You must find the book.
Jane's fingers twitched.
"The book," she murmured. "The one I saw in my dream. The one that started this."
John frowned. "What book?"
"There's something out there. A sacred book. It holds answers. I need it."
"I'll find it," he said without hesitation. "Tell me where to start."
"I don't know," Jane admitted. "But it's old. Bound in black. With a seal—one that glows violet. I remember that much."
John nodded, already rising to his feet.
"I'll search every market, every black stall, every dusty library in town if I have to."
Jane met his eyes, searching for the liar she thought she knew.
But all she saw now was the man who still knelt for her.
⸻
Two nights later, the door to her cell creaked open once more.
John stepped inside, cloak damp with rain, dirt clinging to his boots. In his arms, three heavy tomes, each wrapped in cloth.
He placed them before her.
"The first two," he said, "were fakes. Decorative junk. But this one…"
He held out the third book.
It was as she had seen it.
Bound in aged leather black as obsidian. Edged in silver. The seal in the center of the cover pulsed with faint violet light, like a heartbeat under skin.
Jane reached forward, hesitant.
The moment her fingers brushed the surface—
The seal flared.
And the book opened.
Pages turned themselves, flipping with unseen wind. Symbols danced across the parchment, ancient runes reshaping into language she could understand.
And then—words burned themselves into her mind.
⸻
The Violet Ascension
Witch Power-Level System
Every Witch is born with the Mark of the Flame, a magical signature that evolves in complexity with each level ascended. But every level comes with a cost—side effects that blur the line between humanity and monstrosity.
⸻
Level One – Awakening
• Mark: A soft violet glow in the palm, developing into glowing, root-like marks on the back of the hand.
• Abilities:
• Access to basic elemental magic (fire manipulation, minor illusion, short-range teleportation).
• Greatly increased intelligence—fast learning, language translation, instinctive spellcasting.
• Side Effects:
• Obsession with knowledge and magical power.
• Inability to rest fully; mind remains overactive—frequent nightmares and hallucinations.
⸻
Level Two – Immersion
• Mark: The glowing roots spread up the arms. Eyes turn violet during emotional surges.
• Abilities:
• Mid-tier illusion magic, enhanced elemental control, limited telekinesis.
• Spiritual scent: Ability to detect human aura, lies, and intent.
• Side Effects:
• Heightened sexual desire—intensifies after powerful spell usage.
• Physical hypersensitivity—touch becomes overwhelming and addictively pleasurable.
• Risk of losing control without proper mental discipline.
⸻
Level Three – Transcendence (Forbidden)
• Requirement: Must take a human life using magic.
• Mark: Spreads to neck, back, and part of the face. Eyes become permanently violet. Hair reflects spectral light.
• Abilities:
• Large-scale destructive spells, mind control, interrealm teleportation.
• Can absorb the power of other witches.
• Side Effects:
• Loss of empathy and guilt.
• Obsession with death and dominance.
• Whispering voices from the book grow louder—tempting, corrupting.
• Slowly loses humanity, becoming a Voidborne—a twisted, mad witch consumed by magic.
⸻
Jane's hands trembled as she turned the page.
It was not just power. It was a warning.
This path—this will consume her—it would burn her alive if she wasn't careful.
And yet…
She looked down at the root-mark beginning to shimmer beneath her skin.
The Violet Flame had already chosen her.
The pages stopped turning on their own.
But Jane's hands—her hands wouldn't stop.
She flipped to the next page, breath shallow with anticipation. Her fingers were no longer trembling from fear. They trembled from need.
Rows of inked runes greeted her eyes—graceful, elegant lines that shimmered faintly as if reacting to her presence. They translated themselves in her mind with unnatural clarity.
Mantras. Sigils. Potion crafting. Stonebinding.
There were entire sections labeled:
• Blood-based Warding Glyphs
• Essence Extraction from Celestial Herbs
• Stone Magic: Awakening Mineral Memory
• The Anatomy of Hexes and Enchantments
• Dreamwalking and the Realm Beyond
Each page was a treasure trove of forbidden brilliance. Old diagrams detailed how to shape illusions using one's breath. Notes in a foreign hand explained the steps to bottling emotion. And in the margins—whispers of a lost language that tickled the edges of her memory like a forgotten lullaby.
Jane leaned closer, her breath fogging the edge of the page.
She couldn't stop smiling.
For the first time in days—maybe longer—she felt… alive.
A dangerous, beautiful kind of alive.
Her eyes burned with hunger, but not for food or freedom. It was a hunger far more consuming.
Knowledge. Just like the book said.
Level 1: Obsession with knowledge and magical power.
Magic was no longer a myth or an instinct.
It was tangible.
It had shape. Structure. Language.
And now—it was hers.
"Jane?" John's voice sounded far away.
She didn't answer.
Didn't even hear him, really.
She was already on the next page, devouring a recipe for a memory-sealing draught—then another on spell-triggered traps using mere chalk and breath.
The side effect had begun.
She didn't know it yet—not consciously.
But the obsession was there.
Beneath her skin.
In the way her pupils dilated at every symbol. In the way her lips curled when she saw a spell labeled Whisperbind. In how she instinctively pressed her palm to a charm-inscribed circle and felt it respond to her without words.
She was no longer the girl locked in a room.
She was something else now.
She was a Witch with a grimoire.
And for the first time in her life…
Jane Ardent felt free.
A diagram of an open palm—marked with the same glowing sigil she'd seen in her dream—stared back at her from the page. Next to it, a chant. Short. Simple. One she could understand without translating.
The words called to her. They didn't feel foreign. They felt like home.
Her lips parted.
"Ignarae valem sur—"
A spark crackled in the air. Violet fire coiled around her fingertips.
"Jane, wait—!"
John's voice snapped her out of it, but it was too late.
The flame burst from her palm with the force of instinct. It spiraled wildly across the room, searing the edge of the drapes before slamming into the stone wall behind John's shoulder.
He flinched hard, nearly dropping the tray he had brought in—still untouched on the side table.
Smoke curled from the impact mark, blackened stone hissing.
Jane gasped. "I didn't mean—!"
John's eyes were wide, heart hammering against his uniform. "Are you trying to kill me?"
"No!" she rushed forward, the chains on her wrists dragging with sharp clinks. "It was a reflex—I didn't think it would actually—"
"Do that?" He pointed to the wall, brows furrowed.
Jane looked down at her hand. The flame had vanished, but her skin still glowed faintly, the mark on her palm pulsing like a heartbeat.
Then… a smile spread across her lips.
Bright. Unapologetic. Hungry.
"I did it," she whispered, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous sort of joy. "It worked."
John watched her for a moment longer, saying nothing. His breath slowed. Then he looked away and exhaled. "Just… be careful."
But she wasn't listening.
Jane Ardent had tasted real magic—and it tasted like freedom.
As John quietly collected the tray and stepped out of the room, her fingers trailed down the pages once more, brushing over ancient recipes and etched diagrams.
She... love it.