Night fell over the orphanage, cloaking the stone walls in darkness. The moon hung low, silver and pale, casting thin streaks of light across the courtyard.
Ostina pressed herself against the rough bark of a tree near the edge of the forest, her small frame practically invisible in the shadows.
She could hear the faint steps of the night guards patrolling the grounds—heavy, predictable, unthinking.
Her heart beat steadily, her breath quiet. This was the perfect opportunity. The Church never suspected that the frail, tiny child they had dismissed could move unseen, could hide in the smallest spaces no one imagined. Beneath her shirt, her long black hair brushed against her shoulders, and her teal eyes glimmered faintly as she scanned the courtyard. Every shadow, every crack in the walls, every hollow space could be an ally if she used it wisely.
She knelt beside a small patch of moss, her fingers brushing over the earth. Faint pulses of plant mana responded immediately, wrapping delicately around her fingers. She breathed softly, shaping it into tiny floating shards—leaves, feathers, threads of light—that hovered silently around her. These would help her practice control, balance, and finesse, without drawing attention.
A guard's voice echoed faintly from the corridor. Ostina froze, pressing herself against a low stone ledge. Her small body fit perfectly into the hollow space beneath it, unnoticed, invisible, as though she were nothing more than a shadow.
The shards of dark magic continued to float around her, obeying her thoughts, weaving softly into tiny shapes that mirrored the forest around her.
She glanced at the stream beyond the courtyard. The water glimmered faintly under the moonlight, alive with mana. Ostina focused, drawing small threads of water energy into her magic, carefully combining them with plant mana from the moss and a pulse from a small insect crawling nearby. Slowly, a tiny shard shaped like a feather floated above her hand. It shimmered faintly, responsive to her mind, yet subtle enough that no one would notice.
The guard's footsteps drew closer. Ostina held her breath, heart hammering in her chest. She slid her body sideways into a narrow gap between the wall and a stack of firewood. Her tiny frame allowed her to fit into a space no adult would ever consider. The shards of dark magic twirled around her fingers, glowing softly in rhythm with the pulses of mana from the forest.
They'll never see me here, she thought, a small smile tugging at her lips. Her dark magic was infinite, versatile—but it required cunning. Each use demanded care, precision, and timing. Tonight was not about power; it was about learning to move, hide, and control her abilities under pressure.
The guards passed, unaware of the tiny shadow slipping between the trees and firewood. Ostina let her shards settle on the ground, watching as the floating fragments gently hovered near a moss patch, alive with mana but invisible to the untrained eye.
The insect that had lent its energy buzzed softly nearby, and she whispered a quiet
"thank you," careful not to disturb the natural balance.
She crawled slowly, her small body perfect for spaces that no one would imagine she could fit.
Under the stone ledges, behind hollowed tree roots, between the stacked wood, she moved like a whisper, invisible, cautious. Every pulse of mana she touched, every shard she shaped, every creature she asked for consent reinforced her understanding of how fragile and powerful her magic truly was.
A small group of saplings near the courtyard whispered faintly. Ostina leaned close, pressing her palm against a root. She could feel their pulse, faint but strong, and coaxed a thread of mana into a tiny floating shard shaped like a leaf. The leaf glimmered softly, responding instantly to her thoughts.
Even the smallest energy could be transformed, shaped, and controlled—but only if treated with respect.
The night deepened, and the courtyard fell silent. Ostina's tiny body slipped into the hollow beneath a fallen log, her dark magic hovering quietly around her. The guards' footsteps faded, leaving only the whispers of the forest, the faint glow of her shards, and the soft pulse of life all around her.
She exhaled quietly, smiling to herself. I can move unseen. I can practice. I can grow stronger. And no one—not a single priest, nun, or guard—will ever know.
Her reflection in a puddle of water caught her eye.
Long black hair, teal eyes, small frame—but the shards of dark magic floating gently in the moonlight revealed something else: power, potential, and cunning far beyond her age. She pressed her hand to the ground, feeling the pulse of life respond to her thoughts. I am Ostina, she whispered, voice barely audible. I am learning… and I will not be caught.
Hours passed. She practiced moving her shards from one point to another, combining plant, water, and insect mana in intricate patterns.
Each combination was deliberate, balanced, and subtle, hidden from the eyes of those who would punish her for using it. Even in the darkness, she felt the forest's approval—a quiet, patient understanding that she was learning, respecting, and growing.
By the time the moon reached its highest point, Ostina had created a delicate network of shards hovering around her hidden space. Leaves glowed softly, tiny feathers hovered in the air, and the water shimmered faintly with a pulse she had shaped herself.
She could see how each mana type worked in harmony when combined carefully: the stability of plant mana, the flow of water mana, and the instinctual spark of animal mana.
She crouched beneath the log, her small body curled tightly, dark magic pulsing quietly, almost invisibly. Her teal eyes shone with quiet determination. The night had been a test—not of strength, but of cunning, patience, and understanding. And she had passed.
For the first time, Ostina felt truly alive in the shadows, mastering her powers without fear of discovery.
The forest around her pulsed in quiet approval, the small creatures lending their mana, the plants their life, and the flowing water its pulse. She had learned something vital: magic was not just power—it was connection, understanding, and subtlety. And with patience, even the smallest being could achieve greatness.
As the first faint light of dawn brushed the treetops, Ostina slipped silently back toward the forest edge. Her shards dissipated into the gentle morning mist, leaving no trace of her presence, no sign that she had been there at all. Only the forest remembered.
She smiled faintly, brushing a strand of black hair from her face. I will continue to learn.
I will continue to grow. And one day… they will understand that the Trash Saint is more than anyone could imagine.