The orphanage had grown restless. Rumors of stricter inspections and mysterious disappearances of small items spread among the children.
Ostina moved like a ghost among them, letting their chatter and panic mask her careful maneuvers.
Her attention was drawn to the garden toolshed, newly locked after the head priest claimed
"no child should tamper with dangerous items."
Ostina smiled faintly; danger was her ally.
Shadow threads slid across the lock, testing the mechanism. It clicked open silently. Inside, she found stakes, ropes, and a small coil of wire—perfect for her next stage.
Even as she worked, she observed her allies—or potential ones.
A timid girl, Mara, often overlooked, followed Ostina's routines with curiosity. Ostina allowed Mara to see small hints of her planning—
dropping a candle here, nudging a rope there—
just enough to pique interest without revealing the full picture. Allies, even unwitting, were as valuable as tools.
By nightfall, Ostina had mapped the orphanage in her mind with unnerving precision.
Every blind corner, every escape route, every place to hide or manipulate.
Her mana threads stretched like invisible strings through walls and floors.
She could almost feel the orphanage bending to her will,
ready for the day when appearances would shatter.