Dinkelsbach slept under the soft patter of rain, unaware that danger crept closer with every hum of engines rolling down its narrow streets.
Inside St. Hedwig's Orphanage, the three sisters stirred. Not from thunder, but from instinct—their blood carried secrets even they barely understood.
Liesel, the eldest, swung her legs off the bed first. Her dagger glowed faintly in her palm, as if it could sense the intruders outside. She had always been the protector, the one who moved faster than anyone else in town could see—super speed born into her bones.
Beside her, Mara gripped her own blade. Her strength had frightened bullies and even adults in the past; with a careless shove she could splinter wood or bend iron. She was raw power in human skin, but when paired with the dagger, her strength became precision—every strike cleaving only what she willed.
And Klara, the youngest, sparks already dancing along her fingertips, her dagger thrumming in harmony. Her gift was the most unpredictable: electromagnetism. Lights flickered around her when her emotions spiked, and she could feel the metal rails in the bedframes like extra limbs of her body.
Together, they were dangerous. With the daggers in their hands, they were something else entirely.
Because the blades had a strange rule: when wielded with intent, they could slice through only the thing their wielder desired—splitting chains without scratching skin, cutting a lock but leaving the wood around it untouched. The perfect tools of liberation, but also the perfect weapons.
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The orphanage doors burst inward with the crash of booted feet. Black Serpent soldiers in heavy armor stormed inside, their insignias glowing faintly green in the dark. Children screamed as the invaders moved down the hall.
Liesel blurred into motion. In a heartbeat, she was at the end of the hall, dagger flashing. She slashed downward—only the rifle barrels of three soldiers clattered to the floor, perfectly severed, their owners left stunned but unharmed.
Mara roared, her blade in hand. She lifted a wooden bench like it weighed nothing, hurling it across the hall. It shattered against armored bodies, sending the Serpents sprawling. With a swing of her dagger, she cut through the hinges of the doorframe, dropping a heavy oak door onto another squad.
Klara stood in the center of the chaos, sparks crackling around her fists. She thrust her dagger forward—magnetism surged. Helmets wrenched off soldiers' heads, drawn to her blade as if it were a lodestone. Metal clattered against metal, trapping them in their own armor.
The Serpents regrouped, their leader barking orders. "Contain them! Those daggers are ours!"
But the sisters were a storm. Moving as one, they wielded their gifts with perfect synchronicity—Liesel's speed weaving through enemy lines, Mara's strength breaking their advance, and Klara's electromagnetic grip bending the battlefield itself.
For every Serpent that rose, two more fell back. The orphanage, their home, shook with the clash.
And yet, just beyond the rain-slick cobblestones, a figure cloaked in shadows watched with careful eyes. Not Serpent. Not local. Someone else.
The sisters did not yet know it, but tonight they had revealed themselves to the world. And in doing so, they had drawn the gaze of enemies and allies alike.