Chapter Text
Once, the world was filled with magic. Wendie was born into a family overflowing with it: her father was a wendigo cursed with a human heart, and her mother was the last in a line of oracles stretching back to Delphi. But when Wendie was still a very young witch, the world began to change. Humans, frightened and suspicious, started hunting magical folk—and even those with magical blood but no talent.
Creatures like her father suffered most. It didn’t matter that her father was one of the rare wendigo who never hunted humans, or that he was a pillar of their small village, a family man. All the humans saw was the monster, and he ran, desperate to protect his wife and daughter from their fear.
Wendie vowed to protect all magical beings, using her abundant power to help them hide what they truly were. It was hard work, and she often failed, weeping over children slaughtered by neighbours, friends, sometimes even parents, for having magical abilities. As the years marched on—especially after the Second World War—it became clear: with every passing century, fewer magical beings were born, and children with magical blood were rarer still. At least now there was the Community, a hidden haven for those with magic, shielded from human eyes. Yet as 2003 dawned, Wendie felt despair creeping in. She hadn’t found a single magical child in centuries, and only one with magical blood.
That’s why she was in New York now, following rumours from other magical beings: a rat ‘yokai’ had been spotted, as well as four kappa, and four dragons. If true, she’d need to convince them to move to the Community before humans discovered them. But the city was odd. The last time she’d visited New York was in the 1930s—back then, she’d sensed only faint traces of magic far below the surface, and those had been expertly concealed. Now, magical energy spilled everywhere, strongest around the half-ruined TCRI building. Nearby, she’d even discovered four unusual dragon scales. The city’s magical muddle was growing—but the dragons could care for themselves, and she could send an emissary for the yokai and kappa. Her priority was the epicentre of this recent surge.
Wendie drew a scrying crystal from her pouch. She disliked using them—they always left her feeling hollow—but needs must.
“Show me the source of the magical epicentre,” she murmured.
The crystal’s light spun and pulled her past TCRI and deep into the city. When the crystal finally dropped, Wendie’s surprise was complete: five strong magical signatures, four of them young and barely trained, the fifth older but oddly restrained. But what she saw astonished her more. Four giant turtles—children, by their auras—and an elderly rat with a staff. Wendie concealed herself with a spell, invisible to all senses, and crept closer as the group entered an antiques shop. For an instant, she thought the rat looked straight at her, but he shook his head and sighed.
“Master Splinter?” The turtle in purple asked, “Are you all right?”
“I..do not know…Perhaps I am catching something.”
And though the voice is kind, she is horrified! Clearly, these children had an accident with their magic, as magical children often did, and had turned all of them into animals! She returned again and again over the next several nights, observing. Each time, the young turtles called the rat “Master” or “Sensei,” never “father.” Not once did she sense magic from the rat himself—just the bubbling, untrained power of the children. To Wendie, it seemed the rat was a frustrated guardian, clinging to magical children he would never let go, denying them even a family bond.
Wendie’s heart ached. She remembered all the magical children she’d seen suffer at the hands of those who should have protected them. She would not let it happen again. A quick surface scan of a human woman with red hair—April—gave her inspiration for the life she’d create. The ritual was simple, the magic well-practiced. When she left the shop that night, four magical children slept in her arms, and behind her, a bewildered, ordinary human man remained, with no memory of ever being anything else.