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“Witches the world over, the time for your suffering is at end. A new world order is at hand, and Syrica has returned. Let us meet on the streets, in The Heart of Evil, for that shall be our start— a bastion where witches can live openly and freely." Those words rang through the minds of the entire world, and with them, the start of the bloodiest witch hunt it had ever seen.
    'Syrica' was a malnourished, scrawny 19-year-old girl with abnormally weak magic for a witch. She had been on the run for the large majority of her life. And she was almost certainly unfit to fulfill a promise of rewriting the world order. But she had a dream.

    It had been seven long years since Syrica ran away. Seven years since she had overheard her parents, in hushed voices, decide to turn her into the government for witchcraft. She’d always been extremely shy as a child and largely kept to herself, trying her best to hide her magic from them. However, she’d always felt that if she did tell, they would be okay with it, if only begrudgingly, and continue to unconditionally love her. She had no friends or siblings, only her parents. They didn’t particularly express their love for her, but they kept her fed and clothed, and she never took that for granted. They were all she’d ever had.
    Her mother's sharp whispering, "John, she's a fucking witch!" dispelled all of that and permanently embedded itself into her mind from then on. That was where she’d stopped listening. Everything in her small world fell apart when she heard how they really viewed her. She hated herself for being a witch, and she hated them for thinking of her as nothing more. She thought they loved her.
    And it was just because she was a witch… it wasn’t fair! Or… in the corner of her mind she thought… maybe it was exactly fair. Maybe it was just that because justice was being pointed at her that she wanted it to be something else. She didn’t know, and it felt as if her emotions were oozing from her mind, threatening to burst and split it. She held them back within her as long as she could. After packing everything she could think to take, she snuck out and headed off into the night without any plan. She only made it two slow steps out of the door, heaving a bag far too heavy for her, until tears began streaming down her face.

   Syrica's magic primarily granted her control over manipulating attention. A witch could control anything, at least in theory, but had certain aptitudes, and, regardless, needed to cultivate the ability over time.
   After running away, Syrica was aimless. All she knew was that she had to get away. Witches who were caught were burned at the stake. She'd been to one witch execution in her life, and though she kept her eyes down and fixed on her shoes, she’d heard everything, smelled everything, seen the true nature of the people around her in that moment. People she had known, grown up with and lived alongside, cheering as they watched the suffering and death of another person. He was a witch, but… it was just wrong and perverse. She heard his screams too, barely, almost entirely drowned out by the noise of the crowd. She heard them until they stopped. It was all tinged with that awful smell of burning flesh.
   That memory always surfaced when she thought of the town of Feris and its people. Though she didn’t know them well out of shyness prior, after that she didn’t want to know them. She felt like they were witches, almost. The world that night was sickening to her, and though she tried to force it out of her mind with magic and will for years, in a small corner of her mind it persisted.

   She trudged along the dirt path out of Feris for days, choosing at random when she came upon a fork in the road. If she came across anyone, she would hide off by the side of the road and force her magic as much as possible to avoid their attention. It was almost as if she was looking through someone else’s eyes and controlling someone else’s body. None of it felt real, and it all just kept happening in front of her. She was watching a witch who used her wicked magic to sway the minds of innocent passersby, and she felt dumbstruck every time she considered that that witch was her.
   During the nights, she’d layer on two or three sets of clothes for warmth and sleep on the side of the road, using her bag as a pillow. She had one oversized shirt that she always used as the outer layer, and she curled herself up to fit into it. Sleep was uncomfortable, and she was constantly on edge from the sounds of animals.
   During the days, her food and water disappeared quickly. A small part of her wanted herself to go with it too, just disappearing into nothingness. She used her magic on that as well, to shut that part of her up. She often used her magic to focus her attention away from painful thoughts or memories, so she had gradually gotten quite good at manipulating her own attention.

   After the first two days, she had gone through about a third of her food, and she knew the rest would go just the same without a plan to replenish it. She didn't want to, but she knew that eventually, she would have to steal.
   Her reasoning went like this: there was no place willing to take her in or provide her with work as a witch. Because there was no place for a witch in society. She would have to lie, and she would be getting access to things a witch should not have. A witch should only starve and die. She didn’t want to do that though… she wanted to keep living. She didn’t want to involve innocent people in her predicament more than she had to, and those other options were too slow anyways. So… she had to steal. Even still, it was just one wicked thing after another.

   At three and a half days of walking, Syrica's feet were sore and her shoulders ached intensely, but at last she came to a town. She identified it with a sign as ‘Singrale.’ At least she was here now, though, instead of walking on that road, not knowing when it would end or where it would even take her. Not that the name Singrale meant much to her. She had heard of it in passing a few times as a neighboring town of Feris, but she knew virtually nothing of it.
   Walking into town, Syrica felt keenly aware of how much of an outsider she was here. The thought passed through her mind that this was how it would be from now on, for the rest of her life. She pushed it down. A few people were walking about, and she couldn’t stop trying to keep out of their view, even though she knew it looked more suspicious.
   She didn't exactly know what she was looking for, but she did know that her biggest concerns were food and water, followed up by shelter and a means of showering. She didn't look that dirty, but eventually, she would. That would make it significantly harder to deflect attention. Not to mention, y’know, that she didn’t want to be dirty.
   While wandering about in Singrale, she thought about what the best plan to deal with those needs was. And, after thinking on it for a bit, an idea started to form in her mind. If she could find a school, that would deal with pretty much everything. She’d have access to water from drinking fountains; she didn't know how hard it would be, but there would also be food to steal in the cafeteria; and, she figured, there had to be someplace soft in an entire school to sleep on, like a cot in a nurse's office or at least a carpeted floor somewhere. And, she could maybe even slip into some of the bigger classes! She didn't like school for the most part, but back before she ran away, she liked history a lot. Well… except for when witches came up.
   Because while before she'd always been anxious, knowing that it was something she was supposed to hide, thinking about witches now made her feel an intense self-loathing and shame. She hadn’t really thought of herself as a witch all that much until lately. Using her magic had always been second nature to her, but now that she had to use it daily just to survive, she was constantly reminded of it. And when she thought of it now, using her magic was also wrong before, but she’d only viewed it as a neat little thing she could do that changed nothing as long as she kept it a secret. That was naive of her, and it irritated her that she could be so carefree while doing something so wrong. She wished that she was never a witch in the first place. When she looked at her body, she could only think that it was the body of a witch. A body that maybe should be burned away, like she knew everyone in the world wanted.
   She pushed those thoughts down. Again, agh. They kept coming up, but she would keep pushing them down. She needed to find a school.

   She walked around mindlessly. Just focusing on walking, on each step. At some point, she forgot she was even looking for something. She wasn’t even using her magic. It was sort of soothing, in a meditative kind of way.
   Then she heard some kids talking. That snapped her back to attention. If kids were walking about, that’d mean that school had let out. She glanced at them, and sure enough, they looked about the right age. She made a mental note of where they were coming from and then turned to walk there once they had passed her.
   Syrica took her time, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to return to that meditative state, before eventually arriving at the school. She located a sign, which identified it as ‘Bostatin Academy.’ After watching from afar for a few minutes, only a few people were still leaving, so she figured most had already left.
   After spending a moment to collect herself, she slipped into the school under the cover of her magic. In her mind, if she was caught here, there was a very significant chance that her identity as a witch would be exposed. And she knew well what that meant.
   Burning at the stake. The cruelest of eyes upon her melting flesh. Every wasted second exposed her needlessly to that possibility. So she played it safe. Nobody was around— for now. She looked hurriedly but methodically. A janitor’s closet— too dangerous; she didn’t know the janitor’s schedule yet. A classroom with a closet— decent, but locked. A door without a lock in the gymnasium. Perfect. She quickly slipped in.
   It seemed like a storage room; there were mats, vaulting boxes, vaulting poles, nets, weights, all sorts of gym equipment. After considering her options for a moment, she decided to move the mats out slightly to create a space to hide behind them. Then… she sat there for a few moments, considering what to do next.
   And then, she kept sitting there for a few more moments. Increasingly, she became aware of the extreme fatigue present in both her body and mind. The room was just ever so slightly warm too, which only contributed to the feeling. She knew she should keep herself awake, but after sleeping outside for days, she desperately needed a good rest. Being tired was dangerous as well, she reasoned. She’d need to be rested for the coming night.
   This was a bad idea. But, she could even pull one of the mats out and sleep on it. Sitting on that thought for a moment, she felt the tiredness thoroughly seep into her body. And there wasn’t much she’d be able to do if she was caught here even if she was awake, she thought. She pulled out the mat hesitantly, still torn. Slowly though, she crawled onto it and fell into a dreamless slumber.

   Syrica woke up. Her mind was much clearer, and she felt extremely limber. She hadn’t realized just how tense and sore her muscles had gotten over the past few days, but she instantly recognized the difference. Taking her time, she slowly pulled herself up to a seated position.
   As soon as she fully shook off the half-sleep, the specifics of her immediate reality came rushing back to her. It was back to business.
   No light was coming in from under the door, so she guessed it was probably night. She peeked out from under it. It didn’t look like anyone was there. She listened carefully as well and heard nothing. After about a minute, she figured it was clear.
   Alright, time to see if she could really work with this, she thought to herself. She took her bag with her, just in case she needed it. Walking around, she felt calmer in the empty school, even though she knew it was more dangerous without a crowd of people to sink into. The air was cooler as well since it was night, which relaxed her. She moved cautiously, making sure to ease her feet onto the ground from her heels to her toes to soften the sound of her footsteps while keeping an ear out for any guards. She didn’t hear any, but she didn’t want to let her guard down.
   Carrying on like this, she eventually made her way to the bathrooms. She was curious to see how she looked in the mirror; she guessed she probably looked fine, and it wasn’t immediately important, but primarily she was curious to see how much danger she had really been in.
   However, walking into the room, as her image started to appear in the mirror, Syrica was surprised to see that it looked… bad. It wasn’t something that would stand out that much at first glance, especially with the help of her magic, but to her, since she knew how she usually looked for comparison, it was a stark difference. Her short brown hair was matted, and had flecks of dirt that must have come from sleeping on the ground. There was a little bit of dirt on her clothes too, and the fabric was starting to fray in places. The most striking thing though, was her expression. While it was usually largely devoid of emotion, her face never having been particularly expressive, now it just looked empty. She looked profoundly tired as well. And that was despite the refreshing sleep that she had just had. That actually made her a bit concerned.
   But she would deal with it later. She really needed to locate the necessities. She refocused herself with the help of her magic. Food, water and showering were all that was left. Moving to the cafeteria, which she had seen earlier in her rush to find a hiding spot, she located a locked icebox, which presumably had food. She didn't think stealing it would be easy, but it'd be doable. She would have to figure that out later. There were drinking fountains scattered around the halls too, but she had already seen those.
   Then, the last thing on the checklist was a means of showering. She went back to the gym and looked around to see if there were any showers. Locating the locker rooms, she went into them, and was relieved to see a few showers. She didn’t know what she would do if they weren’t there.
   Settling down onto a bench in the locker room, Syrica felt utterly drained by the last few days. The constant tension that kept her going despite everything, she let it go a little slack. Laying there, the silence was eerie, but also soothing. Well... she had everything she needed to live. For all the ways she could have failed, she didn’t. She felt immense relief, accompanied by an undercurrent of hollowness.
   It wasn't much, but it was enough to live; it was all she could do. She couldn't bear to think about any purpose or goal. To think about why she was living. She couldn’t even remember when it became her goal. All she could keep in her mind and stick to was living itself.