Chapter 2 The Folded Parchment

For the rest of the afternoon, Maya buried herself in work.

She recalculated quarterly budgets, responded to overdue emails, and re-sorted receipts until the numbers blurred. It was easier to focus on formulas than the flickering memory behind her eyes - the glowing runes, the whisper of her name, the basin full of visions.

It hadn't been real.

It couldn't have been real.

She left the office late, just like always. Picked up a microwave dinner from the corner store. Listened to a podcast she barely registered. When she got home, she kicked off her shoes, microwaved her food, and opened the book she'd been reading for weeks - a fantasy novel that now felt too familiar.

But the words wouldn't hold.

Her thoughts kept drifting back. To the folded parchment she'd tucked inside her coat pocket. To the symbol burned into her mind. To the strange warmth still tingling faintly along her skin.

She threw the book aside and turned on the TV.

Anything to drown out the echo.

The next few days passed the same way - work, home, work again. She told herself she was just tired. Overworked. Maybe her brain had conjured it all as some strange coping mechanism. People hallucinated things under stress, right?

She even googled it. Micro-naps. Vivid dreams. Fantasy-prone personality disorder.

It was easier to believe she'd imagined it than to accept the alternative - that something inside her had cracked open, and the world was far bigger, and far older, than she'd been allowed to believe.

So she smiled when coworkers asked how she was. Nodded politely during meetings. Took her vitamins. Made small talk. Filed reports.

But at night, she still dreamed of firelight and moss.

Of a circle of women waiting.

Of a name whispered like a spell - her name.

And every time she walked past that block, she refused to glance toward the alley.

It was better this way.

Safe. Normal.

Forgettable.

But deep down, where reason couldn't reach, Maya knew:

Magic doesn't wait forever.

On the next day, she went to work. Maya was pouring her morning coffee in the cramped kitchenette at work when it happened.

She reached for the creamer, and the small carton slipped from her fingers. Time seemed to slow as the container spun through the air.

But instead of crashing to the floor, the creamer stopped mid-fall - hovering just inches above the tile.

Maya froze, eyes wide.

She blinked once. The carton dropped softly onto the counter, not a sound.

"Did you see that?" she whispered, heart hammering.

A coworker rounded the corner, glancing at her curiously.

"See what?" he asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

She shook her head, forcing a laugh. "Nothing. Must be more tired than I thought."

The moment passed, but the unease lingered.

Throughout the day, small things kept happening - a stray paper that floated gently back onto her desk, the faint scent of jasmine when no one was near, her phone flickering with static even though it was fully charged.

Maya told herself it was all coincidence. Stress. A trick of her imagination.

But every time her fingers brushed the strange symbol from the note she'd found, a warmth blossomed beneath her skin, like embers quietly catching flame.

That night, lying in bed, she reached out to touch the pendant she never took off - a simple silver crescent moon.

And for a moment, it pulsed softly against her palm.

Maya closed her eyes.

Magic was waking.

Whether she was ready or not.