Giving the clumsiest person to exist librarian duties sounded like a brilliant idea until it was not.

Isolde swept off the ashes after glancing if anyone was around. No matter how often she did it, sweat still trails on her face. If the High Priestess knew she had not learned her lesson, it would be another day of her ears ringing from scolding.

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the empty pail, but another idea crossed her mind. "It won't hurt, right? It's just water."

She convinced herself, yet a small flashback crossed her memory, which she chose to ignore right away. Besides, summoning water was more harmless than trying to light up the torch that ended in a few burnt pages here and there.

Puffing up her chest, she whipped up her wand once more.

"Please let this work," she mumbled under her breath. "Please, please, please..."

A hiss responded to her mindless plea with its dry touch circling her arm. She ignored the sound as it gets closer and shut her eyes close, reciting the spell.

Frost coursed through her fingers down to her wand. The familiar feeling of nature embracing her body like a spirit floating to nirvana surged her senses. Crisps air tickled her skin as her heartbeats paced into a rhythmic beat, gradually sounding to the tunes of magic.  

The rough-scaled creature on her arms stilled, watching the soft glow emerge from the tip of Isolde's wand pointing toward the pail. It grew larger, larger, and larger until hisses of warnings resounded in the room, but she was already drowning in mana.

Unfortunately, when it comes to her, things that should be left figurative became too literal for her liking. Instead of the water directing them to where she wanted, a douse of water woke her from her trance.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no..."

She was drenched from head to toe, and gooseflesh appeared on her skin as she ran to the bathroom. If there was one thing she could be proud of as a walking disaster, it was that she was always ready for emergencies like this.

Still, changing clothes was magic so simple that any average witch could do it, but she could not risk it. 'What if I got naked and someone sees me?'

That would be her worst nightmare. She could endure burns, criticism, and even pain but the embarrassment? There was no way she could do a walk of shame of being naked. 

The whole nineteen years of Isolde's life were a struggle to control her magic. Even doing a cleaning spell takes so much of a toll on her. But by no means was she weak. Her connection with nature was so strong that a simple spell had twice or even thrice the effect. However, talent without control was considered useless.

"I know, I know, stop judging me, Topaz."

Burnt yellow irises met— one pair with slit pupils filled with disdain, the other framed in thick lashes with eyelids curving deep on the corners.

Her Critter hissed as if harrumphing her while she got dressed. Isolde would bet her entire fortune that if the animal spirit sealed inside the snake's body could have the ability to talk, she was bound to get an earful.

She finished tidying up and returned to the main circulation area at the library. On her desk were empty books she had to fill up later. But first, she had to clean up and make sure she would not leave any evidence that the High Priestess would suspect her.

She summoned her broom, turning a blind eye to the accumulating dirt on the tips of its bristles.

Brooms were so important to witches, even more than their wands. It was their identity that made them different from their rivals— the warlocks.

Still, that did not stop Isolde from using it to sweep the floor. She grabbed some rags and let the water soak them before dusting the remaining ashes of the pages she had burned.

'High Priestess won't get mad, right?'

After all, she was the one who assigned Isolde here when she was happily rotting on her bed with no one to comment on her disastrous day-to-day events. Her cottage was her haven but the High Priestess just had to pull her out so she could have a 'life' and 'contribute to the community'.

Isolde was fully aware of her ability to fumble on the most basic things. Truth be told, she was doing everyone a favor by staying at home. But as a witch who was part of the coven, they all had tasks delegated based on their expertise.

However, the High Priestess probably misjudged her own intuition. Isolde truly loved to read books, and she had already finished reading every single book in this library. Still, that was a different matter. She could not wrap her mind around why she was assigned to the public library where she could smolder everything in just one unintended move. It was just a week, but the books she had to replace were already more than her fingers could count.

Maybe she should just be thankful that not so many people visited to witness her silly behavior.

When she was done, she came back to the librarian's desk. She grabbed a quill and added the books she had damaged to the list. She took the book that was opened downwards to continue where she left off. Dipping the quill into the ink, only the scritches of metal on paper filled the room.

By the time she completed her task, the skies had already transitioned to orange tones. It was another day with no guests coming to the library. She gathered the books she had accomplished rewriting and returned them to where they belonged.

Still, even this task was a challenge for her dexterity. For someone whose mortal enemy was gravity, balancing herself on the flight of stairs with a pile of books in her hands was a major hurdle. As much as possible, she did not want to go upstairs, but what could she do when her first tragedy at work happened there? At present, she had to return the replica for her peace of mind. She had accepted the High Priestess's reprimands upon learning that she had burned a few rare grimoires, but Isolde could not stop the guilt. She had to do something to compensate. Thankfully, she found a way to do so, else the guilt would consume her entire being.

She traversed the book sections to place back the handwritten books she did then went down. But even if her hand was holding the railings, that did not stop her foot from having a misstep. Squeezing her eyes shut, she summoned her wand and cast a spell—one that could obviously keep her eyes closed forever if it was directed at her—followed by a loud boom echoing in the halls.

Dust billowed into clouds, and splinters of wood scattered. The spell that should have saved her from the fall became an explosion spell. It somehow did the job, but at what cost? Her body toppled down to the flattened stairs, barely avoiding the debris. She could not even register the pain as she stood up to look at what she had done. Frantic gasps resounded through the room as she tried to regulate her breathing. 

"Hah... Hahahaha... Oops, I did it again." She let out a high-pitched laugh, bordering on hysterical ones once she thought the worse that could happen. What if there was someone? What if she tumbled on the jagged splinter and pierced herself to death?

'Calm down, calm down, calm down.' Breathing in, breathing out. Another nervous chuckle bubbled.

"The High Priestess will really kill me this time," she muttered as the scene dawned on her, ruminating how to fix the entire mess. "It's okay, it's okay. I'll find a way. At least no one is harmed."

It was just an oopsie, a common occurrence. Nothing new to her chaotic life.

"Well, this is already more exciting than finding that rare book." 

Isolde's spine straightened before swiveling to see a man robed in a hooded cloak with a wooden staff on his side. His slow gait, in addition to the corner of his lips rising, unsettled the calm she was trying to achieve.

'A warlock.' He was an unusual guest she did not expect.

"The library is closed," she said as she patted her aching butt.

Half of his face was obscured, and the setting sun did not help her to identify who he was. He simply shrugged before speaking, "Apparently. I won't be sneaking here if it is opened."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "You can just come back tomorrow to avoid trouble, you know."

He chuckled. "Well, I am here for the trouble... Or so I thought since you look more in trouble than I am."

Isolde turned back and half of the stairs were missing. If this library was only for witches, this would not have been a problem. They could just use their brooms to fly over to the first floor. However, regular humans could come too, and they have no means, aside from the stairs. 'It's okay. It will be okay.'

"Are you looking for anything urgent?" she asked instead.

"Yes." He pursed his lips toward the first floor's balcony. "And it's up there."

She spread her hands, and the broom was like a magnet that hovered to her directly. She positioned the stick between her legs and glanced at the man. "Come on."

Seconds paused between them, and she inclined her head in confusion since the man did not move; even the smile on his lips seemed to freeze.

"Hello?"

The man flinched a bit when she drew closer while he stepped back.

"You can ride behind me, and I'll help you find what you are looking for," she said.

"What? Isn't it a tradition that only your significant other can ride with you?"

"I guess, but you're a stranger, so how will you become my significant other just by a single ride?" The most important thing right now was to make amends for her mistake. Yet another moment of silence engulfed them before the man's laughter erupted. 

"Well, color me surprised then."

"Huh?"

"Nothing, let's go." He hopped off behind her back.

Riding her broom was the only thing she was confident about, but now that there was an additional weight, she found herself second-guessing.

'It's just one floor. Just one floor.'

Just a minute's ride almost took forever for her. They landed safely, and she did not realize she was holding her breath the whole time. The man jumped off, and she followed.

"What book are you searching for?"

"Souls of the Dead. No author name, but it's red with an embossed rose on the cover."

"Oh, that..."

She remembered it too well. It was the first book she destroyed on the first day of her job. All the High Priestess' words still resonated from that time. If they were not relatives, she could swear she would have been a bigger punishment since that was the first time she saw her aunt at her wit's end.

"It's here." She guided the man towards the far end, where all the prized books were located. After that incident, she decided to transfer all these types of books far from her—out of sight, out of mind, and most importantly, out of her reach.

She handed him the book, knowing that she could only imagine the confusion he was feeling.

"It has a distinct red cover with rose embossed on it," he said, his forehead wrinkling.

"Yes, I heard you the first time, but that's really what you are looking for." Her voice went lower as she explained.

His eyebrows could intertwine together as his gaze traveled back and forth between her and the book. "But it's black?"

"Um, things happened, but I can really guarantee that's the same one. Word for word!" She raised her palm as a pledge. 

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, you can check if you want. I promise you all the contents are the same!"

The man took off his hood, and his staff emitted a glowing orb that helped him read the words, but Isolde's mouth hung open as he revealed himself.

Pure white strands denude itself upon the dim rows of shelves. The candle's flickering flame played an alluring dance of fire unto his visage, exuding warmth to the person who almost personified early spring cracking the end of winter. 

His viridiscent irises eluded any reflection aside from the book he was reading, yet Isolde could not take her attention away from him. 

She had never seen someone who had such hair. White symbolizes magic for both witches and warlocks, and having just a single strand embodied the proof that a person was blessed with magic. It was engrained in her mind that the more prominent it was, the more powerful the person was. Hers was only a patch of strands on the right side of her hair, but to think that a person had every single tendril on his head to be white was unimaginable up to this day. 

"Who-who are you?"

The man looked up. Perhaps realizing her awe, his eyes glinted with a touch of playfulness.

"Ronan Gravelock," he answered.

"You have the same surname as the Tower Lord."

"Many have pointed that out."

"Are you his child? But he's not married, right? Besides—" Isolde managed to stop herself before she could add another list of offenses toward the High Priestess.

The man grinned. "A person doesn't need to be married to have a son."

A frown etched her face. "Isn't marriage a sacred act before having a child?"

"Ah yes, as sacred as a witch letting another person ride together with her." He closed the book. "How about you? What's your name?"

"Isolde Cromsbane," she replied.

"Well, Isolde. I might need your help."

"Huh?"

He passed the book. "It appears only witches can cast the spell."

She opened it and found what page he was referring to. Indeed, only a witch was able to do it. This was a grimoire created to summon back the soul of the dead by a witch who has lost her love, but Isolde never heard of it succeeding.

"Oh, I am the worst witch to ask for help." Her fingers fidgeted as she admitted that fact.

"I don't think so. I am certain this is not the real book, but it appears you have written this. I did not even tell you the page, but you knew what I was talking about. More importantly, I am running out of time. The soul could only be retrieved before twenty days upon their death." His voice gradually lost its charm as it was replaced by urgency. "How about I fix the stairs if you help me?"

She contemplated a bit. It was an offer too good to be true.

"Then, can you do it now?"

"Of course." He raised his staff, and a magic circle appeared above his head. She dashed to follow the magic circle as it traveled to the stairs, and in just a minute, it was as good as new.

"Oh my, thank you!" With her brain filled with glee, she jumped to Ronan, who happened to be behind her. Her arms swung to his side and squeezed him with a huge hug of appreciation.

"It's a small price," he said and pushed her back, trying to hide the heat rising on the tips of his ears.

"But you need an item from them. Do you have it?" she said, once she recollected herself.

He pulled out a silver necklace that was very familiar to her. She had a similar one hanging on her neck but in gold.

"Can I ask who died?"

"My father."

"The name?"

"Argent Gravelock."

Her eyes widened. "You're really the Tower Lord's son? Does the High Priestess know what happened?"

"She was the one who told me to come here."

Isolde's face became stiff. If the High Priestess knew of the Tower Lord's death, why did she send him here? She knew that she had burned that specific book, and besides, the High Priestess did not know that she was replicating all the books she had memorized before. 'Is it just a false hope?'

She hazed at the man who had his eyes locked on her intently. Urgency was not repressed in his irises. Hope seemed to burst into it, reflecting dependency, as if she was his only savior.

"Please promise you won't blame me if this fails."

"I vow under my name," he replied.

"First of all, we do not know what happens after the magic is cast. It needs two people to form the cast. The caster, who should be a witch, and the retriever will hold the item of the dead they seek. Do you still wish to proceed?"

He nodded, making Isolde wonder what made him so desperate to resurrect his father. She only had her aunt her whole life, and maybe if she were in his shoes, she would be the same.

Taking a deep breath, she called for Topaz. Critters helped witches to enhance their magic and helped speed up their progress. She knelt to the ground while she grabbed chalk from her pouch. With measured breath, she drew the first circle. The runes were written with precision to welcome the invisible spirits that would guide her magic. 

Next would be the hardest part. It was always the spell recitation that could make it or break it.

As she read the passage, her brow arched. 'Weird. Why did it need two people inside the magic circle?'

Usually, the caster could just aid the summoner. It was always a precaution for the caster to stay out of the circle if it did not involve them. She peered at the man who was so eager on the side.

"Please step inside the circle," she said. He did say he would not blame her. Besides, it was just one spell. The only problem was this was an ancient magic involving life and death. 'Please make this work.'

She grabbed his hands, and their gaze locked. Her hesitant voice quivered at the beginning, but as each syllable flickered, her tone grew more assured. The magic circle glowed until strong winds drew towards them, blonde and white strands intertwining as the bright light enveloped their bodies. It was the last thing she could perceive before the ground trembled, splitting into two and swallowing them into the darkness with no time to react.

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chapter word count: 3030
total word count: 3030