W.I.L.D.
“You just love scaring them a little.”
Chelsea rolled her eyes but smiled, her calmness reinforcing the lesson: power is meaningless without control.
Encouraged, another witch stepped forward, this time attempting to mimic the drill. Sparks flew, arcs of flame fizzed, and a few glowing sigils hovered too long in the air before fizzling—but each attempt was met with patient guidance. Chelsea steadied, Tora encouraged, and the young witches began to understand: magic could be a dance, not a battle.
A boy with freckles and a nervous grin tried next. “I… I think I got it?” he muttered, sending a modest flame arcing toward the sigils Chelsea had conjured.
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