Sitting at her desk, Sylvia opened the The Basis of Magic. She had figured out by now that the liquid state of her god was indeed a sign of its growth. To leave much of the prayer hanging in the air was also a common practise. Too much conflicting intent was believed to be the main cause of demons emerging from gods. It was part of a priest’s job to stop this from happening, by picking suitable intent and directing it toward the god, while redirecting the rest. In a city, there was plenty of prayer to be had, and a priest had every opportunity to pick and choose among the mass, so it made perfect sense to encourage the citizens to make up their own. A genuine prayer was always stronger than the mindless parroting of pre-defined phrases.

Sylvia figured she could go to the temple once in a while and let her god pick up some magic as well. Since she had no idea how to direct the intent, it was highly unlikely that it would become too much, even if it was contradictory. She was not entirely convinced that demons really could emerge from gods to begin with. There was a stark difference between a mass of intent trapped in a crystal and a sentient entity that could cast spells on its own, and according to many stories could even take on various physical shapes.

Cultivating a god was an interesting project, but what she really wanted to know was how Priest Ryther had learned to cast in the first place. She let her eyes wander over the text again. Was it really just her? The pages practically dripped apathy. The ink lay dead on the paper. Except in one chapter. She thumbed through and opened the relevant page. It was written with far more enthusiasm. Especially one sentence grabbed Sylvia's attention.

“Casting requires magical affinity, inherited or acquired.”

It coaxed her, practically pulling at her sleeve. She ran her fingers over the text. It felt sticky. Looking at the tips of her fingers, she saw nothing. She rubbed her thumb over her index and middle finger, but they were dry. She frowned at the page.

“What is this?”

“Who are you talking to?”, Dana asked.

Sylvia tensed. “No one”, she mumbled. Eyeing the stack of paper in Dana’s hand, she changed the subject. “Work?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Dana set the stack down on her desk. “I would like you to write an account of the fall of Surtearv and Nyberg for the history ledgers.”

Sylvia did not like the task, but she understood the importance of it. She took a measured breath to repress the sigh threatening to escape her, and then nodded. “On the battle at Holms Fäste as well?”

Dana shrugged. “If you want to. I have a few accounts of that already, but another is always good. Surtearv and Nyberg are barely reported at all, though, and it is my understanding that you know more than anyone about those.”

“I suppose that is true”, Sylvia agreed. She took the topmost sheet of paper and opened her inkwell. “By when do you need them?”

“No specific time, but sooner is always better”, Dana answered. “If you need me, I will be upstairs to have lunch.”

“Okay.”

Sylvia dipped her quill and took a moment to think. Figuring it would be easiest to work in chronological order, she tried to formulate a sentence to start her text about Nyberg. Her chest constricted at the thought. Surtearv first, then. Bringing the nib to the paper, she began, detailing the state of the city of Surtearv when she arrived. She wrote about the market, the houses, and the tower. She wrote about the bored horse, and Björn, as well as the interaction with the Wolf who came knocking in the morning. Then, she wrote about the Fri attack aimed at liberating the city. Setting the pages aside, she took a deep breath and braced herself. Nyberg was next.

She took a fresh sheet and brought her pen down. It was easier now, detailing the town, the layout, the people, the houses. She wrote about the stable, and then about the attack. Anger built inside of her. She detailed how Rebecca died at the hand of a Wolf. Her chest constricted. There was a sharp pain in her soul, like a needle was trying to dig its way inside. She eased her grip on the quill somewhat to make sure her writing remained legible. She told the story of Ryther, of how he had raised his arms outside the temple and called down fire upon the Wolves. Just as she finished writing the sentence, the ink began to smoke. Shocked, Sylvia stared at the page. The paper caught fire. Sylvia yelped and shot out of her chair. The writing smouldered away before her eyes.

Startled, Afi rushed to her side. He grabbed the cloth which Sylvia used to clean her pen, and lay it over the smouldering paper. He patted it repeatedly, until the small flame was extinguished. As soon as the danger was averted, he took a hold of Sylvia’s hands, checking them for burns.

“Are you alright?”

“Yea”, Sylvia nodded. She looked down at her hands as well. “Yea, I am fine.”

“What happened?”

Sylvia shook her head. “I am not sure.”

“Did you drop the candle?”, Afi asked. He looked at the table. The candle was not even lit. It was still bright outside. He frowned at the blackened stain on the table. “Sylvia? What is this?”

“I…” Sylvia’s hand was trembling. “I do not know.”

“Paper does not just start burning on its own. What did you do?”, Afi insisted

“I do not know!”, Sylvia snapped.

She yanked her hands free and rushed out of the library. Turning into the next best alley, she hid against a wall. Her breathing was quick and shallow. She sank to the ground. Fear squeezed her soul. What was she going to do? What did she do? What happened?!

As though moved by an unseen force, she reached into her pocket and retrieved the god of Nyberg. It lay restless in her hand. The liquid was whirling and climbing up along the edges of its container. Clutching the god to her chest, Sylvia sniffled.

“Please, do not let me loose my soul. Please. I know I caused the break, but please protect my soul. Protect it.”

A tear fell onto the crystal and the liquid inside roared to life. Sylvia felt her soul respond, aching, pressing against her ribcage from within. All the air left her lungs. She gasped. Fear squeezed so tight, she could hear a terrible cracking nose.

“Sylvia?!”

Sylvia started. She inhaled, and the world snapped back into focus around her. Quickly, she hid the god from view again.

Afi turned the corner and hurried to her side. He placed a hand on her shoulder and searched her face. Then his face turned grim. “Do not run away from me! How am I supposed to protect you if you lave my side?!”

“Sorry”, Sylvia managed. She wiped at her face, trying to chase away the tears still streaming from her eyes.

Afi sighed and softened his voice. “Sylvia, please, talk to me. What is going on?”

“Afi, what if I am breaking apart?”, Sylvia asked. “What if I did too much? What if I cannot go back?”

“What do you mean?”, Afi asked, but he did not get another word out of her. Sylvia curled against him and cried bitterly.

Afi wrapped his arms around Sylvia, holding her close while she sobbed into his chest. He felt worry prickling over his skin, his own as well as hers. Closing his eyes, he inhaled slowly and exhaled in another sigh. Resting his chin on Sylvia’s head, he focused on her, on the little warm woman trembling in his arms. Stroking a hand over her back, he waited until she stilled, and then waited until she stirred again.

Sylvia wiped her tears on her sleeves. “Sorry.”

Afi shook his head. “Is there anything I can do? Anything at all?”

“I do not know”, Sylvia admitted.

She got to her feet and Afi did the same. He checked her for injuries again and dusted her clothes off. “Are you okay?”, he worried.

Meeting his eyes, Sylvia shrugged. “I do not know. If you ask again, I will still not know.”

Afi motioned silence over his mouth.

Huffing a laugh, Sylvia offered him a forced but grateful smile. She rubbed her hands together and took a moment to collect her thoughts. What just happened had only one logical explanation. If her theory was correct, this was potentially amazing and potentially terrible. Letting out another worried exhale, she left the alley with Afi at her heel.

When they re-entered the library, Dana had returned from lunch. He was leaning over the singed desk. Without looking up, he inquired, “What happened here?”

Sylvia exchanged a quick glance with Afi. “I knocked over the candle. I am sorry.”

Dana picked up the candle. “You lit it in the middle of the day?”, he questioned.

“I wanted to see better when I was writing.”

Dana finally looked up. His eyes were wide behind his glasses. A smile crept onto his face. “You are a mage, are you not? This is why you were so interested in affinity.”

Sylvia sighed audibly and leaned back against the nearest bookshelf. “I…yea. Maybe. I do not know. I might be?”

“What happened?”, Dana asked again, brimming with excitement.

“I was writing my account when the paper started burning. It just suddenly caught fire when I wrote about Nyberg and the fire during the raid.”

Sylvia looked down at the ashes on the table. Then she met Dana’s eyes again. He grinned and held out a fresh piece of paper. Curious as well, Sylvia peeled from the bookshelf and sat down. She took the page and placed it onto the tabletop. Dipping her feather, she brought the nib down and wrote again. She described Ryther, how he raised his arms and called down fire on the Wolves.

Dana ogled the page excitedly.

Nothing happened.

“Maybe not”, Sylvia mumbled.

Dana wagged a finger at the page. “What did you feel when you wrote this the first time?”

“Anger”, Sylvia said. “And sadness I suppose.”

“I heard a story about a mage who cast by yelling words. He had to focus on a feeling and then”—Dana placed his fist over his mouth and then thrust his arm out, splaying his fingers wide—“he would shout really loudly to cast.”

“I think I get it”, Sylvia nodded.

She closed her eyes and allowed it all to run through her head again. She let herself feel that tug, that painful sting, the burning anger. She took a deep breath and held it. Bringing pen to paper, she wrote, “Priest Ryther raised his arms and called down fire”, and before she could add another word, a flame shot up from the page. Yelping, Sylvia jerked back. Within seconds, the paper was consumed. Only a rectangle of ash remained. Afi stared at Sylvia wide eyed. Dana was smiling over both ears.

“You really are a mage!” Dana jumped up once and clapped his hands, giggling excitedly.

“I guess I am”, Sylvia said. She huffed a laugh. Then she began to giggle uncontrollably.

Their celebration was cut short by the wooden tabletop catching fire. Shying away from the writing desk, Sylvia looked around for something to stop the flames. Dana quickly pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and swatted it at the fire. Afi took the cloth and laid out out over the flame, finally extinguishing it.

He met Sylvia’s eyes. “Maybe learn water before fire”, he suggested playfully.

“Yea”, Sylvia agreed with an awkward nod.

“And we should probably not be doing this around a lot of books, either”, Dana realised. “The cellar”, he determined.

With a flourish, he turned around and waved them along. Afi pointed at the ashes on the table in question and Sylvia shrugged. They followed Dana through the door in the back and down a set of slender stairs. The cellar lacked any window, but two lanterns offered enough light to make use of the space. The room was empty, but for spider webs and two tables, which stood forgotten in a corner.

“We will get a chair down here and you can practice magic in private, and most importantly, away from any valuable books or scrolls”, Dana said. He turned to Sylvia and slimmed his eyes. “But you have to tell me. How did you do it? How did you get affinity?”

“I do not know”, Sylvia answered. “I really do not.”

Dana let his head fall and sighed. “I feared you might say that.” Straightening his back again, he pointed at her, “But you promise to tell me if you do find out, right?”

“Of course.”

“Then we have a deal”, Dana smiled. “Use this space to practice. Just, please do try to learn water before fire.”

Sylvia laughed. “I will try that.”

“Let us get a broom and clean, and furnish”, Dana encouraged.

Halfway up the stairs, Sylvia swayed a little. Afi put an arm around her to steady her.

“Are you alr…mh” He shook his head. There was no point in asking again. “Maybe you should rest a little”, he tried instead.

“Maybe you are right.”

“No rush”, Dana agreed. “You did it once. I am sure you can do it again. Study takes time, and we would not want you to strain your soul. Let us continue another day.”

Sylvia yawned in agreement. She kept one hand on the wall while she climbed the rest of the steps. Walking to her writing desk, she picked up the trash can and placed it under the table.

“Do not bother with that. I will take care of it. Go rest. Who knows what this does to your body. Take care of yourself”, Dana insisted, flapping is hands in her general direction.

“Okay. Thank you.”

Letting go of the trash can, Sylvia followed Afi to the front of the library.

“Oh, and Sylvia”, Dana said. “Do not tell anyone about this. It is not safe to let others know of such things, not in chaotic times like these. You never know who might be listening.” He looked at Sylvia and raised his eyebrows for emphasis.

“Believe me, I will keep it to myself. Please do the same”, Sylvia agreed.

“My lips are sealed”, Dana promised. He lay a hand on his soul. “I swear it to Gaia.”