Rewrite That Witch
CH466 · Rewrite
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Chapter 466: Reappearance

“Summer.” Wendy kept her voice soft. “The Witch Union is nothing like what your family has told you it is. And you don’t have to live in the castle.”

“Really?” The girl’s voice was barely above a breath.

“Of course. We stay here because we had nowhere else to go—before His Highness took us in, we lived as vagrants. Our families were either broken apart or had turned us into strangers.” Wendy paused. “You’re fortunate. You have a family.” She tilted her head toward the castle interior. “Come inside. The wind is too sharp out here.”

Summer lowered her head and followed.

Scroll was waiting in the entrance hall. “A new witch? What’s her name?”

“Summer.” Wendy turned to the guard. “Can you go to the riverside chemical lab and ask Lady Agatha to return? Tell her there’s a newly awakened witch. She should be there now.”

“Of course, Lady Wendy.” The guard bowed and departed.

Scroll nodded. “Without Nightingale or Sylvie here, only Agatha can assess magic power directly.”

“What can she do?” Paper had materialized from somewhere, peering around Wendy’s arm.

“We don’t know yet.” Wendy put a hand on Summer’s shoulder. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

“Eighteen?” Spear’s voice held a note of surprise. “That’s the age of adulthood.”

“When did you first notice?” Scroll asked, drawing her chair slightly closer. “Tell us everything.”

Summer’s fingers found the hem of her sleeve. “Three days ago. On my birthday.” She was quiet for a moment, gathering herself. “My elder brother caught a fish for me as a present. My second sister took it. All that was left for me was half the tail.” She glanced up briefly, then down again. “That night I cried myself to sleep, hugging my quilt. I dreamed the fish came back to my bowl.” She stopped. “When I woke up, it was there. And there was a new elder sister sitting at the table eating it.”

“A new elder sister,” Wendy repeated carefully.

“One was sitting there, eating. The other was on the floor, completely frozen with fear.” Summer’s voice flattened slightly at the memory. “The one eating disappeared soon after—with the fish. I could feel that whatever had appeared was connected to me. But when I told my family, my father hit me and said I’d frightened my second sister. I hadn’t done it on purpose.” She shook her head. “Who would think a dream could become real?”

“It wasn’t a dream,” Wendy said. “It was your Day of Awakening.”

She had explained it before, and each time the shape of it stayed the same: magic power gathered in a witch’s body on that day, and for most witches it arrived before any conscious control was possible. The first unguarded use of ability, performed involuntarily in front of ordinary people, was how witches were discovered—and how they were lost. It was the second-leading cause of witches simply disappearing, after the Day of Adulthood itself.

But Wendy had never heard of both days landing on the same date. It was possible—the Day of Adulthood was simply a more particular kind of Awakening—and yet.

“After that,” Summer continued, “my second sister called me a witch and said I had to leave. My elder brother argued—he said there were plenty of witches in the town, that it wasn’t something to be afraid of. They quarreled.” Her voice went quieter. “In the end they decided to bring me here.”

Even people recently arrived from the Southern Territory had already been shaped by Border Town’s reputation. The town’s influence moved faster than its borders.

Summer’s situation was fortunate, measured against what it might have been: not tied up, not sold to the Church, not abandoned at the roadside. The loss was more subtle—a family that had decided, despite the arguments, that it could not absorb a witch into its ordinary life. That kind of loss didn’t leave a visible mark, which made it harder to address.

In time, Wendy thought, this too will change. The original inhabitants of Border Town are already the proof of it.

She was still holding that thought when Agatha walked in.

The older witch looked tired in the way people look when they have been using their mind intensely—a sharpness around the eyes, a slight economical quality to every movement. She surveyed the room in a single sweep.

“Is this the new witch?”

Wendy nodded and briefly recounted Summer’s identity and awakening. Agatha listened without interrupting.

“We test in two stages,” Agatha said when Wendy finished. “A direct demonstration of the ability, and a Stone of Measuring reading for aggregate magic power.” She turned to Summer. “Close your eyes. Try to feel the magic moving inside you.”

“Should someone assist her?” Wendy asked, the concern moving through her before she could stop it. “She’s only been awakened three days. She may not know what she’s feeling for.”

“No need.” Agatha almost smiled. “My only concern is whether she’s frightened.”

As she spoke, the magic-filled stone at Agatha’s waist emitted a thin ray of pale green light that enveloped Summer completely. A faint mist gathered around the girl’s chest—pale yellow at the center, the edges barely holding their shape, as if the whole formation might disperse in a strong breath.

Agatha studied it for a long moment. Then she let the stone go dark.

“She wasn’t lying,” she said. “The Day of Awakening and Day of Adulthood coinciding—this is indeed the signature of that. The ability type is the summoning type.” She paused. “Magic power level: extremely low.”

Wendy winced slightly. “Did this occur in Taquila as well?”

“The Union witnessed thousands of awakenings.” Agatha’s voice carried a faint, habitual pride in that number. “It wasn’t unusual. Witches who awakened only near the very end of adulthood—as if the Day of Adulthood had barely arrived before it was over—those witches never developed normally. Their magic power remained in a pre-adulthood state permanently. No derivative skills. No steady growth. Whether such witches could achieve a High Awakening, the Union never determined with certainty.” She looked at Summer and then back at Wendy. “But low magic capacity is only one measure. The ability itself matters more. We should test that directly.”

“Agatha.” Wendy’s voice came out with more edge than she’d intended. “Every witch is a sister. Ability and capacity aren’t—”

“That’s how it was done in the Holy City,” Agatha said, unmoved. “I accept His Highness’s principle—every ability has uses we haven’t imagined yet. But it doesn’t mean they’re all equivalent. The differences are real.”

“What are you arguing about?” Summer had opened her eyes. She looked from one face to the other with genuine bewilderment, as if she had walked into a conversation she wasn’t sure she’d been invited to.

The hall held the question a moment.

Then Wendy exhaled. “Nothing that concerns you just now,” she said, and reached out her hand. “Let’s see what you can do.”

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