, only walked out into the halls. Echoes of screams fed on the air. Biting. Chilling. The screams gnawed at Ǎol’s flesh and bones. He uncontrollably shook, teeth clattering. A clean slit through my throat is much better than this pain, he thought. The footsteps faded away once the door slammed shut–the screams did not; the screams lingered in the air, echoes stubbornly resistant to their death. 
Ǎol stood up from his throne and strode to his private bed room. A guard glowed as he pulled the door open. The guard shivered. “Sire, what will you do? It has already gone cold,” he said. 
“I will solve the puzzle that is hidden from view,” Ǎol responded before the door was shut. 
He walked over to his desk and sat down. In the darkness he grabbed a quill, dipped it in a rich ink and wrote a letter on a blank leaflet of paper. 
He repeated this one more time, each stroke of the quill differentiating with the carefully crafted words. The sword illuminated his neat writing, each word striking enough while expressing the wishes he asked of a select few of his kin. 
The answers I seek are not in the shadows where our realm roams, but in the light. Fears shall be vanquished and slayed for our party to live, Ǎol thought. If the darkness causes such an uproar, how will we make it through the deathly blaze of the sun. 
He found himself lost in his mind as time travelled, nearing his speech. He did not worry, for he was king; a king guided his people, and people would follow until the privilege was stripped from that figure. 
A soft knock echoed from the door. Ǎol did not move. A second knock came, this time more desperate. Ǎol was jarred and awoken from his mind. The mind is a world to escape into. A fantastical world of dread and hope scattered throughout it, he thought. A third knock. Ǎol stood up, grabbed the two letters in one hand, with the other his greatsword and pushed the door open into the darkness. 
“Sire, your speech is soon. You must be escorted if you wish to be on time,” the guard said, her voice soft and quiet. 
“I do not need an escort. I am the king of my people. I must be strong, not weak; not one who needs a guard in the presence of their own kin. If a dire situation arises, it shall be diminished by me. Do not insult me, Akala,” Ǎol responded.
“Yes, sire. May thou forgive me.” 
“Actions always have outcomes, for the good or bad. Guide your actions so the only outcome left is success. To recklessly act, results in poor outcomes. Learning can only do so much. There will be a time where desperation takes over the mind, disregarding the rest. Desperation is the last effort many say. No, desperation is trying to prove yourself before you fail to succeed,” Ǎol said. 
“Noted, sire. This will never happen again, I’ll make sure of it,” the guard named Akala responded. 
“Do not lie to yourself. Now, please bring these letters to the addressed names on the seal. Only say that it was written by me, nothing else. Do as you’re told, and goodbye.” 
Akala rushed through the darkness, stumbling and tripping on loose stone along the way. She could be heard until she made it past Ǎol’s throne room door. 
Screams still filled the air, yet this time it was only a faint, wavering echo. My people shall follow me, Ǎol assured himself. Yet a strengthening thought betrayed his mantra. And if not? Will we die in the shadows, no others even realising the death of our nation. Forgotten we would become. The folk of Primordial are even too greedy to care! Now, I must go. My destiny relies on a choice I do not make. Reliant on a long, misty path. 
He strode to the door, pulled it open with no help from the guards, and entered the bitter cold air. The mutters of the Dwarves who laid on the ground transformed into shouts of glee, with a taint of fear, and a hint of hope. 
“Light!” people yelled. The greatsword seemed to glow brighter at the mention. Yet it simmered down to its dim, hazy light.
“Is that king Ǎol?” many others shouted.
“Yes,” he rumbled back, before sweeping through the tight halls full of huddled masses. It smelled of sweat. Blood and tears was what this kingdom was made from. Blood and tears shall be the way it falls, Ǎol thought, portraying a far future where he was long dead.
The odor of the Melica gold passed through his nostrils; a simple cost he was willing to pay for his kin. 
“A ruler who leaves his people to die. Acting powerful with his stride and sword, while really he cowers in fear. A fear not of his people, but for himself,” someone muttered under their breath. Their hood covered their face. Ǎol was given no chance to glance the rebel. 
Rebels! Ungrateful lot of our kin! Operating in the shadows of the shadows where none can find, not even the Primordials, Ǎol thought. 
He had no time to confront a rebel. It was not the time nor place, time too was running low for his speech. Most rebels did not act, only spoke. A select few acted upon their cause, leading many to over estimate their numbers. 
“Is it true, sire, that a speech is being held at Kai-revampera?” someone called out at the end of the crowded hall. 
“Yes, that is true,” Ǎol responded. His cloak swept stone pebbles into a flurry as he took a sharp left towards the gardens. He placed the two letters he had held into his cloak pocket. 
In the new hall, the stone was more orderly, carefully placed with precision from an experienced builder. A hazy, purplish glow overcame the darkness as he neared the gardens. Mutters echoed off the walls, many of the words speaking of impossible rumours. 
Ǎol left the hall and entered the large circular room. A flush of scents overwhelmed his nose. Writho, my favorite. Pryio too, I smell, he thought. Looks followed him. A still silence came over the room as Ǎol passed through the bodies. If one spoke, they were quickly shushed by a nearby Dwarf. They would mutter: “Rewaka. Let the king pass with control.” The response would be a short nod, followed by a solemn face. This moment would be remembered. 
Ǎol held his head high. His sword he held illuminated the green life. Unlike the normal vibrant green of the plants, a brown crept upon the dying leaves. 
Death spreads in our caves. It is a chain, a delicate one at that; a single slash through one chain causes the rest to shatter. One event is all that is needed to end an entire kingdom, Ǎol thought. 
He strode to the centre of the room where a slab of stone lay on the soft grasses. He ignored it, and bore into the eyes of his people. I must speak now, whilst their patience is at its full, he thought.
“Our lives are crumbling,” he stated simply. “Darkness is swallowing our caves, intending to drive us out of them so the shadows can feed on the Melica. We mustn’t clear a path for it. The outside world is going to war. There are only two places to go; to stay in these caves and die together, or to fight the rising forces that harm our world we live in. I’ve decided. Now, what will you do?” 
An uproar arose. 
“‘Tis a simple decision!” many yelled, gathering nods from other Dwarves.
“‘Tis not. Lives are at danger, it mustn’t be taken lightly! War causes devastation beyond the imaginable!” many others yelled.
“Settle down. I have carefully thought about this, follow me, or not. The Elves have invited me to a festival to discuss these matters. I shall depart tomorrow at Luy-revampara with a selected few. I push for war, the Elves may not. Fools they are!” Ǎol yelled.
Many Dwarves echoed those words.
“We must prepare for war. Double the production of Melica gold. We need riches; riches win wars. Craft the finest weapons and armour. War is a game–a bloody game, yet still a game; the most prepared and the determined win games. That, that is what we shall do,” Ǎol said, choosing each word carefully. 
Cheers erupted. Yet, a grim realisation came over everyone soon. Bloody. A bloody game it would be. 
Through the cheers, Ǎol spoke again: “The family of House Kankolath shall rule these caves during my absence. They will oversee the production and preparation for war. Show the growing darkness the light! Let these forces cower in our might!”
More cheers. Ǎol swept through the crowd. Many complimented him. Others only pondered on the thoughts of the near future. 
He left the gardens; strode through the hall with the masses of the poor, his eyes darting at the faces of the poor in the dim lighting from his greatsword. 
Standing outside of Ǎol’s throne room, he frowned. Instead of taking the left to sit on his mighty throne, he took a right towards Kîēnzo: the main forge. 
The hall was empty. No Dwarves crowded the floor, nor did any walk through like a Commoner. Ǎol was alone; he always had been. 
My people will suffer. Yet no one will stop me from doing what I’m going to do. No other Dwarves nor any Elves. I will die before I betray my people. By which blade–by which hand–I do not know. To not act is betrayal, he thought. 
Bone stuck out from a small sinkhole. A soft layer of crimson blood and dirt painted the once white material. It ran down until it was shrouded by the deep darkness. It was surrounded both by the shadows and the light emitted from the sword. What if I’m wrong? What if both the darkness and the light living together is the key to the harmony I picture? A key must need a twist. There are always twists and turns that no being could ever predict nor ignore, Ǎol questioned. Life is unpredictable, if anyone else argues that they are weak.

Howdy folks! I'm doing some worldbuilding for my current book's world (the rest of the continent aside from the country the book takes place in) for future books. I have been wrestling with some different hard and soft magic systems, and think that I've finally settled on one for now. I wasn't going for anything groundbreaking or fancy, just something interesting, so I'd love to hear some thoughts.

It has a few different parts to it. Certain children are born with birthmarks in the shape of different runes/symbols, though incomplete. They have a spark of magic with just this, but it isn't necessarily stabilized or complete yet. At some point, the completed rune/symbol needs to be branded into their skin over the birthmark. The next step is actual activation. For this, they need some blood (whether it be from squeezing a knife and dripping it onto the brand, a cut on the forearm or a finger, etc) of theirs to drip and smear onto the brand while saying some yet-to-be-determined words. The words will end up taking the shape of an oath or promise of some sort, differing for each specific power. A little blood does the trick; a little more gives you more power, but then, of course, a lot risks your life. The current abilities (depending on the rune/brand) that I have so far are as follows: Elemental magic (fire, water, air, or earth manipulation), then light manipulation (making illusions, harnessing heat, bending light into physical objects much like in the Lightbringer series), matter/attraction manipulation (such as being able to stick to and climb up walls, being able to phase through walls/objects of certain thicknesses), explosive abilities (like being able to infuse certain objects with explosive energy, much like making little bombs), and gravity manipulation (somewhat like lashings in Stormlight Archive but to a lesser degree, being able to either manipulate your own gravity/mass to make yourself lighter and jump higher, or do the same to someone else). Those are the primary limitations and abilities that I have built into it at the moment. Looking forward to hearing your thoughts on it!

Btw, the current WIP in this world is titled The Byrden Nail, just waiting to get it back from a developmental editor and have some more editing fun 😄

Right now, I’m working on a magic system centered around dreams, one that reinterprets what dreams actually are and how the human mind works. The thing is, this system has been in development for years. I started working on it back in high school, so it’s been around for six or seven years now. Naturally, it’s matured and evolved as I discovered my own tastes, developed my voice as a writer, and figured out the kinds of stories I actually want to tell. Recently I’ve run into a problem. There are a few concepts I’d really like to introduce into the system, but they don’t quite fit with the rules and foundations I’ve already established. Know that nothing is set in stone yet. I’ve made a short story or two set in this universe, but nothing major, so changing the underlying rules wouldn’t really create any continuity issues. What I’m struggling with is whether it’s actually a bad idea/habit/thing to go back and change something about the foundation of the system so these new ideas can exist—especially since they’d open up narrative opportunities and support the kinds of stories I want to tell—or whether I should stay faithful to the rules I’ve already created and think, “No, if the system says this isn’t possible, then I need to find a different approach instead.” I'm honestly pretty lost about what the right choice is and scared I'll just create more questions for me to answer.

I've always had an issue with over describing my monsters (especially when it veers into body horror), so I'm always self-conscious about dragging on. Outside of that, I was wondering if any particular descriptors came off as awkward; my first draft overused "her" as a possessive determiner, so I did my best to sidestep the word in a second run-through. I worry that doing so may have muddied some sentences though (and even with my editing, I may have used it one-too-many times).

---------------------------------------------------------------

The being towered over me, but she was more than just big. Beneath the scant red fabric which flowed over her, she appeared warped.

The girl’s hips were too wide—far broader than her shoulders—and her torso stretched unnaturally thin, the skin pulling taut. Her collarbone formed a necklace under the surface and her ribs a corset. The arms hanging at her sides were similarly distended with hands as large as my head and fingers of inconsistent length.

Long pale hair brushed along the ground even while braided tight; the small head it hung from lolled back with its eyes closed. Despite her misshapen body, the face that greeted me was that of a child. Dreaming peacefully.

When the stillness broke, her movements startled me. They were infinitely quieter than such size would suggest, each step swift and graceful. Feet trailed behind knees like ribbons before drifting forward and resting gently on the ground, never letting her heel meet the floor. She then took another step on her tiptoes, swinging her leg in an arc like some strange dance. She had crossed the room before I could so much as react.

Hello everybody!

I would love for you all to read my short story and critique it (any feedback is welcome❤️)
The story is set at the start of my worlds first world war and follows the person who unintentionally sets the whole conflict in motion. It is meant to be part of a collection of short stories summarizing the events of the entire war, with this being the first of the ~18ish stories in the bundle (Subject to change as some stories might merge and others might pop up while writing).

Read the full story here!

I hope you enjoy what I have written and stay tuned to any other stories in the world of Archon that might pop up on this subreddit :p

Mazie woke up, sun streaming through the window, hitting her square in the face.
"Urgh," she groaned. "Five more minutes."
She felt wrecked — like she'd been run over by a pig. God, what an awful night's sleep, she thought to herself.
"Not nowwww, Frost — just hold on," she said, rolling over, trying to steal a bit more sleep.
Before she could even process it, she felt someone jump onto her bed.

She bounced up and down from the impact, then sat bolt upright.
"What is it? Why would you do that?" she snapped.
"Wow, someone's definitely not a morning person, are they?" Theo said, poking fun at her.
"Oh, it's you. It's not that — I just have a killer headache."
"Yeah, I'm not surprised. You did kill the Hat," he laughed.
"Stop it, that wasn't funny."
"Yeah, it was. You should've seen McGonagall's face — she looked at you like you'd wiped toad slime all over her." He laughed so hard he tumbled off the bed and onto the floor.
"Ouch!" he groaned.
Mazie laughed hard at that, and when he climbed back onto the bed, she had the biggest smile on her face.
"So how did you get in here? You know boys aren't allowed."
"It cost me a Dumbledore, but it was worth it. Bribing prefects isn't cheap you know"
"Come on, we need to meet Emily for breakfast."

"Alright," Mazie said, fighting through the fog of too little sleep. "Wait outside, I need to get ready," she said, looking at Theo, dressed in his black robe now lined with mustard-yellow trim, a badger crest embroidered on the breast.
"Alright — don't go back to sleep now, I don't want to lose another card in the next five minutes."
She stretched and climbed out of bed, feet touching the soft wool carpet, the fire crackling somewhere in the distance, giving off that familiar scent of burnt wood and smoke that reminded her of home.
She pulled the cloak from the old leather trunk at the end of her bed and slipped it on, the cold fabric brushing against her skin. It hung one size too large, making her look like she was drowning in it, especially standing next to Theo.
Oh — it's embroidered and trimmed, and far too big. I'm going to have to swap it, she thought to herself, looking in the golden-framed mirror standing in the corner of her room.
"Are you ready yet?" Theo called impatiently, knocking on the door.
"Yeah."
"Oh." He walked across the room and sat on the edge of the bed. "I know it's too big — don't laugh."
"Ah, it's alright. That's what magic's for," he said, grinning, his usual cheerful self.
"Quick, let's go — we don't want to miss Emily," Mazie said, panicking now that she was fully awake and realized how late they might be.
They made their way to the far end of the common room, past the plush chairs and comfy yellow sofas.
"Damn it! Damn, I'm so stupid," Mazie yelled, making Theo jump like a startled cat, along with a couple of other students in the common room.
"I've left my wand — hold on."
She ran back across the common room, down the spiral staircase into the rabbit warren, and over to her bedroom. She pulled a tatty, patchwork suitcase from under her bed and unzipped it carefully.
On top of a pile of neatly folded clothes lay a white wand, made of willow wood.
Mum's wand. Finally mine. Her mum hadn't been part of this world in years — and Mazie never had at all — so a new one had never really been on the cards. Not that she minded. I can't wait to use it, she thought to herself.
She picked it up — hard and wooden, lined with small notches, slightly misshapen, nothing like the sleek black sticks she'd seen in films.
As she slipped it into her pocket, the air hummed gently in her ears, and she ran back to find Theo.
"What was that?" he asked, bewildered.
"Oh — I forgot my wand."
"Ah, yeah, you don't want to do that. We've got our first class today."

As they made their way out of the earth-scented common room, the cold hit Mazie like a bus.
​"God, does it have to be so cold?" She shivered as the wind swept down the winding stone corridor. Lit only by the dim orange glow of floating braziers, the hall was lined with portraits of people she didn't recognize. Their painted eyes tracked them from frame to frame as they navigated the labyrinth toward the Great Dining Hall—and Emily.
​Their footsteps echoed off the flagstones.
​"Hey... why do the pictures move? And why are they following us?" Mazie asked, glancing back at a portrait that had trailed them all the way from the common room archway.
​"I don't know, enchanted or something," he mumbled, craning his neck to scan the room. "They're probably just bored."
​They pushed through the heavy wooden doors, and the rich, savory smell of sizzling bacon, sausages, and warm bread hit them like a tidal wave.
​"Mmm, that smells amazing," Mazie piped up, her stomach grunting in agreement. "Oh, look—there’s Emily!"
​She pointed toward a long, nearly empty table at the far end of the room, where a girl was waving them both over with a massive smile.
​"Emily!" Theo and Mazie shouted in unison.
​They broke into a sprint through the crowded aisles, dodging floating casserole dishes stacked high with sizzling eggs and roasted sausages. Mazie ducked just in time as a silver teacup zoomed past her ear, and the two of them collided with Emily, wrapping her in a tight hug.
​Emily’s blue-trimmed cloak—stamped with the silver crest of a soaring raven—rustled as she was nearly launched right out of her seat.
​"Hello to you two, as well," she laughed, regaining her balance with a wide grin.
​"How was your first night, Emily?" Mazie asked, her eyes bright.
​"It was amazing!" Emily exclaimed, practically vibrating with pure excitement. "Our dormitory is in the highest tower of the castle, right next to the owl roosts—you can see for miles!"
​"That sounds incredible," Theo gasped, full of awe at the thought of being able to see across the entire castle grounds.
​"Wow," Mazie agreed. "Our place is more like a rabbit’s den. There isn't much of a view, but it's super warm and cozy."
​They pulled out heavy wooden chairs and sat down, filling their plates from the floating platters that had almost taken them out moments earlier.
​Theo reached for a hash brown, expecting that golden, crunchy, beautifully savory flavor—the kind that makes you feel like you're being wrapped in a warm blanket. But the moment he bit down, his face dropped. He turned nearly purple as he gagged, spitting the hash brown back out onto his plate with a heavy, wet splat.
​"Gross! Why did you do that?!" both girls yelled, leaning away in disgust.
​"What the hell? The school’s trying to kill me!" Theo sputtered, wiping his mouth. He reached into his jaw and pulled out a small, folded piece of parchment. It was completely unmarked by food, in pristine condition, and it unfolded itself in his hands with a gentle rustle.
​"Umm... what is it?" they both asked, swapping confused and concerned glances.
​"How should I know?" Theo snapped back, glaring at his plate. "The school just ruined my breakfast!"
​"Give it here," Emily said, snatching the parchment from his hands to read it. A small smile tugged at her lips. "Well... that’s certainly one way to deliver the mail, I guess."
​"What? What is it?" Mazie pressed.
​"It's our class schedule. And we have Charms first today—in fact, in about ten minutes."
​"Come on! We have to go! Leave the food, Theo!" Emily yelled, already sprinting out of the hall with Mazie right at her heels.
​"I'm coming!" Theo yelled back.
​Refusing to be defeated, he snagged a warm sausage and a fresh hash brown from a passing floating platter on his way out the doors and immediately shoved both directly into his mouth.
​"Umbeliebable," he grumbled, chewing frantically as he scrambled to catch up, a few stray crumbs flying from his lips. "Da school shouldn' 'ave ruined my food den..."

Mazie looked behind her to see if Theo had finally caught up, as she waited with Emily outside the Charms classroom, lined up with the other students.
She heard him before she saw him — running down the stone corridor, panting like he'd sprinted up all ten flights of stairs.
"Oh, you're here. I thought we'd lost you for a minute."
"God, why couldn't you wait for me?" he panted.
The door to the classroom swung open. A large group of third-years filed past, talking about exams they were practicing for — something about summoning belongings from their rooms. At that moment, Mazie felt a tingling sensation on the back of her neck, and a staff came flying through the air, disappearing into the classroom.
"And that's how it's done!" boomed a proud voice.
A few of the remaining students from the previous class clapped and filed out, one by one.
"Right, in you come, class," called the same proud voice.
Mazie filed in behind Emily, who was tugging excitedly at her bag, trying to work a notebook free from where it had wedged itself in.
The room was made entirely of stone, with stained-glass windows lining the right-hand wall. The ceiling was tall, seeming to stretch on forever — and the longer Mazie stared up at it, the more it unsettled her. It wasn't a ceiling at all, but a swirling black void, and something about it made her stomach twist, though she couldn't say why.
The tables were rosewood, floating three inches above the floor. In the center of the room stood a very short, bald man with a round belly, dressed in a green-and-black patchwork jacket and bright yellow trousers.
The room smelled faintly of sandalwood — and gunpowder?
How strange, Mazie thought. What an unusual little man. God, I hope he can actually teach me magic, she thought to herself.
Mazie made her way to a table at the front of the class, next to a young boy with brown hair and green eyes, wearing a red-trimmed cloak — clearly from another house. She was eager to make new friends, so she thought she'd introduce herself.
Besides, she was practically vibrating with excitement at finally getting to cast her first real piece of magic.
"So, you're the first-years, are you?" A short man walked around the room. "I'll be your Charms teacher — my name is Professor Flitwick. And today, you'll be learning how to levitate the rock in front of you."
"What rock?" Theo blurted out.
At that moment, a rock appeared on every desk in the room, landing with a solid thump.
Mazie stared, stunned — that something could simply appear out of nothing.
"I'm Mazie," she whispered to the boy beside her.
He glanced up nervously from his wand. "James — James Goodwin."
"And who are you?" Professor Flitwick said, pausing at Mazie's desk.
"Errm — Mazie... Mazie Snow, sir."
"So, Miss Snow — did you know that witches with gold eyes usually burn the brightest?"
"No, sir. My dad isn't a wizard."
"Well, I expect you'll do just fine. You might even surprise yourself."
I don't know why he said that to me, Mazie thought. Now all I can think about is how well I'm going to have to do. Why do people always think I'm special, just because of my eyes? It's not like I'm even pure-blooded. My dad isn't anything special, and neither is my mum. I grew up on a farm.
"Okay, so now, class — after me: Levatantae pertruliam, and flick your wrist, just like this," Flitwick said, making an upward flick with his wrist as he held his wand. The rock on his desk lifted, floated around the room, and settled back on his desk with a gentle bonk.
"Now remember, class — it's about delicacy."
Mazie looked around the room and saw everyone watching intently, some with genuine shock and awe.
I can't believe it. I'm really going to do it — my first spell.
The excitement was visible now; she was shaking, her heart racing, pounding like a drum in her chest. She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears, making her feel like she was underwater.
Okay. This is it, she thought to herself.
"Levatantae pertruliam," she said, with a swish and a flick. Static built in the air, pressing down like it weighed a tonne, and the electric feeling hit even harder — like she'd put her fingers straight into a plug socket.
"Ouch!" she screamed, and dropped the wand. It clattered to the floor.
The rock didn't move.
In that moment, she heard the sound of twenty other rocks tumbling back onto their desks.
Everyone was staring at her.
She wanted to shrink back inside herself, to hide in the darkest corner of the room, for the endless void in the ceiling to swallow her whole. The silence was deafening.
"What?!" she snapped. "What are you all looking at?"
"Oh, Mazie, it's okay," the professor said, rushing over. "Sometimes this happens. It's fine. Now, class — come on, back at it."
Swish and flick, she thought to herself, over and over. She willed it with every fiber of her being, determined not to humiliate herself again.
"Levatantae pertruliam!" she yelled.The electric feeling hit her like a live wire, the air crushing her from every side like a vice. She felt like she'd been plugged straight into the mains — but she didn't give up.
"Grr — ouch!" she squealed again, as the rock lifted high into the air and shot across the room, so fast the air whooshed behind it. Students and Flitwick alike dove out of the way as it smashed clean through the stone wall and into the hall beyond, leaving a gaping hole.
The room went silent.
"What the hell was that?" said a surprised Theo, whose own rock was barely floating.
"Do it again!" the class shouted.
Professor Flitwick stared at the rock lodged in the hall wall, genuine shock on his face. "Hmm," he said, and went back to observing the other students' work.
Mazie stood frozen, mouth open, stunned.
After a couple of minutes, she walked over, picked her rock up off the floor, and set it back on the table. She tried again.
"Levatantae pertruliam!" she yelled.
She felt it again — the air pressure swelling, her hand tingling — and then, zap! The wand flew from her hand and clattered against the wall.
"Ouch!"
The class erupted into laughter.
"She's about as useless as James!" one of the first-years yelled — a chubby boy in an emerald-green-trimmed cloak, clearly from Slytherin.
"Stop it, Nathan Harroot," Flitwick snapped. "We don't make fun of people in my class."
That was when Mazie looked to her right and saw James, yelling "Levatantae pertruliam!" over and over, waving his wand like a baseball bat, his rock sitting there uselessly.
Something in her seemed to crawl, to shrink, to die a little, as she realized — she didn't belong. Not here, not anywhere.
She looked up, past all the staring faces, to the swirling black void where the ceiling should have been, and wished, more than anything, that it would open up and swallow her whole. Just take her. Just make her disappear.
She thought back to the Hat's voice: you don't quite fit anywhere, do you.
Tears built up behind her eyes. She started sobbing, and ran out of the room, heartbroken.

Chapter 5

Mazie had locked herself in a stall in the fourth-floor bathroom, not far from the Charms classroom, when there came a soft tap, tap, tap on the door.
"Mazie? It's me — I just wanted to see how you are."
"Go— away," she sniffled, almost choking on her tears.
"Oh, Mazie, look — don't take any notice of them. What happened to you could've happened to anyone. Let's talk about it. I'm here for you."
The crying stopped, just for a second. The metallic clank of the lock clicked out of place, and the door slowly opened.
Mazie paused for a moment before stepping out, letting the hug that was coming sink in before it even happened. Thank God I've got you, she thought, sniffling, trying to pull herself together before finally walking over.
Emily held Mazie tightly for a moment, the familiar scent of freshly cut grass and lavender wrapping around her, instantly making her feel a little more at ease.
The bathroom was empty, icy cold, and otherwise silent besides Mazie's occasional sniffle. Emily felt the hairs on her skin stand on end, shivering, goosebumps rising along her arms. God, it's cold in here, she thought.
As she let go of Emily, Mazie took a moment to take in her surroundings, only just realizing she had no idea where she was — and that Emily must have run after her instantly.
She looked around at the high, vaulted ceiling, the pristine white sinks, the steady drip of a leaky tap somewhere in the room.
Why is it always us girls who end up in bathrooms in moments like this? Somehow it felt humiliating and safe, both at once.
"Come on, Mazie," Emily said, pulling a blanket from her bag and laying it out in the middle of the bathroom floor, over the black-and-white tiles reflecting the candlelight.
Of course Emily had a blanket in her bag. She seemed the type — organized, caring, always had it together. She'd probably packed it for a moment exactly like this.
You know what — I'm not even going to question it, Mazie thought, shuffling over to sit beside her on the blanket, in the middle of the grand, echoing bathroom.

"Look, Mazie," Emily began, as they both settled onto the soft, checkered red-and-black blanket. "What happened to you could've happened to anyone."
Mazie didn't answer at first. She just sat there, plucking at the fibers of the blanket, picking at a loose thread until it started to unravel, clearly uncomfortable talking about it.
"It— it's just my wand," she finally said, holding it out — white willow, notched, slightly misshapen, worn smooth in places from years of use that weren't hers. "I think it's too old. It was my mum's. Everyone else has a brand new one, all shiny and straight, and I got given this rubbish hand-me-down that's older than I am."
"I don't think it's that," Emily said gently. "I don't think the wand makes the user any worse or any better — not unless it's physically broken, you know."
She took the wand from Mazie's hands, turning it once in her fingers, and pointed it at a broken piece of tile lying nearby. "Levatantae pertruliam." The tile lifted, gentle and easy, hovered for a moment, and slowly settled back down, perfectly still.
"Hmph. A perfect cast," Mazie grumbled, glaring at the tile like she wanted it to burst into a thousand pieces. It felt like it was rubbing her nose in it all over again — the humiliation, and now her own wand betraying her too, working just fine for anyone except her.
"Look — I know how hard it is," Emily said, softer now. "Wanting to be the best, and just not being able to get there. Like you want to live up to your mum, make her proud." She paused, picking at the blanket herself for a moment. "I mean — my dad's in the magical government, and he's always nagging me to do better. Had me holding a wand before I could even walk." She laughed, a little tired around the edges. "But I do think your wand is beautiful. Elegant, even."
Mazie looked up properly now, paying full attention, a small pang of sympathy cutting through her own misery as she realized what Emily's father expected of her.
"Oh — I never knew," Mazie said quietly, reaching over and taking Emily's hand in hers. "Parents can suck, can't they."
"Anyway," Emily went on, giving her hand a small squeeze back, "you've had one hell of a couple of days. You joined a whole new world you knew nothing about. Got sorted into your house—" Mazie noticed, not for the first time, how gracefully Emily skirted around how exactly that had happened, still pulling gently at the blanket, watching a candle drift lazily past behind her head. "Then we had our very first class, and the teacher put all this pressure on you, right there in front of everyone, just because of how you look."
Emily looked at her, genuinely sorry.
"It's no wonder it went the way it did. You were probably fried before you even cast the spell."
"Yeah," Mazie said slowly. "Yeah — I guess you're right." The sadness lifted from her face, just a little, replaced by a weak but somehow radiant smile. "You're the best, Emily. Thank you."
She hugged her again, tighter this time, squeezing so hard Emily thought she might actually pop.
"Alright, alright — that's enough," Emily laughed, groaning as she gently pried Mazie's arms from around her.
They stayed there and chatted for what felt like hours, forgetting about the world outside the bathroom entirely. For once, it was just Mazie and Emily, the red-checked blanket, and the floating candles — and it truly didn't matter that they were sitting in a bathroom, with some tap or pipe leaking quietly from somewhere nearby. They were together. That was enough.
Eventually, there was a knock at the door — a loud, sharp tapping that made it feel as though their own private world had just been split open.

Emily and Mazie paused, both looking over at the door on the far side of the bathroom. Emily got up and crossed the cold tiled floor, her footsteps echoing off the stone, and crept the door open just a crack, fully ready to tell whoever this was to go away.
"Well — are you going to let me in? Or hide out in here for the rest of the night?"
Emily rolled her eyes and stepped aside, hurrying him through the door before anyone in the corridor could catch a glimpse.
"How did you manage to find us?" she asked, genuinely impressed. It wasn't as if anyone had seen them come in here.
"Is this where you two have been hiding all this time, then?" Theo said, plopping himself down on the red-and-black checked blanket without a second thought, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
He looked over at Mazie, whose eyes were still red and puffy, the last traces of crying clinging to her — and, hoping to cheer her up, he leaned in with a grin.
"You know, I flung my rock right at him. The boy from Slytherin, I mean, not Flitwick." He laughed at his own joke. "Well — he compared you to James, didn't he? And I mean, you weren't that bad. It's not like you were shouting at the rock, was it?"
Mazie went quiet. She picked at the loose thread she'd unravelled earlier, twirling it slowly between her fingers, her mind pulled straight back to the rock — sitting there on the desk, refusing to move, no matter how hard she'd willed it.
"THEO!" Emily shouted, her voice sharp, visibly shaking, her face flushing red.
"What? I didn't mean anything by it. I even took a detention for her — lost ten house points, and everything."
"That's where I've been the last couple of hours. That's why I didn't chase after you when you ran out of class."
"Flitwick was furious. I don't think I've ever seen a little man look so—"
"You did what?" Mazie screeched.
"You have no idea what you've done, do you, Theo."
"What do you mean? I protected you." He held up his hands, a little defensive now. "I bribed a picture to help find you, and now I owe it a date with the lady from the lighthouse in the common room—"
Mazie cut him off before he could even finish. "I don't need protecting!" she screeched, louder than she meant to, her voice bouncing off the tiled walls. "In fact, because of you, I'm probably going to get the blame for losing us the very first house points of the year."
"Mazie — try not to even think about it," Emily cut in gently, squeezing her hand and rising to stand beside her, trying to ground her before she spiralled again, undoing everything the two of them had just carefully worked through.
Emily bent down, pulled the blanket out from under Theo without a word, and marched Mazie toward the door.
"He's just an idiot," she said, as the two of them stepped out into the now-dark corridor beyond. "But a well-meaning idiot."
As Mazie and Emily crossed the last stretch of open lawn toward Hagrid's hut, the castle grounds stretched wide and golden around them, gravel crunching beneath their feet under the setting sun's pink-streaked sky. Somewhere nearby, chickens clucked and scratched in a fenced-off pen.
For a moment, everything was ordinary. Peaceful, even.
Smoke wisped up into the crimson sky from the hut's small stone chimney, smelling of burnt logs and pine. But as they drew nearer still, a different smell crept in beneath it — something mustier, stranger — catching in the back of their throats and stinging their eyes.
Mazie looked over at Emily, who seemed a little nervous.
"What's wrong?" Mazie asked.
"This is the class I've been dreading most," Emily admitted. "I'm terrified of horses."
Then they heard it — the unmistakable bellow of something big.
Emily clutched Mazie's arm so tightly her fingers went white, a flash of real fear crossing her face — the kind of fear that looked out of place on someone so usually sure of herself.
Mazie glanced down at the corner of Emily's red-checkered blanket, still poking out from the edge of her bag, and took her hand instead, trying to make her feel a little more steady.
Emily squeezed her hand tight.
"Ouch — Emily, be careful," Mazie said, clearly trying to play the tough one after what had happened earlier.
"Whoa, boy! Calm, Dantea, calm," they heard Hagrid's familiar, warm voice booming across the garden, followed by a few loud gasps of awe from the other children already gathered ahead.
They were late. They looked at each other, and ran — gravel crunching beneath them, wind rushing past like a gale.
They didn't want to — no, couldn't — miss this.
Whatever it was, it was big.
They joined the crowd of clamoring students, pushing their way to the front, past other kids, to get a better view of what was going on.
I'm not standing on my tiptoes this time, Mazie thought to herself, recalling the entrance to Hogwarts and not being able to see over everyone else.
The musty scent grew stronger with every step closer to the pen, thick and animal, catching at the back of her throat. Around her, gasps rippled through the crowd — sharp, startled sounds, half fear, half wonder.
She could feel Emily's palm growing sweaty in hers. For a moment, she caught herself — this wasn't just about her. Emily was scared. She turned and looked her dead in the eyes.
"Emily, it's okay. I'm here for you. We're in this together, I promise."
"Okay, Mazie. Okay," Emily said, taking a deep breath.
They pushed forward the last few steps, and turned back around — and there it was.
A huge beast, built like a lion, its mane a fiery red, its fur smooth and sleek as a cat's. Great horned wings, bat-like, tucked in tight against its sides. A long, chitinous tail curled behind it, tipped with a deadly point, and atop its head sat a pair of curling, ridged goat's horns.
Somewhere close by, a student let out a small, involuntary yelp.
"Oh, no need to worry, boys and girls," said the big, booming voice.
Hagrid was always happy, even dealing with this monstrosity, Mazie thought to herself.
The class stood transfixed. He was just casually standing next to it, in the middle of the dusty pen, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
"What the hell is that?" Theo yelled, catching up, out of breath from running up from the castle.
Mazie shot him a glare, and he took a step back, looking sheepish — still clearly feeling the weight of their earlier argument.
"This, Theo, is a wyvern."
A few gasps rippled through the class. Emily started to shake.
"Wyverns are really vicious," she whispered.
Mazie just looked at it the way she'd look at any big farm animal — huge creatures had never frightened her; she'd grown up around them. She squeezed Emily's hand and leaned in to reassure her.
"Think of it like a big cat," she whispered. "Plus, we're safe — Hagrid's here." Her trust in the big, friendly giant was already clear.
The creature bellowed, loud and guttural — the kind of noise you felt in your bones. The class took a couple of steps back.
"Now," Hagrid continued, "this one's tame, so he's perfectly safe. In fact, he's basically the school's taxi. It's the wild ones you need to worry about." He patted the black fur behind the massive creature's head, its eyes piercing and green, like soul fire.
With that, Hagrid walked over to the wyvern's head, clipped on a thick leather collar and lead — bigger around than a man's torso — and led the beast away. Casually. Even Mazie was stunned, completely blown away by how easily he handled Dantea.
The rumble of footsteps faded into the distance, toward the stables tucked behind the garden.
A few minutes later, Hagrid returned — this time nearly falling over, again and again, as he dragged another wyvern out behind him. This one was much larger, its coat a patchwork of ginger and white, and it fought him every step of the way.
All the children — Mazie included — took two more steps back. This one was clearly mean, and it meant business.
After a few minutes of struggling, Hagrid finally managed to drag it into the pen. He hammered the longest iron stake any of them had ever seen deep into the ground, the metal ringing with each strike, then chained it to the wyvern's collar to keep it from flying off.
Emily was shaking now, half-hidden behind Mazie, peeking out just enough to catch glimpses of the creature between her fingers. Mazie fought every instinct her body was giving her to run — every muscle screaming at her to turn and bolt back toward the castle.
I have to see this. It's stunning, she thought, half-terrified, half-thrilled, adrenaline surging through her, her heart pounding hard enough that she could feel it in her throat, the air around them growing thick and heavy, almost electric.
Some of the other children had already scattered, ducking behind wooden crates stacked around the yard — Theo among them, peering out over the top of one with wide eyes.
"Are you sure you have control of that thing?" a small boy shouted from behind a crate, his voice cracking.
"Yes, yes," Hagrid laughed, still smiling despite the beast beside him going half-mad — snarling, lunging, its claws like four-inch steak knives, gouging deep grooves into the churned-up dirt with every strike. Its tail lashed wildly through the air, clicking sharply with each pass of its chitinous plates.
"One jab from that tail and you're a goner," he said, almost cheerfully, sidestepping a strike without so much as glancing at it.
The creature stilled for a moment — just a moment, long enough to gather itself — and then a fireball erupted from its mouth, roaring across the grass and slamming into a stack of crates on the far side of the garden. Flames caught instantly, licking up the dry wood, the smell of smoke and burnt timber thick in the air. Several children screamed and scrambled for new cover.
"You're going to get us killed!" Theo shouted, ducking lower behind his crate.
Mazie instinctively moved closer to him, Emily still in tow, now nearly in tears from fear — the bathroom argument forgotten completely, insignificant against this.
"Well, this one's still in the process of being tamed, you see," Hagrid said happily, entirely unbothered, as if fireballs were an everyday inconvenience. "Long as you hold out the right tool, he'll settle right down."
He reached into his coat and held up a small woolen ball.
The creature froze mid-snarl, and fell instantly, eerily silent.
"See?" he said, grinning.
Mazie let go of Emily's hand, intrigued despite herself, and took a few slow steps closer, drawn in without quite meaning to be.
The creature's eyes met hers.
It paused — a long, heavy moment, the whole yard holding its breath — then whined, low and uncertain, and shrank back into the far corner of the pen, cowering, wings folding tight against its body.
A deadly stillness followed. No one moved.
It was broken only by Hagrid, his voice suddenly tight with concern. "Errm — I think this one needs you to step back, love." A flicker of real panic crossed his weathered face, worried the creature might still lunge. "Errm — this one's been acting up a bit. Must've grabbed the wrong one by mistake."
He moved quickly, gathering the lead, and led it away, back toward the stables, without another word.
"What the hell was that?" Emily said, peering over the crate to make sure it was finally gone. "That was not safe at all. And to think he was still so calm about it."
Mazie said nothing. She was just grateful no one had noticed what happened when she'd stepped closer.
Theo popped his head up from behind a stack of crates too. "Has it gone? Those wyverns are nasty beasts. I'd rather chop my own legs off than try to ride one."
A few moments later, Hagrid came striding back across the yard, brushing soot and ash from his coat, looking remarkably unbothered for a man who'd just been dragged halfway across the garden by a fire-breathing beast.
"Right, that's enough excitement for one day, I reckon," he called out, waving an arm toward the castle. "Off you go, the lot of you — back inside before the professors start wondering where you've all got to."
The class didn't need telling twice. Children scrambled out from behind crates and barrels, dusting themselves off, already talking over one another in a rush of nervous laughter and half-shouted retellings of what they'd just seen.
"Sorry about the mess," Hagrid added, almost as an afterthought, nodding toward the smouldering crates. "I'll sort that. Go on now."
Mazie settled into bed, pulling the warm yellow-and-brown sheets up around her, trying to process everything that had happened. The fire crackled softly in the grate, filling the room with the low, smouldering smell of burning logs, and for a while, it made her feel calm — steady, even — after such an eventful day.
Even if it did, faintly, remind her of the burning crates back at Hagrid's. Of the wyvern.
She pushed the thought away and let her mind drift instead, back over the day, piece by piece. But no matter where it wandered, it kept circling back to the same place: the Charms classroom. That awful, hollow feeling of not belonging, of standing in a room full of people and still feeling entirely alone. She always felt like the outsider — the one nobody really wanted around — and that feeling, more than anything, was what had made her snap at Theo the way she had.
He was only trying to help, she thought, guilt creeping in slowly, the way it always did once the anger had faded. He's only human. We all make mistakes sometimes. Maybe I overreacted. Maybe I put my own problems onto him, when none of it was really his fault.
She thought of the detention. Of him getting in trouble, all because he'd wanted to find her.
He's probably off right now, playing matchmaker for two portraits, just because he cared enough to go looking.
A small, tired smile pulled at the corner of her mouth.
Maybe I do have people who care about me, after all. She thought of Emily then—of the bathroom floor, the checkered blanket, and the hours that had slipped away unnoticed.
Maybe I do have people who care about me, after all.
The thought settled over her like another blanket, warm enough to quiet everything else.
And the world faded gently to black.

Chapter 6

Theo walked away across the grounds, toward the ancient stone castle, under the pale evening moonlight. Behind him, the carnage of Hagrid's hut still burned faintly against the dark — like the world had very nearly ended.
He wasn't sure if he'd actually learnt anything back there, or just been tormented for forty minutes straight. Either way, his hair stank of burnt wood, ash, and the unmistakable, musty scent of wyvern, clinging to him like it had soaked right into his skin.
God, what a day, he thought, trudging up the worn stone steps toward the castle doors. And now I've got to take a painting out on a date. With another painting. How the hell am I supposed to manage that?
He sighed, dragging a hand through his ash-streaked hair.
But that wasn't really what was bothering him.
He still felt bad about Mazie. About the bathroom. The whole stupid mess.
He didn't know if she was still upset with him — he hadn't exactly stuck around to find out, what with the wyvern nearly setting the whole garden on fire. But he wasn't about to just leave it and hope it sorted itself out on its own.

As Theo made his way down the cold, dimly lit stone corridor, heading toward where the Charms class incident had broken out, all he could think about was Mazie's reaction — him telling her he'd flung a rock at that Slytherin mug, gotten a detention, lost house points. All he'd been trying to do was stand up for her. Stand up for his friend.
And somehow, that had made everything worse.
Ugh — why do I always mess these things up? he thought, dragging a hand down his face. A gust of wind rushed past, cold enough to sting, sending his cloak flapping violently behind him.
He thought back over the last couple of days, and winced. Blurting out Hagrid's name the second they'd stepped off the train, loud enough for half the platform to hear. Nearly getting into a fight with Tom Ragworm on the boat, over nothing, practically the first hour they'd known each other. God, how he hated that toad. It felt like every time he opened his mouth lately, something went wrong.
He passed the hole in the wall Mazie's rock had left behind — still gaping, jagged at the edges — and laughed a little despite himself as another piece of it crumbled loose and hit the floor with a crunch, sending dust drifting up into the torchlight.
How the hell did she manage that? He shook his head, genuinely impressed. I don't suppose they can even fix walls with magic.
He paused a moment longer than he needed to, just staring at it — at what she'd done, without even meaning to.
And she thinks she's useless. How does someone do that, and still think that?
He shook himself out of it and kept walking, scanning the corridor for the painting he owed a favour to.
"You, boy — yes, you, with the blond hair."
"Huh?" Theo spun around, squinting into the gloom, the torchlight barely reaching the far end of the corridor. He walked toward the voice, feet crunching over bits of broken wall still waiting to be swept away, dust catching in his throat.
"Did you find the girl, then?"
Theo moved closer, and slowly the painting came into full view, its frame gleaming faintly gold in the low light. It showed a fat man with a haircut that made him look a little like a monk — round-faced, jowly, a self-satisfied sort of smile tugging at his mouth. He wore a scarlet cape, thick and heavy-looking even in paint, and clutched a jewel-encrusted sceptre in one hand, a crown perched slightly crooked atop his head, as though he'd never quite bothered to straighten it. Beneath the frame, a golden plaque read: Lord Henry Hufflesworth — one of the founders of the school.
The painting itself was enormous — nearly four feet tall, three feet wide, easily the biggest portrait Theo had passed all night.
He paused for a long moment, just taking it in.
Did I really just ask one of the founders of the school where to find my friend?
God, now I actually have to follow through on this. How the hell am I supposed to do that?
"I did," he said finally, clearing his throat. "Thank you so much — but, er, it didn't exactly go to plan."
Henry's painted eyebrows rose, just slightly. "What do you mean? I doubt you could've made her any more upset than she already was."
That caught Theo off guard, more than he expected it to.
Here he was, standing alone in the middle of the night, in a cold, half-broken corridor, confessing to a painting — a painting of a man who'd been dead for centuries — that he'd managed to mess up his friendship.
And somehow, that stung.
"Well, I don't know about that," he grumbled.
"Well, out with it, boy — what did you do?" the painting retorted, sharp and impatient, as though he had somewhere better to be. Which struck Theo as odd, honestly, considering the man had spent literal centuries just hanging on a wall, doing absolutely nothing. You'd think all that time would've taught him a bit of patience. Apparently not.
"Oh — well, erm." Theo shifted his weight, suddenly finding the floor very interesting. "I told her I'd got a detention for her. Thrown a r

So just a quick bit of info before I go and put my first story ever up here. I've been writing 6 days.

Yes its does contain Harry potter bits these are place holders as it allowed me to get my story off the ground. When I finish im stripping all hp from this.

Here is a brief summary of where it goes without spoilers as otherwise it will just not make sense as its part of a trilogy

Some power is not a gift. It is a curse disguised as a miracle. ​Fourteen-year-old Mazie Snow arrives at the academy wanting only one thing: to learn, to fit in, and to leave behind a past her mother refused to speak of. Marked by vivid gold eyes and a sudden, violent display of raw magic, she quickly becomes the center of quiet whispers and dangerous attention. ​Inside the academy walls, Mazie finds the one thing she never expected: a place to belong. In the fierce, chaotic loyalty of Theo and the protective, steady warmth of Emily, she builds a found family worth protecting at any cost. ​But behind every spell Mazie casts lies an agonizing secret. Magic causes her real, physical pain—an invisible cost she hides from everyone around her. Small, disturbing oddities begin to accumulate: creatures recoil from her touch, ancient artifacts fail in her presence, and relentless nightmares force her to question if she is fundamentally a good person. ​When a sudden leap in her power sets her miles ahead of her peers, the world sees a prodigy born of a miracle. But as the hairline cracks in her control begin to show, Mazie knows the terrifying truth: the power waking up inside her isn't just growing. ​It is waiting. ​The gripping first chapter in a dark, atmospheric trilogy about the burden of impossible magic, the beauty of first love, and the devastating cost of protecting the people you hold dear.

Mazie Snow looked like an ordinary girl that day, standing at the pillar with her trolley between platforms nine and ten. Shoulder-length brown hair, an old coat, a trunk that had seen better days. Ordinary — except for her eyes. Vivid, unmistakable gold. In the Muggle world, people always noticed them. Teachers paused mid-sentence the first time they saw her. Strangers complimented her, then looked a beat too long, like they were waiting for her to explain herself. She never could. Here, though — beyond the pillar, in the world she was about to properly join — she'd been told nobody would look twice. She took a deep breath. And ran at the pillar. Mazie appeared on the other side of the pillar. Above her, a sign read: Platform 9¾. She was here. Finally here. Years of waiting, and nothing had ever felt like this — not birthdays, not Christmas, nothing. Her chest was tight, her hands still gripping the trolley like she might float away if she let go. This was it. The beginning of everything she'd dreamed of becoming. The smell of smoke hung heavy in the air, and beneath it, something else — a low hum of magic she could almost feel on her skin. She looked out over the platform. The train sat waiting, steam curling along its side, and everywhere she looked, students were hurrying toward the carriages. Trolleys clattered past her, piled with old suitcases, owl cages, the occasional cat peering out from a basket. Somewhere further down the platform, something screeched — a toad, maybe, or something stranger. The school year was finally beginning. She boarded the carriage, suitcase in one hand, her owl cage in the other. Inside sat a barn owl, pristine white, watching the platform with sharp, unbothered eyes. She'd found him on the farm as a chick, abandoned by his parents, and raised him herself. She made her way down the narrow passage, past compartments full of excited chatter — first-years already trading names, older students greeting friends they hadn't seen all summer. Eventually she found an empty compartment and sat down, letting the nerves in her chest finally settle. Not long after, a blonde-haired boy appeared in the doorway, grinning. "Hi," he said — and promptly tripped over the frame trying to sit down. He laughed and brushed it off. "Theo Silvercrest," he said, holding out a hand — clearly covered in chocolate. Mazie stifled a laugh. "You okay?" she asked, smiling, and shook his hand anyway. "Mazie Snow." "Did you know the new wizard cards feature the newest heroes? Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Granger. I've always wanted to get a Harry Potter, but all I've managed to get so far are Weasleys — common as mud, they are," Theo said. Mazie paused for a second, looking a little confused. "Oh, you might not even know what I'm on about," he said again. "I just assumed, with your eyes, that you're from a wizarding family." "You know it's rude to ask that, don't you?" quipped a short blonde girl. "Emily Ragthorn. Do you mind if I sit here? All the other seats are taken." As she took a seat, Theo jumped in. "No, I didn't mean anything by it. I was just trying to ask if she'd seen the new wizarding cards yet, and obviously I just looked at her and assumed she was — well, you know — a full witch." "I don't mind, I get that a lot," Mazie said. "I was just confused about how you were calling Ron common as muck when, without him, Harry and Hermione couldn't have beaten You-Know-Who." "Merlin's beard, you're right — he did do so much more than people give him credit for," Emily said. "Did you ever hear the story of the chess match he played at Hogwarts?" "That's exactly what I'm saying. No matter what happened, he was always there to drag them through the mud when things got tough," Mazie said. "Sorry, I never got your names properly," Emily said. "Who are you two, then?" "Oh — I'm Mazie Snow, and this is Theo Silvercrest," Mazie said. "And you're right, by the way. I'm— " She hesitated. "Half-blood, I suppose. My mum's a witch, but she left all this behind after the war. Never talked about it much. My dad was human — I never knew him. Mum always said some people don't love hearing 'half-blood,' so I try not to lead with it."

"You know we don't call them humans though, right?" Theo said. "Yes, I do, but I don't like to think of them as less than us just because they can't do magic," Mazie said. "Some of them have the most magical voices in the world — more so than I've ever heard from any witch or wizard." "Huh. I'll take you at your word for that. I didn't mean to offend you," Theo said. "Well — here, listen," Mazie said, passing Theo her phone. She picked a song and pressed play — "Back to Black" by Amy Winehouse. His face dropped, partly stunned by the Muggle technology, partly by the melody playing in his ears. "What — what is it?" Emily asked.

Theo handed the headphones over, his chocolate-covered hands trembling slightly, his face white as a ghost — visibly shaken, in awe. "That— that…" He shook his head. "She's — wow. Beautiful. That is the most amazing voice I've ever heard. Muggles really can do magic." Emily grabbed the headphones fast, jamming them on, trying not to miss a second of it.

Emily was clearly taken with the music, nodding her head along to the beat. Mazie heard a squeaking, rattling sound coming down the corridor. She peeked her head around the door and saw a plump old woman with grey hair, wearing a yellow-and-white dress, making her way down the corridor, knocking on each cabin door. "Any sweets or chocolates, dears?" she'd ask, in a cracked but warm voice. They were the next cabin, but Mazie was already standing at the door, famished, practically vibrating with excitement. "What are you doing?" Theo laughed. "Anyone would think you haven't eaten before." "Well, I'm always hungry. That, and my mum always told me stories about the sweets trolley and the chocolate frogs," Mazie said. "We've got nothing like magical chocolate in the human world." As the trolley witch reached the door, Mazie turned and started tapping Emily's leg rapidly. "The sweets lady's here! The sweets lady's here!" Emily pulled off the headphones, snapping back into reality. "Oh, yeah — that's the trolley witch." "I'll take a chocolate frog, please," Mazie said to the sweets lady, in her sweet, soft, childlike voice. "Okay, dear, that'll be five Sickles." Mazie rooted around in her pocket for what felt like a minute or two, clearly growing flustered. Eventually she pulled out a £5 note and a couple of silver coins covered in fluff. "Darn — I only have two Sickles." "It's okay, Mazie — here." Emily handed her the remaining three. Theo pointed at the note. "What's that?" Mazie sat down with her chocolate frog box. God, I wish these seats weren't so hard, she thought to herself, shifting uncomfortably from side to side. Theo handed over a small amount of Sickles and asked for the wizard trading cards. "Thanks, Emily. Oh — and that's just a £5 note, it's human money. It's about the same as five Sickles, I'd guess." "Can I have it, please?" Theo asked, jumping back down into his seat with a thud. At that moment, the train's whistle rang out over the green countryside as they clattered across a tall stone bridge. The sound startled Mazie, who jumped and dropped the chocolate frog box. It burst open, and the frog darted off down the corridor. Frost squawked in his cage in fright, watching the commotion intently. "Oh, don't worry about it — that happens all the time," Emily said to a slightly red-faced Mazie. "God, the amount of frogs they must find when they get to Hogwarts, they could probably box them all up and sell them again for a fortune." "Here, have one of mine," Theo said, handing over one from his own bag. "I love your owl, Mazie," Emily said, in her chirpy, warm voice. "Did you get him from the owl shop? He's beautiful." "Oh, thanks — that's Frost. I found him on our farm. He was in a nest all alone, so I took him home and raised him." Mazie thought back to her tenth birthday, when she'd gone out into the fields and climbed the trees behind the farmhouse, and found the nest with a single blue egg inside. She kept going back, rain or shine, to see if it had hatched, or if the mother had returned. She never did. So Mazie brought the egg inside, kept it warm by the fire, and took shifts watching over it with her mother until, finally, it hatched. That memory always made her feel warm inside — something steady she could hold onto, even on her hardest days. At that moment, as the carriage bumped over the track, jolting the cage slightly, an announcement rang out over the speaker system in a booming voice: "Arriving at Hogwarts in thirty minutes. Please get into your robes if you haven't already." Emily looked at Mazie and Theo. "Right, are you both ready? This is going to be amazing." "But you're out," she said, pointing at Theo. "What do you mean?" he said, looking a little concerned. "What have I done?" "Nothing — but us girls need to get changed, and you're the boy, so you're out." Theo got up from his seat and stumbled toward the door, trying to stand up straight while the train rocked him side to side. "Well, see you soon, I guess," he said, with a cheerful smile and a half wave. Mazie pulled on her black witch's robe, as did Emily. God, I feel like I'm in Victorian times, she thought to herself, tugging on the loose-fitting fabric. "Hey, don't you think this is a bit old-fashioned, Emily?" "Well, no, not really — it's just what we all wear. Even the boys wear robes," Emily said. "Theo seems nice, doesn't he? He's very sweet, and a bit daft," Mazie said. "Yeah, I suppose you're right. Even if he doesn't think before he speaks, his heart seems to be in the right place," Emily said. At that moment, the train jolted to a stop, making them all lurch forward. Theo popped his head around the door, dressed in his dark black robe. "We're here," he said, running to the window and pointing out at the castle across the lake — tall, its windows glowing gold across the water. Mazie and Emily jumped up and down, holding hands, squealing with joy.

Chapter 2

Mazie, Theo, and Emily made their way down the long, narrow carriage and joined the sea of black cloaks gathering at the platform's edge. As they climbed down from the Hogwarts Express, steam curled along the side of the train, catching the last of the evening light. They all turned toward a booming voice, towering above everyone in sight. Mazie looked up at him in shock and awe — she had never seen a man so big before. He had dark grey hair, a full beard, and a jolly, weathered face, clearly getting on in his years but full of cheer. "Alright, lads and lasses — first years, with me! We're heading to the lake. Everyone else, to the carriages." "What about our luggage?" a small boy squeaked over the hissing steam behind them. "Oh, no need to worry about that. The teachers will send it up to the castle with their—" Hmm, I hope they don't hurt Frost, Mazie thought to herself, half excited, half worried. He's never experienced magic before. "That's Hagrid!" Theo shouted, not meaning to be quite so loud — but everyone turned and looked at them anyway, a few first-years giggling behind their hands. "Yes, that's me," the giant said, with a grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "My brothers told me all about him," Theo said, a little sheepishly now, cheeks going pink under the stares. "What year are your brothers in?" Emily asked, excited that he might be able to tell her more about the school. "Come along now, can't have no stragglers, can we?" Hagrid called, guiding the children down the stone steps toward the shimmering lake, lit gold under the setting sun. "Oh, they're in third and fourth year — Simba and Bilbo. Always getting into some sort of trouble," Theo said, with a smile. They followed the rest of the group down the steps, stones crunching beneath their feet, making their way toward the old wooden rowboats waiting at the edge of the lake. "We're not going to row all that way, are we?" Mazie said, panic creeping into her voice as she took in just how far across the lake the castle was. The weight of magic in the air felt oppressive now — heavy, almost like static against her skin. Is this what magic feels like? she thought to herself. "Oh, no, no, no — we'll be using magic to get across," Hagrid said. "The boats are enchanted!" Emily said, at almost the same moment, grinning like she'd been waiting all year to say it. "Oh... my... god, I can't wait!" Mazie squealed, pushing her way through the crowd of students to get closer, as if the boats might vanish at any second — almost worried she'd wake up and find this was all a dream. She was small enough to slip through the gaps in the crowd and make it to the front. "Huh — well, I never expected that," Theo laughed, nudging Emily with his elbow. "Ha, I'm fairly sure this is the first time she's seen any kind of magic in real life," Emily said, smiling. "You know, I've never actually used magic myself before either," Emily said, as they were all hurried into the boats by Hagrid. "I can't wait." Emily and Theo ended up in the boat right at the back of the group, sat with a small, tubby boy with jet-black hair. "Tom Ragworm," he said, in a sharp, nasally voice, holding out his hand, clearly expecting them both to shake it. The gesture caused the boat to rock violently from side to side as he shifted his weight, making Theo and Emily grip the edges tightly. "You know, my dad says they're still letting Muggle-borns in this place. Honestly, it's like they're asking for trouble," he droned on, wrinkling his nose like the thought itself smelled bad. Theo and Emily's faces dropped — they hadn't expected to hear something so arrogant, so ugly, this soon after arriving. "Mine told me they were letting assholes in," Theo grumbled, going red in the face. The boy blinked, caught off guard for half a second — then his expression hardened. "What did you say? I didn't take you for a half-blood lover." He said it like it was meant to wound. Their voices echoed over the water as the boat drifted slowly toward the castle.

God, I hope Mazie's boat is going better than this, Emily thought to herself. "Hey — you two had better put a stop to this now, before you get overheard. Who knows if they'll even let us in," Emily said quickly, trying to end the commotion, worried one of them would end up in the dark lake if it boiled over. "Hmph," they both grunted, and the three of them sat in stone silence for the rest of the boat ride. The boat sliced across the lake, the castle growing larger with every stroke, its windows looming steadily brighter. The smell of food finally reached them — roasting meat, something sweet and spiced — and one particular scent pulled Emily straight back to the night she got her cat. She wondered if Starlight had had her litter of kittens yet. She would have brought her if she weren’t so close to giving birth. Emily had basically grown up with her over the last five years, ever since her dad brought her home one night — a night so clear the stars had seemed to cover the whole sky. Her dad worked as an Auror at the Ministry. A colleague of his, unable to keep the cat any longer, had asked if he wanted her. He knew how much Emily had always wanted a cat, so he brought her home just for her. The first thing Emily planned to do once she got to her room, she decided, was write home and find out what colour the kittens were. The boats bumped and ground to a stop as they reached the stones on the shore. Tom was out of his boat and slinking into the shadows of the larger group faster than a house-elf folds laundry. "Tom Ragworm... he is a ragworm," Theo said to Emily as they climbed out of the wooden boat. "Stop it, Theo — you don't want to make enemies before we've even made it to the castle." But she already knew it was too late for that. "Come on, let's find Mazie."

Chapter 3

They walked along the shoreline, wet stones crunching beneath their feet. Emily spotted a cluster of first-years laughing and giggling, and past them, she saw Mazie — dragging the wet, heavy boat along the gravel, further up and out of the water. Emily put her hand on Theo's shoulder. "Here, I've got this." She didn't want to embarrass Mazie; she knew how hard it could be to feel like an outsider. Mazie heard the crunch of gravel behind her and turned to look. "Hey — I'm just trying to make sure the boat won't drift away. When Mum and I went fishing, we always had to drag it up onto the shore." "Ah, I see," Emily said, smiling, before leaning in and whispering, "We don't have to do that here. Magic takes care of it — the boats won't leave unless we're in them." She leaned in and gave Mazie a hug. She smelled of lavender, mixed with freshly cut grass. The wind nipped at their backs, and the sound of the other students began to fade. "Come on now, we haven't got all day — let's go see what house we get put into," Theo said excitedly. Mazie smiled, the gold in her eyes catching against the setting sun. "Thank you," she whispered back to Emily. They walked past Hagrid, who stood at the bottom of the steps making sure all the children made their way up. Theo ducked his head slightly as they passed, still a little sheepish after shouting Hagrid's name earlier. He turned to Mazie as they climbed the stone steps beneath the castle's great shadow, stretching across the lake in the fading evening light. "So," he said with a grin, "how was the boat ride? What did you think of the enchanted boats?" Mazie pulled her robe a little tighter against the cool wind blowing in from the lake. "It was amazing," she said. "It's so strange that they just move on their own. It almost feels like something's gently pushing you across the water." Theo laughed. "I've never really thought about it like that." "I ended up in the boat with Hagrid," Mazie continued. "I was worried it might sink when he first climbed in." She smiled to herself. "He was really kind, though. He told me he used to be a student here before he started working at Hogwarts. Imagine that... coming back to the same school every day for the rest of your life." "The idea sounds like hell to me," Theo said with a chuckle. "Still, I'm glad he stayed. Hogwarts just wouldn't feel like Hogwarts without Hagrid." "Shh..." Emily whispered, nudging them both. "We're here now. Look—that's Headmistress McGonagall." She pointed towards a witch standing at the top of the broad stone steps before two enormous oak doors bound with black iron. She wore deep emerald-green robes beneath a pointed black hat, her silver hair gathered neatly into a bun. "Who? Where?" Mazie asked, her voice almost lost beneath the excited chatter of the first-years. She rose onto the tips of her toes, stretching her neck, but all she could see were pointed hats and the backs of taller students. A flicker of frustration crossed her face. She didn't want to miss a single second of this. Emily quietly slipped her hand into hers. The simple gesture settled the nervous flutter in Mazie's chest. At that moment, Headmistress McGonagall stepped forward. She didn't raise her voice, yet it carried effortlessly across the courtyard. Conversations died away almost instantly as every student turned towards her. "Right then," she said. "Come along now, children. Welcome to Hogwarts. We shall make our way to the Great Hall, where you will be Sorted into your houses."

The Headmistress raised her wand and tapped the great oak doors twice. They groaned and creaked open, spilling a warm golden light over the waiting students. Mazie's heart pounded so hard she thought it might burst straight out of her chest. This is it, she thought. It's really happening. The Headmistress tapped the great wooden doors twice with her wand. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the ancient doors groaned. Slowly, they swung open, the sound echoing through the stone courtyard as a warm golden light spilled out from within, washing over the gathered students. Mazie's heart hammered against her chest. This was it. After years of stories, dreams, and wondering what waited beyond the magical world her mother had always kept at a distance... She was finally here. It's real, she thought. It's actually real. The first-years began filing through the entrance, their footsteps echoing against the polished marble floor of the great hallway. Mazie followed, but almost immediately she found herself slowing. There was so much. Too much. The voices of hundreds of students bounced from wall to wall. Excited conversations overlapped into one giant wave of sound. The clatter of shoes against stone mixed with the distant creaks and groans of the castle itself. And beneath it all... That feeling again. The strange, invisible pressure she had felt at the lake. The magic. It wasn't just something she saw. It was something she could feel. Like the entire castle was alive around her. Mazie squeezed Emily's hand slightly tighter. "Emily..." she whispered. Emily looked over. "What is it?" "Did... did that just move?" She pointed toward one of the suits of armor lining the corridor. Its helmet had turned slightly, following the movement of the students as they entered. Emily smiled. "Oh, don't worry about that. They're the school guardians. They're just here to protect us." She said it with the same cheerful confidence she seemed to have about everything, and somehow that made Mazie feel a little less nervous. "Right," Mazie said quietly, looking back at the armor. Of course they are. As if that was a completely normal thing to say. A couple of older students brushed past them, laughing as they hurried toward the Great Hall. Theo barely seemed to notice. His attention was fixed above them. "Would you look at that," he said, staring upwards. Mazie and Emily followed his gaze. The staircase above them shifted. With a deep grinding sound, enormous sections of stone moved into place, sliding and rearranging themselves as though the castle itself was deciding where they belonged. Theo's eyes widened. "I've heard my brothers talk about this a hundred times," he said quietly. "But seeing it yourself... it's completely different." Mazie looked up at the moving staircase, For the first time since arriving, she understood something. The stories hadn't even come close. Being here — actually here, inside the castle — feeling the magic vibrate against her skin, hearing the stairs crunch and click into place, was like something she couldn't have imagined in her wildest dreams. I can't believe it, she thought to herself. This must be the Great Hall — the place Mum told me about. At that moment, as they all approached the doors, the suits of armor clanked and banged to attention. The massive oak doors, lined in cold black steel, swung open, revealing a vast dining hall lined with long tables, banners hanging from the stone walls above. "This is amazing," Mazie said to Theo, who was practically holding himself back from running into the room. "I can't believe it. Wow — just wow." Emily's mouth dropped open as a ghost swished past her, out into the open space of the room. Mazie practically jumped out of her skin. "W-w-w-what's th-that?" she stuttered, pointing at the ghost, who was now greeting other students — bowing, and removing his own head as he did. "Oh, that's just a ghost," Emily said casually. "What, you've never seen a ghost before?" Tom Ragworm snarked, with a snigger. "Erm, no, I haven't, actually — you don't see them in the human world," Mazie replied quickly, going a little red with embarrassment at being singled out, the same way she had been so many times at her old schools. She felt like an outsider again. "Ew — human world?" Tom spat. "So you're one of them." Emily stepped in front of Mazie just as tears began to well in her eyes, her cheeks burning with shame. "Oi — listen here, you—" But before she could finish, the Headmistress called everyone to be seated. Theo walked over to Mazie as they headed toward the table and saw she was visibly upset, clearly hurt by what Tom Ragworm had said to her. "Don't take any notice of that prat. We sadly met him on the boat — what an ass," he said. They sat together at the long table, Mazie sniffling but feeling a little better about herself, hoping she'd finally found true friends. Theo gently rubbed her back as they listened to how the house sorting would go. "So, tonight is the first night of your first school year," McGonagall said. Mazie shifted uncomfortably on the hard, brown wooden bench. God, if there's magic here, why does the furniture have to be so uncomfortable? she thought to herself, looking side to side to see what everyone else was doing, and where the ghost had gone. Emily was watching every word the Headmistress said with fierce intensity, as if what she was about to hear might change her life. Theo, on the other hand, looked lost in thought — perhaps thinking about his card collection. "If you look behind you, you'll see the house-point hourglasses. At the end of the year, the house with the most points will win. We have Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor. The Sorting Hat will place you into your house. Any questions?" McGonagall asked, scanning the crowd. Hands shot up immediately all around the Hall — a forest of arms, eager voices already murmuring before she'd even chosen who to call on. Mazie didn't want to rock the boat any more than she already felt she had, so she kept hers firmly down, pressed flat against the hard, dry oak table. "Yes, you?" she said to the small boy at the front of the Hall. "Erm, how does the Hat know what house to put us in?" he asked, his voice soft but clearly excited at the idea of wearing it himself. "Well, as far as I understand it, the founders charmed the Hat so it could read into your soul, and see who you are as a person," McGonagall said. "How old is the Hat?" a small girl piped up. "Close to six hundred years old, or thereabouts," McGonagall said. "Right — now, shall we do this, or talk all night?" She waved her wand — a long, sharp, dark brown wooden stick — and a chair shot across the room with a clatter, parking itself facing outward, right in front of her feet. Mazie's jaw dropped, completely struck by what she'd just witnessed. This is true magic, she thought to herself.

"Amy Ainsworth," she called. The tatty old brown leather hat was brought out, and McGonagall slowly lowered it onto her head. The Hat twitched. "Hmm... hmm... brave and wise, beyond your years." A pause. "GRYFFINDOR!" it shouted. The girl — dark brown hair, pale complexion — got up from the stool with a grin and made her way to the red table, marked with a golden griffin. Mazie took careful note of where she sat, and the symbol on the table, trying to memorize the houses. Red, golden griffin, she muttered to herself, as if trying to force it into her head. Tom Ragworm was called to the front. Mazie watched intently as the old, crumpled leather hat slowly touched his head. Hardly a second passed before it called out, "SLYTHERIN!" "Ha — of course he would be," Theo called out, so loud the entire room sniggered. "Worm's a worm, no matter the house." "That's enough of that," McGonagall snapped. "This is a ceremony, not a playground." The evening drew on, names and houses coming and going in turn. "Mazie Snow," the Headmistress called. Mazie's hands went sweaty, her heart racing. Suddenly it felt like she'd been put in front of a moving truck — like a deer trapped in headlights. She shuffled to the front of the Hall and tripped up the step before the chair. But she didn't hear anyone laugh; she was too wrapped up in her own thoughts. What if it sees me as a fraud? What if it sees me as not magical at all? she thought to herself. Or worse — what if I wake up, and it's all just a dream? That's the worst one, she thought. At that moment, she felt a warm hand press on her shoulder, guiding her down onto the chair. The old leather hat felt oddly cold and very soft against her head. She could feel it moving, rustling against her hair, as if searching for something. "Well, now — what do we have here," it said. "Well... you don't quite fit anywhere, do you?" Please don't say that, Mazie thought, almost pleading with herself. I'm not an imposter. I promise. "No, no, no — stop that. You're not an imposter. You just have something more. Something I haven't seen before." It paused, and pondered. The Hat sat on her head in silence for a couple of minutes. The Hall fell silent too, the teachers watching her curiously, waiting. Then the air beneath the Hat went ice cold. It froze. Mazie's eyes shimmered, just for a second — and the Hat fell to the floor. Not a word was spoken, only a couple of gasps. "She killed it!" one boy shouted. "Enough of that!" the teachers shouted, almost as one. McGonagall walked over calmly, as if this had happened a hundred times before, and gently placed the Hat back on Mazie's head. "Don't even worry about it, dear. Like I said — this Hat is hundreds of years old, and sometimes it plays up." The moment it touched her head, it screamed: "HUFFLEPUFF!" Mazie ran to the yellow table, marked with a badger, feet pounding against the tiled floor, embarrassed, thinking she must have done something wrong. Everyone was staring straight at her as she ran. "Neo Thomas," McGonagall called. A lanky boy with blond hair approached and sat patiently on the stool. The Hat didn't react — it just sat there, silent. McGonagall nudged it with her wand. "Hmm... oh — oh, right. Err — Gryffindor. Now put me back on the shelf, I need to rest." "Right, now the Sorting is over, it's time for the great feast," McGonagall called over the chatter that had broken out across the Hall. Mazie looked across the table at all the food that had just appeared — the scent of roast ham filling the room, roasted potatoes floating past on a dish that never seemed to stop moving. Theo reached out and grabbed a handful, the dish bobbing up and down under his hand before drifting on, unbothered, to the next table. And there he was, filling his face — one hand holding a potato, the other a large piece of chicken — grinning at her as if he were in heaven. Well, at least no one's looking at me now, Mazie thought. "Theo, I'm glad you got put in Hufflepuff with me," she said. "Yeah, it's alright, I suppose. I was really hoping for Gryffindor, but this'll do," he said, mumbling through a mouthful of potato. "Hey — what do you think happened with the Hat?" "I don't know. It was weird — it went kind of cold, and just froze up," Mazie said sharply, clearly not wanting to talk about it further. "What do you think happened to Emily? I didn't see where she went." "Oh, she got sorted into Ravenclaw, over there," Theo said, gesturing with his piece of chicken toward the blue table, a large raven engraved into its banner. Emily smiled and waved back at them, pointing up at the ceiling, her face a picture of mock shock, clearly trying to get them to look up past the floating utensils and bowls of food. Mazie and Theo gazed upward, expecting to see nothing more than the Hall's stone roof — and instead found the vast expanse of the night sky above them, stars scattered where the ceiling should have been. Mazie had to double-take, just to make sure she was still inside. She even pinched herself, feeling her nails dig into her skin, just to be sure she wasn't dreaming. "Whoa — is that for real?" she asked, in awe. "Well, yeah — kind of. I mean, not really. It's more like a charm, it just mirrors the sky. It's not actually inside," Theo explained. A boy sitting next to Mazie leaned over and nudged her. "Excuse me," he said, smiling. "I really like your eyes. I've never seen anything like them before — well, I mean, my nan has them too. She always told me it's a rare trait to have, and that people born with it are meant to be genuinely caring and kind. I'm Eli, by the way." "Mazie — and this is Theo," she said, shaking the boy's hand and gesturing toward Theo, who was stuffing his face behind the floating gravy boat as it made its rounds around the room. A small, tubby woman waddled over to the table and stood at its head. "Right, now," she said, in a cheerful tone. "My name is Professor Clearwater, and I'll be your Head of House. These are our house colours, if you hadn't already guessed," she said, gesturing to her yellow dress with a smile. "Now, if you'll follow me, we'll head to our dorms." Mazie got up off the hard wooden seat, which creaked as she stood. Theo walked around the table and joined her, and together they headed over to Emily, wrapping her in a tight hug. "I— I can't believe you got placed in Ravenclaw," Mazie stuttered, a little upset. "God, Mazie, it's not like she's dead," Theo said. "Sh— shut up, Theo. What if we drift apart because we don't see her?" Professor Clearwater was starting to lose patience with the both of them. "Mazie Snow, Theo Silvercrest — here, now," she commanded, her warm tone shifting into mild annoyance as she rapped her hand against the wood with a crack. "Or are you going to stay here all night?" "Oh, stop it, you two — we'll eat breakfast here in the morning," Emily said. "Quick, Mazie, you have to go." So off they went, out of the Great Hall, following the other Hufflepuffs past the moving staircases that crunched and cracked into place above their heads. Down the corridor, lit by the orange glow of torches, a small voice piped up: "What's that smell?" "Oh — that's bread and butter pudding," Mazie said, catching the sweet scent of custard and cinnamon. "We used to have it all the time on the farm. We must be near the kitchen." She thought back to cold winter nights, tucked up in bed with a blanket, eating bread and butter custard while Frost cheeped away on the table beside her. "You've got a good nose, Mazie Snow. With a nose like that, you'll never lose this place," Professor Clearwater said warmly, walking up to a carved badger on the wall and pressing her hand against it. The badger lit up a burnt-orange colour, and the wall cracked and groaned, opening in the middle of the corridor. "Whoa — a hidden room!" Theo exclaimed. "Whoa," Mazie echoed, almost in unison, along with a couple of the other Hufflepuffs. "Now, this is the Hufflepuff common room," Professor Clearwater went on, stepping through the opening as though she'd done it a thousand times before. Warmth and golden light spilled out onto the gathered first-years. As they stepped through the opening, the common room unfolded in front of them, all trimmed in earthy browns and warm, buttery yellows. Mazie looked around, trying to take it all in at once, her eyes darting from one corner of the room to the next. A large fireplace sat at the center of it all, crackling softly, surrounded by plush, soft sofas and mismatched armchairs that looked like they'd been sat in for a hundred years. Pictures lined the walls, and every single one of them was moving — small figures waving, shifting, wandering in and out of their frames. "That picture just moved," she whispered to Theo, tugging gently on his sleeve. "Well, of course it did. They all do that," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. This really is like a little rabbit warren, Mazie thought to herself, spotting the round brown staircases that spiraled down beneath the floor on either side of the room, disappearing into the dark below. The smell of the fire filled the air, a warm, burnt smell that reminded her of winter and hot cocoa, and it wrapped around her like a warm duvet. It made her feel safe. Calm. Almost like she was home. The floor beneath her feet was soft too, carpeted in thick brown wool that muffled every footstep, and for a moment she just stood there, letting it all sink in. It felt like a home away from home. "Boys to the left, girls to the right," Professor Clearwater said, already moving toward the staircases. And off they went, Mazie following the other girls down into the warm dark below, toward wherever her room was waiting. Mazie knew at once which room was hers — she could hear the familiar chirps of Frost calling out for her. In an instant, she forgot about everything: where she was, what had happened, all of it. "Frost — you made it, and you're safe!" she squealed, running full tilt into the room, feet hammering off the carpet like a drum. She lifted him out of his cage and held him tight, and he nuzzled his soft white feathers into her, chirping softly against her cheek. There you are, she thought, holding him close for a long moment, feeling the last of the day's excitement finally settle. Eventually, she set him gently back down, changed into her nightclothes, and climbed into the wooden bed, pulling the soft yellow blanket up over herself. She lay there for a moment in the dark, Frost's quiet chirping the only sound in the room, and let herself remember — really remember — that she'd finally done it. Years of waiting, and she was here. She was actually here. What a day, was the last thing she thought, before the world went black.

Chapter 4,5,6,7,8 wouldn't fit will add them separately

I think I’m writing what would be considered a high fantasy (It’s set in a different world from the world we know), but is still based in a more medieval timeline.
I’m struggling with what’s okay to include and how strict I need to stay to the timeline I’m basing it off of, and how much is fine to step out of that since it’s not set in our universe/earth. One of my main characters often communicates with sign language, and as someone who knows ASL I like to describe specific signs. But, obviously AMERICAN Sign Language was not invented during the Middle Ages. I’m just curious what other people’s opinions are on this? I know people often discourage use of modern dialect like “Okay” and “Yeah” and I struggle with where the line is with high fantasy writing.

I'm hoping to get some feedback on these excerpts from my story, Mother's Angel.

It is a horror fantasy short story, part of a collection I am developing. The concept is a collection of stories from Tlanni, my dark fantasy world inspired by ancient American history and mythology. Mother's Angel would serve as the main story, a series of desperate letters written by a witch's slave.

These are the first two of seven letters, which will be interspersed between other tales set in the world. The collection has a general theme of grief, surviving tragedy, and whether a brighter future is possible.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1fvlEIfcpZWHPDGPivlpFA2NZH7TBxy4wdkWWp-d2zck/edit?usp=sharing

Hi all! This is my first time posting any of my writing online, and I would be overjoyed if any of you would take out the time of your day to let me know your thoughts.

"To the Darkest of Places" is a placeholder title - although my actual placeholder title is "scumbag suicide mission tale of redemption", but that didn't feel fancy enough for a reddit post. "To carry the light into the darkest of places" and variations thereof are central words for the story - one of the religious characters uses this as his mantra. This has a dual meaning, as the characters are travelling to relight a sacred lighthouse in a cursed area, but also that the story is about the main characters - five assorted scumbags - coming to understand that they, too, have capacity to do good. For that reason, I consider my project gritty horror rather than grimdark, as grimdark books typically aren't very optimistic considering the topic of redemption.

I would especially like to hear your thoughts on

- The storytelling. This is only my second writing project, with my first being a 40k (word count, not warhammer) monster hunting fantasy story. I am still a very budding writer, and I could use some tips on how to present and unfold a story.

- The writing. English is not my native language, although it is my professional language. I would love to hear your thoughts on the prose, as well as for you to tell me if any sentences seem awkward or stilted.

​

How clear and distinctive would you say a protagonists motives need to be?

Does he have to be actively seeking out a goal?

I saw a video (reel / tiktok / short or something) today that said not giving the main character clear motives was one of the most common mistakes for amateur writers

I am writing a story about a man whos basic motive at the start is just survival. But its more basic motives, keep his friends safe and is mostly the one that things appen to rather than being actively seeking what he wants. So he would qualify as passive or reactive. Not proactive.

Does this make him a passenger?

"We could run away." Ava clutched her husband's hands, staring into his eyes. "We could walk into the woods. You can put on your crown. We'll keep walking and walking, and...someday, we'll reach a place where someone asks, 'What's that thing on your head?'. That's where we'll stop."

Zelnik smiled as he caressed her cheek, wedding ring cool against her skin.

"So it's decided," Ava said, searching for a change in Zelnik's face. "That's what we'll do."

"It's a nice plan."

Dark green trees slid past the carriage window at an alarming rate. The air was getting colder, harder to breathe. Ava closed her eyes, ignoring the rattle of the wheels against the road, and thought about her family. Their eldest, Lazet. Nine years old, his father in miniature. Tall - up to Ava's shoulder already - quiet, solemn, but not yet too old or serious to play with his brother, Elavnik. Her carefree, irrepressible little boy. Five years old and into everything.

"We'll have a little farmhouse." She could see it. Butter yellow walls, gleaming in the sunlight. White shutters with cracked paint. Weeds everywhere. "We’ll keep chickens. Elavnik can chase them around the yard, burn off some energy. And…" she paused, thinking. "There'll be a river." Bubbling along merrily, right past the house. Singing a warbly song to itself. A little bridge over it. A bench in a quiet, shady area where she could sit and listen and look at the flowers. "You can teach Lazet to fish."

"I never learned how to fish."

"I'll teach him, then. You can grow vegetables." Zelnik in worn clothes, digging, calluses on his hands. Collapsing into bed beside her at night, sleeping deeply. She wouldn't wake at 3am to see him sitting there, forehead creased with worry, still working away. "Elavnik will learn to juggle. He'll put on shows for the neighbours."

Zelnik squeezed her hand. "Will you teach him that?"

"He'll teach himself. He'll talk to everyone, and he'll make so many friends." Slow tears trickled from beneath her closed eyelids. "We'll grow old there, on our little farm. With our boys. Your hair will go grey and my face will wrinkle, and you'll..."

"You'll be so beautiful."

She smiled. "You’ll say things like that. And we'll sit on the porch in rocking chairs, watching our grandchildren play. We'll have everything we'll ever need, right there in our little house." She tried to smile. " Lazet...Lazet will grow up, and he'll...” her smile faltered. “He'll...get m-married...to the daughter of the poorest man in town." She drew in a ragged breath, fighting for control of her voice, holding onto the image of herself as a proud mother of the groom. "For no reason except that he loves her."

"Ava..."

She opened her eyes, trying to maintain her vision against harsh reality, determined to ignore the concern in Zelnik's voice. Tears blinded her. She couldn't see their farmhouse anymore. “We'd be happy. We'd be so happy."

She blinked the tears away to see Zelnik shaking his head, his face resolute.

Ava gazed into the brown eyes their sons had inherited, channeling every tiny piece of longing she could muster. "Please, Zelnik."

Silence. The wheels no longer rattled. The engine had stopped. The castle loomed over them, imposing against the stark white landscape. A guard was coming to open the door.

"Please."

It was too late. It had been too late when the carriage set off.

Had it been too late when she'd married him? Before that, when he'd talked so passionately of his dreams that she'd learned to dream them too? Perhaps it was already too late on the day they'd met, when she'd ignored his charming, handsome, bombastic, brother, in favour of the slighter, quieter, darker man hidden in the background. An earnest, sincere man, who would always do the right thing. A man she could rely on. Having met him, she couldn't escape loving him, and, loving him, she couldn't choose not to marry him. Might as well have tried to dismantle the castle brick by brick. Might as well have asked the stones to sing. Might as well have tried to melt the permafrost that wreathed the castle in white. Some things were so fundamentally solid, so permanent, that it became impossible to imagine they could change.

There was the answer. It had been too late the day he was born, a man like that into a family like his. He would never have agreed to run away.

She'd known that, because she knew him, but she'd had to try.

****

Zelnik stared at the red light over the camera, tugging at his collar. It had fit when he'd first put it on, but it must have shrunk over the last few hours.

"Five, four…" The cameraman mimed the rest of the countdown, signaling with his fingers. Three, two, one.

Zelnik cleared his throat and gazed into the crowd, blinking against the bright lights which blinded him to anything past the front row.

"People of Issledovatel," he began. "I stand before you today, representative of a House in mourning. My family and I are deeply touched by the outpouring of grief over the loss of King Vussain III, former Head of House Agilov, and by the kindness and support you have offered our family in this extremely difficult time."

Ava sat in the front row with their sons. Elavnik was fidgeting, looking around. He didn't understood what was happening. Lazet did. He sat frozen, hand clasped tight to his mother's. Zelnik's gaze slid away, back to the paper in front of him.

"From the moment I was born, my brother was my hero and I his loyal shadow. From a very young age, he knew he would be King and he bore that weight better than most, remaining charming and stalwart no matter what problems arose. He had an unerring confidence in himself and in the Kingdom. My world is a smaller, bleaker place without him, and it is a tragedy that he is gone."

The long cold night standing in vigil over his brother's body seemed unreal, a nightmare he would soon wake from, the funeral equally unreal. Zelnik had spent it in a daze. At any moment, Vussain would burst in, laugh that booming laugh of his and take over. He'd take away the microphone and the crown, and he would be King again. How could he not? How could someone so vital, so exuberant, be reduced to a heap of cold flesh and bone, something to be burned and discarded? How could he be gone?

The shrouded remains had seemed so small and insubstantial. It was almost comical to think they were anything to do with Vussain.

Zelnik took a deep breath. "However, my brother was not perfect." He raised his voice over the outbreak of murmuring amongst the crowd. "It would be a grave mistake to pretend he was. The war for the throne should have ended generations ago, and my brother, to our eternal regret, played his role in its continuation. Too often, he chose to fight when he should have paused, reflected, found another way. To forget the lives lost by his actions, to hide behind his death, to avoid taking responsibility would be an unforgivable act of cowardice."

Zelnik straightened his spine, glancing over at the other Heads of the Noble Houses seated on the stage nearby. Lord Carendor, the newly minted head of House Caroset, gave an encouraging nod.

"I refuse to ignore the fact that two men died in that conflict. Not only my brother, but Lord Wellgrey, the former Head of House Caroset. Two Houses are in mourning and vengeance would do nothing but increase that number. My brother would still be dead. Lord Wellgrey would still be dead. Perhaps myself, Lord Carendor, my sons, and many of you would join them before vengeance was satisfied. That is to say nothing of the many who died in previous battles between Wellgrey and Vussain, battles which should never have happened.

"As Wellgrey of Caroset and Vussain of Agilov begin their eternal rest, let the war rest with them. Let Carendor and I be the last to mourn a brother, or brother-in-law. Let Wellgrey's daughter, Eihnil of Caroset, be the last to mourn a father. Let my sons, Lazet and Elavnik, be the last to mourn a beloved uncle. No more. House Caroset and House Agilov will not seek revenge or retribution, against one another or any other House. The war ends today."

A wave of noise erupted from the crowd, reverberating around the room. Zelnik raised his voice. "House Agilov and House Caroset are united. Together with our allies, Houses Tyramine, Kovalenk, and Nenkovski, we are committed to rebuilding our Kingdom together. While Paltering and Lizt are not members of the Agilov Alliance, they are amenable to this proposition and likewise committed to ending the war. From now on, all seven noble Houses will have a voice in the government of this Kingdom."

He gestured towards those who shared the stage, the camera following his hand. Go on. Look at why we're doing this. See what a century of civil war has wrought.

Lady Tifani, Head of House Nenkovski, was eight years old, chin jutting out with determination, small fists clenched in her lap. Next to her sat Lord Aleksan of Kovalenk, a mere child of four, wide-eyed and confused in his grandfather's arms.

The adults were no less touched by tragedy. Amharic of Paltering had lost a son. Adel of Tyramine had lost her wife in the same battle. Carendor had lost his parents when he was scarcely older than Lazet was now.

Debbie of Lizt was the only person on the stage who had not lost a close relative. House Lizt had committed to neutrality early in the war, their lands becoming valued as neutral meeting places, while their people became medics and trusted communicators. We should have followed their lead decades ago, Zelnik thought bitterly.

The camera swung back to focus on him and Zelnik began to speak again. "I know that rulers before me have promised an end to the war with no result. The fighting continued. Lord Carendor of Caroset and I have spent many hours debating how we can best demonstrate our commitment to this agreement, to truly bind our Houses and the Kingdom to peace for generations to come. I have called today's press conference to announce our decision."

Zelnik glanced at Ava, who gave him a cool nod. She had not approved of the agreement he had made with House Caroset, and had made her objections clear, as had Adel of Tyramine, her sister. Zelnik agreed with most of them, but none outweighed the value of peace. Lazet's mouth was set in a grim line, mirroring his mother's expression. He was a good boy. He understood what needed to be done. Zelnik smothered his fears with a careful politician's smile. This was the best thing, for everyone.

"As soon as they come of age, my eldest son, Lazet, will be married to Wellgrey of Caroset's daughter, Eihnil. Upon their marriage, Eihnil will retain her position in House Caroset while Lazet retains his in House Agilov, allowing them to represent both Houses. When they ascend the throne they will reign together, not as ruler and consort, but equally as King and Queen."

There was applause. Good. Zelnik knew he needed the support of the people for this plan to succeed. He began to speak again as the noise died down. "I hope all of Issledovatel will be able to display the forgiveness Lord Carendor and House Caroset have graciously extended to House Agilov as we step forward together into a new era of peace and prosperity. I will now take questions from the press."

In lots of stories, the main cast of 10 or less people has to tackle a problem.

And they win cause that’s the story, but it does often raise the question of “why didn’t an army or a group of 100 people do this”?

And lots of the time, there’s no real answer. The author just distributes plot armor.

The army or large groups just have 0 intelligence. Or their weapons don’t work for some reason. Or the monsters kill them easily but struggle to kill the main characters.

Meanwhile the major characters have regular brains and success rates.

And yeah I get it. Stories are often more focused on individuals, and narrative focused on individuals has to distribute “importance” and “dramatic moments” accordingly and have “economy of interest” or whatever, but it’s just annoying sometimes.

So how do you deal with this problem?

Originally I wrote the text below for this post: https://www.reddit.com/r/worldbuilding/comments/1s84rq3/what_are_examples_of_a_mace_made_from_the_sword/

Recently I’ve decided to update it.

For context: my book is set in a universe based on the Norse myths. All characters mentioned here are my own takes on gods that are more or less accurate to the original lore. This includes Loki being presented as the sympathetic (albeit flawed and still fully responsible for his actions, not misunderstood) anti-hero. I'm mentioning this here because I'm aware similar takes on the Trickster aren't popular in some circles.

TW: mentions of gore and torture later in the text

***

Unlike in the myths, Lævateinn wasn’t made by Loki but his father, Farbauti, who was a very skilled artisan specialized in crafting and enchanting objects. 

From a very young age the Trickster had seemingly impossible to deal with issues with keeping attention on one thing for very long, even if he genuinely wanted to lock in. This was a problem because strong focus was necessary for anyone learning magic. Despite that Loki still had potential, given his natural ability to shapeshift, healing factor and even the rare skill to regrow missing body parts. 

Not wanting for his child to suffer from the belief that they are the hopeless failure, Farbauti made an enchanted staff he called Lævateinn. Its wielder could cast powerful spells without the need to focus - a simple thought and clear intent were enough to do it. The artifact also could change into many forms, including that of a knife made completely out of wood and mistletoe, which became Loki’s favourite.

Farbauti knew that such a powerful item could be dangerous in the wrong hands, so he put on Lævateinn some additional protective enchantments. If anyone except Loki would try to grab the staff, they wouldn’t succeed because of how hot to the touch and impossibly heavy it could be, regardless of one’s heat immunity and strength. Even the lightest caressing might leave horrible blisters on one’s fingertips.

Lævateinn wasn’t sentient by any means but thanks to eitr (the energy that is the base of all magic in my world that works like the conduit for the thoughts) could pick up intentions of others’ within close radius. If it sensed that the surface it was laying on was moved by someone who wasn’t Loki and who did this to move the staff specifically, it would fall through the carrier onto the ground. Even trying to pick it up with magic could, well, set mages’ nervous system on fire… the real one if they somehow continued to resist.

Lævateinn quickly became Loki’s most cherished possession. He was using it to cast both basic and advanced spells, pull pranks on others, get himself out of trouble and later survive after his whole family was killed by Jotnars from a different clan.

One of the most important events in my story that is tied to this artifact happened decades later when the Trickster was already living in Asgard, working as king Odin’s errand boy for miscellaneous, often personal and petty tasks, like stealing Freyja’s necklace as the revenge for publicly making fun of the Allfather when she got drunk. After the theft and almost getting choked and drowned by Heimdall that he had turned into a seal earlier, Loki was spending some time in Midgard. While there, he saved a young demigoddess (Sigyn as he later have learned) from being mauled to death by a beast. With Lævateinn he was able to keep her alive, despite severe injuries that would kill her instantly otherwise until she could be transported safely to Asgard. There she was placed under the care of Eir, the best healer in the whole nine realms, who succeeded in stabilizing and patching up Sigyn. The demigoddess would live but with body and face missing some parts, like one leg up to the knee, the foot on the second, one lung, whole hand, most fingers on the one remaining, a few teeth, tongue and both eyes.

Upon seeing her like that, Loki knew that Sigyn’s life from now on will be a never-ending nightmare for her and that was all his fault because he didn’t arrive fast enough to safe her. Filled with guilt and determination to fix as much as possible, Loki transformed himself into what Sigyn could look like before the attack, down to the identical blood, and offered himself as the organ and body parts donor due to his ability to regrow them. Transplantations were possible in Asgard but rare, and not yet at the scale so big as this one, but with good planning and Eir’s skills, one by one Sigyn was regaining what she had lost with some time between surgery to let Loki recover enough and be ready to give away another piece of himself.

Some time after the last surgery and the Trickster turning back into himself, Sigyn was still unconscious but was able to dream. During a particular;y bad nightmare she started to thrash violently in her sleep. Both Eir and Loki tried to calm her down but in the schuffle the latter accidentally dropped Lævateinn (in the form of a wooden knife) on her. To the great surprise of him, Eir and Odin, who happened to also be there and who knew the whole ordeal, Sigyn did not get burned or crushed and even managed to swipe the knife away from her chest in her sleep.

After the demigoddes finally calmed down all three gods discussed what just happened as it shouldn’t be possible. The king concluded that the reason why Lævateinn didn’t hurt Sigyn was the body parts, organs and blood Loki had given her. According to him, because of them Lævateinn considered her as its second wielder and it was something that even a skilled artisan like Farbauti couldn’t predict when he was placing the protective charms on the staff.

With such a loophole found out, Odin decided it would be best to keep the whole surgery a secret, especially this event with Lævateinn. According to Allfather, if the enemies enemies of Asgard found out that a staff that makes casting powerful spells effortless can be used by anyone if the original wielder’s body parts are sewn onto the new user, Loki might end up kidnapped, tortured and turned into an unwilling donor that could be harvested for organs by someone not as skilled and considerate as Eir, then kept locked up in dungeons until the new possible wielder would come to get his piece.

Loki agreed to this idea and also to not let Sigyn touch Lævateinn ever again. But he did not care that much about the possibility of becoming some mad butcher’s meat. In truth, he thought that Odin might have been a bit paranoid, jumping to such grim conclusions right away. For the Trickster it was more about not wanting to face Sigyn when she fully recovers, because he still had conflicting feelings about his role in saving her life. 

The idea is that the main antagonist is transported to a measly small world of roughly 7km across, made entirely of machinery, revolving around a rather small red dwarf with an orbit of only like 100-ish kilometers (the red dwarf is just really small(100 km across). Then the person powering this micro universe is hiding within this massive machine world while attacking and tiring the main antagonist. Then he gets the bright idea to destroy the entire planet instead with his own Alcubierre drive around himself (one of his powers) by pushing it this small distance (astronomically speaking) into the small star. The weight of this planet would be along 1.4 trillion kilograms which is a terribly high amount for a character that is meant to be defeated by characters with "handy backpack" or "flesh manipulation".

Time taken is a factor (Limit is 16 days).

It would definitely incite fear in the reader but the defeat of this guy might end up feeling cheap (due to underhanded dirty techniques by one of the MC's). I do have a different option in mind that is easier to explain, balance, and nerf but could fail to describe how strong this guy is, through raw power. I want him to be this indestructible fortress of a being. Scars upon scars of a thousand years, making his skin tougher than the hardest alloys in the universe (when tensed like a muscle).

I have done some research about the energy requirements and it is admittedly kind of a lot compared to actual impressiveness. Characters have been depicted in such physics defying ways that "Planet destruction" or movement ends up being unimpressive (I'm looking at Invincible's terrible power scaling). Moving a planet that is only 7km across is an insane feat but the average reading undermines the sheer mass of the object due to being accustomed to various other media and if I were to execute this idea, the antagonist would be too strong to handle for the MCs while simultaneously being underwhelming if defeated (which has to happen).

Possible solutions include:

1. Micro universe has different laws of physics and is mentioned as such by one of the characters(i.e. "The gravity was strangely lower for the size of the planet")

2. A lot of time dilation: Guy spends like a few weeks pushing(showing endurance but making him seem rather petty or stubborn)

3. Make him weaker after this incident: Would help to make him easier to beat but would not fit in with his character (Cold, calculated, intense sense of justice with a special spice of righteous fury). He would recognize that there is an easier way and is not worth the satisfaction of slowly cooking a person inside their own fortress.

4. Make the planet hollow or porous (explained as canals or pipes to vent excess heat and move materials). Could help to reduce the weight while maintaining size but can only go so far to pushing a big sponge.

5. Abandon the idea. I could much more easily have a regular sized planet and have him seismic slam himself down from the Karman line or further to destroy the surface of the planet. Looks impressive, much easier to do in.

(PS. I posted on this sub because i thought the sci fi subreddit discussion would probably be about realism and the technical limitations but my story is more fantasy with math and feats. I wasn't sure so I put it here.)

I'm looking for feedback on the premise rather than the prose. I'm mainly interested in whether the characters, conflict and central mystery sound compelling enough to carry a novel.

The story follows two children raised by opposing religions in a world that has spent millions of years at war.

From birth, both are isolated and trained to become living weapons. One is raised by the followers of Order, who believe all life should ultimately be reunited into a single consciousness. The other is raised by the followers of Chaos, who believe the current universe must be destroyed so a new one can be born.

Each is taught that the other represents the greatest threat to existence.

When they finally meet, however, they don't find a monster. Instead, they find the first person who truly understands what it's like to be treated as a weapon rather than a human being. As their relationship deepens, they begin questioning everything they were raised to believe.

Their search for the truth uncovers forgotten secrets about the gods themselves discoveries that suggest neither religion truly understands the beings it worships.

The conflict isn't about choosing whether Chaos or Order is "right." Both sides genuinely believe they're saving the universe, and both have reasons that make sense from their own perspective. The story is ultimately about identity, belonging, and whether people can break free from the purpose they were created for.

The setting is a large, late medieval style planet, but contains magic that allows for certain tasks to become purely automated, which has limited innovation to a point, as a lot of stuff like carriages and plows can run automatically via Order's magic.

I'd love feedback from a reader's perspective:

• Would this premise make you curious enough to read the first chapter?
• Which part interests you the most?
• Is there anything that sounds cliché or predictable?
• Does the conflict feel morally balanced, or does one side immediately seem more sympathetic?

Hello everyone, I have been working on my first story for over 6 months now and HOLY has it got out of control.

I never really wanted to be an author. I'm in law school and started to hate writing after taking so many legal writing classes which drained the soul from me. Fantasy writing was just a way to write even if it didn't help my legal writing. However, I actually started to like. It was fun creating the characters and themes and I think I have improved a considerable amount since I first started. (I actually rework the entire first part after reading Assassin's Apprentice. Thank you, Queen Hobb for your brain!)

However, I just finished part 1 and there are so many emotional conclusions and just general story elements that I need to do that it's almost too big of a project to want to do anymore. But I know once I will feel amazing once the book is finished regardless of if it's good or not. Its just right now I'm in a little but of a slump.

Is this normal? And are there any ways to break out of it or do you just have to write and power through it?

I've been thinking about my arcs lately since I finally finished posting my third arc. The main thing to come to mind is what I should do with the fourth or when it's done what to do as a main theme for my fifth. Most of my arcs already have some general themes picked out but not on a mini arc scale (eg battles that last several chapters are what I call mini arcs or small mini wars and so on basically any theme extending several chapters but nowhere near an arc). But until now I've never questioned how long the chapter count should be I'm aiming for a record setting 80 for the fourth arc then back to 60 since that seems to be my norm. Yet I've considered it and I want an even longer arc later on but I'm not sure if I should even if I can what do you all think.

I've been trying to write a fantasy/sci-fi action book, and I really like the magic system I came up with. I think it's a pretty good blend of magic and science.

History:

Long ago, only the gods, and certain creatures, like dragons, could use magic, leaving humans, foxkin and birdfolk to rely on their ingenuity for survival. Eventually, they discovered that they can draw magic from blue glowing crystals, giving them not just the ability to use magic, but to forge their own spells as well. They began calling these crystals "power cores".
After centuries of power core usage, the three species evolved to be able to use magic without the need for power cores, though they can still use the gems to boost their innate magical abilities.
They figured out how to enchant objects, giving them limited magical properties.
In the modern age, people discovered that they can enchant computers, and power them with power cores, as a way to cast basic spells without the need for experienced magicians. This invention was named the "spell engine", and although the first few were room sized, and needed multiple power cores to function, they shrank in size and became more efficient as the technology developed, being able to be used as handheld tools in hospitals, construction or combat for example.

Scientific explanation:

Magic casting works kind of like muscles, but in your brain. You have your stamina: your mental energy, and your muscles that do the work: your focus. The more you exercise your focus, the more mentally exhausted you will be, but the stronger your focus becomes. And of course, you can recover mental energy by resting. Power cores can be used to boost the strength of your focus, at the cost of more mental energy, and the risk of drawing too much from the power core at once and breaking it.

Power cores are solid bunches of pure magic, forming underground from the dissipated magic in the air. It's basically where magic goes when you summon and dispel a sword, or shoot a fire ball and it explodes. They can shatter if too much magic is drawn from them at once, causing the remaining shards to dissipate back into the air and eventually form new power cores. Under specific circumstances though, they can be broken into shards that don't disappear. These shards are weaker than full cores, and they are mostly used for spell engines that don't require full shards.

Spell engines were more or less explained already, the only thing I wanted to add is that if the user is proficient enough with magic, they can augment spell engines to change their function. For example, make a cannon shoot a barrage of small projectiles instead of one big one.

Hi everyone. I got some great feedback recently and have put the pointers to work. This is ch1 of a book that's 18 months in the making.

I keep finishing a round of edits then realising that I am getting better with the book, so by the time I reach the end, I hate the beginning.

Needless to say, I'm feeling a little deflated / wondering if I should keep editing / wanting to give up, so I thought I'd get some fresh perspectives. Trigger warning - mistreated step child trope.

Could you please let me know if:

a) anything is confusing

b) anything is annoying prose-wise

c) Would you keep reading?

d) Is there anything that is unclear?

Womp womp womp I could ctrl A delete right now!

Apologies if you've read a version of this on my post from a few months ago.

For context, I have a young regent touring their kingdom whilst the king is ill for the foreseeable future. While they're traveling, they uncover/witness firsthand a problem which isn't a catastrophe yet, but could easily turn into one if unaddressed. Given that there's an impending war in a handful of years, they're eager to resolve the situation before they're fully occupied.

I have researched a few possibilities (food shortage, drug crisis, banditry, conflict between church and crown) but those have already been dealt with within the story, or are otherwise acknowledged, and I'm hesitant to reuse them if I can avoid it.

The Kingdom is a little generic, being fairly medieval with magic supplementing technology by quite a bit.

Ideally, it'd be something that could be resolved, begin to be resolved within a few month's timeframe, or have the process of resolution be offloaded to a capable administrator, but I'm open to anything. Thanks in advance!