The assassin was strong-willed. Most men broke quickly under the weight of my mother's abilities. He didn't. Even as she pressed invisible force against his ribs, threatening to crush his lungs, he clenched his teeth and refused to speak.
I had to admit—I respected the effort.
Mother sighed, losing patience. "You don't fear death?"
The assassin coughed blood, but grinned. "Not in the way you think."
That answer didn't sit right with me.
I leaned forward. "Then what do you fear?"
His grin faltered.
Ah.
There it was.
Mother noticed it, too. "You're more afraid of them than you are of us."
The assassin's jaw clenched.
I exhaled, leaning back. "Then that means we're dealing with a faction, not a single enemy."
His eyes twitched.
Mother smiled again, reaching out to trace a finger through the air. A thin blade of pure energy formed at her fingertips, humming softly as it hovered just above his throat.
"Tell us what we want to know," she said, "or I'll start carving the answers from you."
His breath quickened, but he still didn't speak.
I studied him.
He was too loyal. Not just to a cause, but to a person. That much was clear.
Which meant—
"You're protecting someone," I mused. "Someone you can't betray, no matter what we do to you."
Mother's blade pressed closer, drawing the first drop of blood.
The assassin's breath stilled.
Then, he spoke.
"…You don't understand," he rasped. "This isn't about loyalty. It's about chains."
Mother's eyes narrowed. "Explain."
The assassin laughed—a quiet, broken thing. "You think I'm choosing to stay silent? No. Even if I wanted to speak, I couldn't."
I stiffened.
Mother withdrew the blade slightly. "A binding contract?"
"Something worse." His eyes flickered with something dark. Something almost desperate. "You'll see. You think this is the first attempt on his life? It won't be the last."
I frowned. "Then tell us who's behind it."
He chuckled, coughing blood again. "I already told you. I can't."
Before we could push further, his body jerked violently.
A low hum filled the air. His veins blackened.
I shot to my feet.
Mother cursed, reaching out with her magic—but it was too late.
The assassin's body collapsed inward, as if something had ripped his soul from within.
The room fell into eerie silence.
Mother slowly exhaled. "…A failsafe."
I clenched my fists. "Which means they knew he might get captured."
She nodded grimly. "And they made sure he couldn't talk."
I glanced at the crumpled body, frustration boiling beneath my skin. This wasn't just an assassination attempt. This was something bigger.
Something planned.
Mother stood, smoothing the fabric of her robes. "We're running out of time."
I looked at her. "Then what do we do?"
She met my gaze, eyes sharp as steel.
"We prepare," she said. "And we find out who dares to move against our blood."
I let out a deep breath, glancing at the assassin's crumpled body one last time before turning back to my mother. She pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly irritated but not surprised.
"Enough for tonight," she murmured, shaking her head. "Go to bed."
I frowned. "But—"
"No buts." She picked up her tea, taking a slow sip as if an assassin hadn't just died before us. "Your father is returning tomorrow. For real this time."
That made me pause.
For a brief moment, I forgot about the dead man, the threats, the looming danger. Father had been gone for years, and each time he was supposed to return, something had come up. It had started to feel like he was more myth than man.
I studied my mother's expression, looking for any sign of hesitation—but she seemed certain.
"Really this time?" I asked, squinting at her.
She rolled her eyes. "Yes, really. Now go."
I huffed, turning toward the door. "Fine."
As I stepped out into the hall, I cast one last glance over my shoulder. My mother was still sipping her tea, eyes thoughtful, as if already planning for the next problem.
I sighed and made my way to my room.
Tomorrow, my father was coming home.
For real.
***
A Few Hours Later
The first thing I heard was the distant sound of carriages rolling up to the estate. Then came the voices—cheers, shouts of joy, hurried footsteps as servants and guards rushed to greet my father.
He was finally here.
Lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling, listening to the muffled celebration below. I wanted to go down there, to see him for myself, but my body felt heavy. Maybe it was the late hour. Maybe it was something else.
Eventually, exhaustion pulled me under.
I woke up to silence.
Not the peaceful kind—the unnatural kind.
Shadows stretched along the walls as the moon cast its glow through my window. The house, once filled with energy, had gone still.
I frowned, pushing my covers aside. My body was tense, restless. It wasn't just my imagination. Something felt off.
Then, I sighed. Maybe I just really need to use the bathroom.
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I slid out of bed and padded across the room. The wooden floors were cool beneath my feet as I opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit hall.
That was when it happened.
An earsplitting roar tore through the air—then BOOM.
The world shattered.
A blinding flash consumed my vision, followed by a violent shockwave that sent me hurtling backward. My ears rang, my lungs seized, and the last thing I saw before darkness swallowed me—
—was the walls of my home crumbling around me.
The explosion tore through the estate, and in the next instant, I was airborne.
The force sent me hurtling through the air like a ragdoll. My body twisted, limbs flailing as debris and fire raged around me. The heat licked at my skin, the shockwave pressing against my chest like an iron weight.
For a moment, I saw nothing but blurred motion—flashes of the night sky, burning fragments of my home, and the faint, distant figures of people below. My ears still rang from the blast, making everything feel eerily silent despite the chaos.
Then, gravity took hold.
I barely had time to process it before the ground came rushing up to meet me.
I braced myself, instinctively calling upon my core. The energy surged within me, responding sluggishly—too underdeveloped to fully protect me, but enough to soften the impact. I hit the ground hard, rolling through dirt and shattered stone, pain jolting through my body.
For a moment, I lay there, coughing as dust and smoke filled my lungs. My vision swam, my ears still ringing. The warmth of my own blood trickled down my forehead.
Then, through the haze, I saw it.
The estate—what was left of it—was engulfed in flames. Shadows flickered against the inferno, figures moving through the wreckage. Some were panicked servants and guards, desperately trying to put out the fire or pull survivors from the debris. Others… others were not.
Dark silhouettes moved with purpose, armed and poised like predators among sheep. Intruders.
I pushed myself up, wobbling slightly. My mind raced. My mother—my father—where were they? I needed to move. I needed to find them.
But then, as I took my first step, a sharp voice cut through the night.
"Check the bodies. Kill any survivors."
A chill ran down my spine.
Rage surged through me, raw and untamed. The thought of my mother, my father, the servants—everyone—I refused to believe they were gone. I refused to let this night end like this.
I clenched my fists, the energy in my core responding to my fury. It twisted, condensed, and burned like a forge set alight. Without thinking, I reached into it, and in my hand, something formed—a blade, shimmering and unstable, forged from the very essence of my power.
A conjured sword.
It felt natural, like an extension of myself. The moment my fingers curled around the hilt, everything became clear. My stance shifted, old instincts kicking in, movements from a lifetime ago guiding my body. The world around me slowed, every detail sharp, every enemy in sight.
The first intruder barely had time to react. I lunged forward, cutting through the haze of smoke, my blade slicing through the air. He turned at the last second, eyes widening in shock—too late. My sword carved through his armor, sending him crumpling to the ground.
The others noticed.
"Who—?" One of them barely got the words out before I was upon him, moving faster than a child my age had any right to. My footwork was precise, the edge of my blade deadly. Another fell.
Shouts rang out. The assassins—because that's what they were—rushed toward me, their weapons drawn. My heartbeat pounded in my ears. This was nothing like the sparring I had done before. There were no rules here, no second chances.
But I wasn't afraid.
I was furious.
And I was going to kill every last one of them.