Spellbound Debt

In the bustling city of Eldric Hollow, magic was as common as coffee—and just as addictive. It was sold, loaned, and even repossessed. If you couldn’t afford the spell, you could still use it… for a price.

Eira Calloway knew this better than anyone.

She was just seventeen when the debt collectors came to her door. Not the usual ones in suits with clipboards—these wore robes and carried glowing scrolls, their fingers stained with ink and old blood.

“Eira Calloway?” the taller one asked, scanning a parchment with glowing runes.

“Yes,” she said cautiously.

“You have inherited your father’s outstanding spell-debt.”

“My father’s what?”

The man tapped the scroll. “Thirteen years of unpaid Arcane Lending from Varnis the Binder. Under magical law, it passes to the next of kin.”

“My dad’s been dead for six years.”

“Debts outlive the debtor,” the man said. “Especially when they’re magical.”

They handed her a thin, cold book—a Spell Ledger. Inside were rows of spells her father had borrowed: fire bolts, illusions, memory charms. Some were innocent, like “Warmth Charm: Level 2.” Others were darker: “Binding Curse, Temporary,” and worse… ones she couldn’t even read without the ink biting into her fingers.

“You’ll want to start repayment soon,” the collector said, almost kindly. “The longer you wait, the more the spells want out.”

Eira had never cast a spell in her life.

She worked part-time in a potion shop, sweeping floors and cleaning cauldrons. Magic was expensive. But now, her veins itched with it. Each night, the Spell Ledger whispered from under her bed, calling her to open it.

She resisted—for a while.

But then, her landlord raised the rent.

She was nearly fired when a customer slipped on her poorly-mopped floor.

And worst of all, her little brother Kye fell sick—coughing up sparks. A magical illness. He needed a Spell Healer. They didn’t come cheap.

That night, Eira opened the book.

She started with a harmless one: “Gust Charm – Level 1.” She whispered the words. A breeze stirred her curtains. No side effects.

The next day, she used it again—twice. One gust to clear potion fumes, another to dry laundry. Easy.

But the book recorded every use. With glowing ink, it wrote:

+2 SPUs (Spell Power Units) – Repayment Due.

She ignored it.

Until it bit her.

A real bite—from the page.

Blood dotted her thumb, and the ink drank it like wine.

Things escalated.

She used “Heat Charm” to keep Kye warm when he shivered through the night.

She cast “Glow Orb” to study after her shifts.

Once, she even tried a minor “Luck Rune” before a job interview. It worked. She got hired. As a junior alchemist.

But every spell added to the debt. The book grew heavier. Her fingers glowed faintly at night. Her dreams filled with murmurs in her father’s voice.

“You’re strong enough,” the voice said. “You can finish what I started.”

Eira didn’t want to know what he’d started.

One morning, she woke to find the spellbook hovering over her chest. Pages flipping madly. It had opened to the last spell her father had borrowed:

“Soul Split – Experimental.”

In tiny, shaking handwriting, a note read: If I fail, I’m sorry.

The Spell Ledger pulsed.

Repayment was due.

Not in money. Not anymore.

In magic. In blood.

In her.

She ran to the only person who might help—her employer, Madam Brynn, the potion mistress.

“You’ve used too many spells too fast,” Brynn said, frowning. “The debt is binding to you. Feeding off you.”

“Can I break it?”

Brynn studied the book. “Only two ways. Pay it back in equal spellwork—or bind it to something else.”

“Something else?” Eira asked.

“Or someone,” Brynn whispered.

Eira thought of Kye. No. Never.

So she chose to pay it.

She worked by day and cast by night. She took contracts—safely enchanting homes, healing cuts, even crafting illusion shows for parties. Each spell repaid a little. She learned fast. Magic flowed through her like ink through parchment.

One night, the book glowed gold. The final line appeared:

Debt Repaid.

But underneath, in different ink, another message formed:

Balance: +8 SPUs.

She’d paid more than she owed.

rom that day on, the spellbook didn’t whisper.

It listened.

Now, when she opened it, it didn’t demand—it offered. She could write her own spells. Create her own magic. Use what she earned.

Eira became something rare: a spellcaster who earned power without owing it to anyone.

Her father had borrowed power and lost everything.

She learned to earn it—and became more powerful than he ever dreamed.