This story was written for Writing Battle’s 2026 Tempest Owl contest. Writers get 3 prompts (genre, character, object) and have 5 days to write a 1000-word story. This was my submission, which I had a great time working on.
Cordelia concealed her heartbeat so the creature wouldn’t detect her presence. From conjured shadows, she watched the glimmering moth flutter towards the bait—her mother’s diary pages containing the pivotal story of the most famous water wielder in the world. Cordelia was nowhere near that kind of success, especially not when it came to bending water to her will.
But she had a plan.
The sand-coloured insect’s tiny legs grazed the withered parchment. Cordelia shot out her hand just before it could land, trapping the scrine in a cage of her fingers.
“I want to make a trade,” she whispered into her palm before releasing the creature.
The moth flitted away from the ancient wooden table, wings shimmering in the Great Library’s dim torchlight before bursting into a cloud of golden powder. The scrine grew taller than the girl as the powder, now dulled to grey dust, settled at its feet. Cordelia studied the humanoid moth; four hairy arms, a short sharp beak, and large tattered wings. The creature’s ragged appearance was made strangely regal by the mismatched jewels adorning its wrists, fingers and feathered antennae—precious offerings students had made over the years to acquire magical solutions to various problems. The golden shimmer of its wings almost made it majestic. Almost. The scrine was a dweller of ancient places—like the school’s library—that held precious oddities and rare knowledge. As a result, it was wise, dusty, and musty.
“Clever shadow wielder,” the scrine rasped, its voice drier than the pages of a grimoire. It was indeed a feat to catch it. “What does she desire?”
Its bulbous, glowing eyes made Cordelia’s burn, yet she forced herself hold its gaze. “I need something for the Ocean Storm exam tomorrow. I don’t just need to pass; I need to ace it. I have to beat that know-it-all, Naida, to finish the year at the top of my class.”
The scrine tilted its head, antennae jingling with precious jewels. “Yes,” it agreed slowly, iridescent eyes scrutinizing Cordelia. “Your mother would certainly not approve of your inadequate water wielding skill. Such a prodigy, she was, saving us all from the Great Flood—”
“Yes, yes, we know,” Cordelia interrupted.
“Your age, she was,” the scrine mused.
“Yes,” she ground out.
“She was a bookworm, whereas you are a social butterfly. Perhaps you should have spent less time wielding your shadows to climb to the top of the social ladder, and more time perfecting your… lesser elemental talents.”
Cordelia’s cheeks burned. “Perhaps,” she agreed through gritted teeth, desperate to remain on its good side.
“Well, I have just what you need. But what do you offer as payment for my gift?” the scrine asked.
Cordelia lifted the diary pages from the table. “These are my mother’s journal entries from the days of the Flood.” The creature twitched and clinked. “I’m the only person—other than her—to have read her account of the events. You could be the third.”
The scrined blinked, leaving blind spots in Cordelia’s vision. “Deal.” Its wings shimmered.
“Deal,” Cordelia agreed. As soon as she had spoken, a cloud of golden specks flew between them, ephemeral sparks that turned to ash as they fell, binding the agreement. The scrine took a step forward, and Cordelia snapped the pages back. “You first,” she demanded.
The creature stilled, eyes shining. Cordelia’s heart raced; this was her last hope.
After what felt like an eternity, the scrine spread its tattered wings wide. Golden power fell away from nearly translucent skin and floated around the mothlike creature, forming a glorious aura. The scrine beat its wings once, engulfing its frail body an instant.
Blinding light cut through the darkness. It was gone in a blink, and a musty, burnt orange pillow materialised in the creature’s top bony hands. A fresh layer of ashen dust settled on the ground between them.
Not a pillow, Cordelia realized: a grimy old life vest.
The scrine held up the musty object for Cordelia to take, reaching for the diary pages with one of its lower hands.
“What’s that?” Cordelia shrieked. “I need something to enhance my water abilities, not to save me from drowning!” The scrine only stared blindingly, wiggling its long fingers. “Besides, it’s too obvious. Professor Loch would fail me for cheating. If she doesn’t choke to death laughing at me first, that is.”
“A deal is a deal. This is a powerful magical object. It will fulfill your needs,” the scrine promised. “As for not getting caught, that is your problem, not mine. Conceal it in your shadows, one more secret tucked away in your vast pockets.”
Cordelia felt duped. She should have insisted on seeing the scribe’s rotten gift first. Her burning eyes dropped to her dusty shoes, soiled proof of the bad bargain she’d struck.
She racked her brain for a way out of the trade, but the scrine had sealed it with its magic, and breaking her word would have devastating consequences. She scraped the once beautiful dust with her foot when it struck her.
She whipped her head up, flashing the unmoving scrine her best queen-bee smile.
“You’re right,” she chirped. “I’ll solve this problem myself. A deal is a deal.”
Cordelia stepped closer to the scrine, shoving the pages into its outstretched hand. The creature recoiled into its wings under the impact and the girl quickly swiped the life vest. Keeping her momentum, she spun away from the creature, nimbly dodging empty study stations littered with scrolls on her way to the door.
“Thanks!” she shouted as she ran out of the library.
She hurried back to her dormitory, where she scrutinized the moldy vest. It emitted an undeniable—if a little waterlogged—power. “Gross,” Cordelia muttered, setting it aside.
She peered at the true prize she had stolen.
The small tatter of scrine wing shimmered beautifully in her palm, coated in the golden powder that held the power to the creature’s magic.
Cordelia smirked, then got to work.
Julia Lemyre-Cossette 