Vasil watched Hecate as she stood on one leg, balancing on a log, squinting at something invisible to him. He saw her hand twitch, and the revolver roared. A tiny blip of fire in the air, and Hecate laughed.

  “Wooooo!” Kuba yelled.

  Kasia clapped her hands excitedly. “Again! Again!”

  She was turning flies into "walks" again, as she called it—one of her favorite pastimes. Flies got both their wings shot off. Mosquitos only one. Because they deserved it, she'd said.

  Hecate grinned and narrowed her eyes. Once again, she unholstered the gun before his eyes could even register it and fired another shot. This one whizzed just past him and the flaming bullet singed the fine hairs on a fly’s backside. The insect began spiraling in panicked circles, its rear end trailing smoke.

  "Asshair ignition!" Hecate yelled at him. “See!”

  Vasil shook his head, he still couldn’t believe it.

  He’d seen other prodigies. He'd seen his share of champions. He’d seen assassins slit throats in crowds without anyone but him noticing. He'd seen mages flatten houses with a gesture. He'd seen saints regrow arms and legs. All of that was impressive, but none of them had ever lit a fly’s ass on fire for fun.

  She wasn’t posturing. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone. She wasn’t even using a skill. She was doing this because it amused her.

  Vasil had lived through two kings, three wars, and one particularly awful year of famine. He had watched heroes rise and fall.

  But this? This was new.

  "How is she that accurate?" Kuba whispered beside him.

  "I don't know," Vasil said.

  "Is it a spell?"

  "No. She's just like this."

  Kasia giggled as Hecate fired another shot, and another fly spiraled downward in smoke. The swamp was filled with the sound of gunfire and laughter.

  Vasil kept watching her. She looked unbothered and entirely in control. Dangerous, without realizing how dangerous.

  She reminded him of his daughter. Same sharp tongue. Same gleam of mischief behind every reckless decision. Same way of charging forward with the certainty the world would yield. God, it hurt to watch sometimes.

  His daughter had that spark too. But she had died young, long before her promise could become reality. Watching Hecate now—laughing, shooting flies out of the air, daring the world to challenge her—felt like watching a second chance he wasn’t sure he deserved.

  She wasn’t a saint, and would never be one. Saints were clean and patient. Hecate was dirty, impulsive, foul-mouthed, tired, endlessly bitten by mosquitos, and still somehow sharp enough to cut down a purge squad in a single second.

  He watched her reload with what had to be a skill. The cylinder spun and glowed for half a second. The next shot took the heads clean off two dragonflies.

  "Two heads one bullet!" she shouted.

  Kasia was cheering her on. Kuba just stared, slack-jawed.

  He didn’t know what she was destined to become. But he was beginning to suspect the world would have to change to keep up with her.

  She cocked the revolver again and squinted at something.

  "Okay," she muttered to herself. "Let’s see if I can shoot the mud off that frog's toe without hitting the frog."

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  "Please don’t," Vasil said.

  But it was too late. Another gunshot rang out, and a tiny puff of mud burst into the air beside a distant frog. The frog blinked, unharmed. The mud was gone.

  Kasia applauded again. "That was amazing!"

  Hecate tipped an imaginary hat. "Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all week." Then her expression turned serious. “Maybe longer than a week.”

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her. The way she moved was fluid, but not professionally trained. Her movements were wild, but intuitive, almost feral. And confident. God, the confidence.

  "Her aim's ridiculous," Kuba said.

  Kasia, meanwhile, had sat down in the grass, cheeks flushed. "She’s so cool."

  "She’s something," Vasil said.

  She’s going to change the world.

  And not just because she was powerful. Plenty of people were powerful. Most of them got crushed. But Hecate didn’t bend. She also didn’t doubt. She didn’t hesitate.

  He’d seen what she’d done to the Swamp Devil. Hells, it was the reason he’d sought her out in the first place. That thing had terrorized the marshes for twenty years, and she killed it without blinking.

  The best part? She had no idea.

  He’d tried to tell her. He’d slipped it into the conversation, but she just looked at him funny and moved on like it meant nothing. Because to her, it was nothing. Just another swamp monster. Just another thing that startled her on a bad day. She hadn’t even looted the body. Didn’t check the horns, the fur, the hooves, didn’t care about the stories or what it meant to the people who lived here. She’d made a joke, and moved on.

  That was the moment he realized she wasn’t like the others. She wasn’t trying to be dangerous. She just was. And that was the problem. People like her didn’t last. Not in Silesia. Not for long.

  Silesia was no place for someone like her. The Church had never allowed for wild things, it destroyed them. Just like they had done to Zosia.

  Vasil closed his eyes and exhaled. He’d failed one girl. He wouldn’t fail this one. Not if he could help it.

  He wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly what kind of thing he was looking at. Girls like her burned hot, burned fast. She had already drawn too much attention. The Church wanted her erased. Soon the nobility would find out and panic. The whole damn country would come after her with torches the moment they realized what she was, or what she might become.

  But what if she didn’t get erased? What if for once one of them made it?

  He couldn’t stop the tide, but maybe he could teach her how to ride it. He could help her build. Keep her moving. Keep her alive long enough for the rest to fall into place. Let them call her a mistake. Let them come for her. He would make sure they regretted it.

  She could build something here in the swamp, something they wouldn’t see coming. Not if he helped her plan it right. Not if he stayed ahead of the threats. There were others out there who’d be willing to join her. Not just witches. Other misfits who didn’t fit inside the system. Others with sparks, waiting to be ignited by Hecate.

  He glanced at Kasia. She was already leaning closer, already laughing louder. Already warming her hands on Hecate’s fire. Soon, her spark would catch.

  You didn’t have to be a witch to stand against the Church. And if you were foolish or brave enough to do that—if you defied the Church, defied a god—then sooner or later, you had to fight. Or run. Or die.

  Maybe, with the right kind of help, one of them might finally live long enough to win.

  He didn’t believe in fate, but he believed in fire. And while hers hadn’t even begun to burn properly yet, it was already dangerous. She didn’t ask for permission. She just burned whoever meant harm, and warmed whoever was cold. The Church must suspect. They must be getting nervous, because fire like hers was hard to control and almost impossible to extinguish once it spread.

  And then there was chaos. There was power in chaos, if you had the nerve to use it. Most people didn’t, for good reason. Chaos was even harder to control than fire, and one slip would mean death, so most people stayed far away from it. But not her, she didn’t seem afraid of it. She leaned into it.

  He didn’t know her stat spread, but he’d bet on Dexterity and Attunement, not Chaos. She didn’t feel like someone touched by it.

  But maybe that was the trick. Maybe her chaos was calculated. Maybe she wanted to seem wild, because if no one could figure her out, no one could prepare for her. You couldn’t counter what you didn’t understand.

  And God help you if you underestimated her.

  She had a cathedral now. A crumbling, half-sunken thing deep in a forgotten swamp. It had once been a temple to Bies, back when she still had worshippers. Now Bies was dead, the cathedral rotting, her name barely remembered. The Church had made sure of that.

  Anyone else would’ve seen a ruin. She saw a headquarters. It was what he had hoped for when he tossed his crown to the bwotnik.

  Hecate hopped off the log and casually strolled back to them, like she hadn’t just done the impossible multiple times over.

  She cocked her head. "Ready to move on?"

  Kasia immediately jumped up to walk beside her, asking questions about how she hit the flies and whether she could try one day. Hecate launched into a wildly inaccurate explanation involving bullet ghosts and something called "asshair wind currents."

  Kuba trailed a few paces behind, still looking dazed.

  Vasil remained where he was.

  Asshair wind currents. What the fuck.

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