The rooftop of the abandoned warehouse offered Christna a throne made of rust and starlight. She sat with her knees drawn up, back against a ventilation stack, the cool night air kissing her skin through the thin fabric of her dress. Newhaven sprawled below like a glittering beast pretending to sleep, its veins of traffic pulsing slow and steady. She bit into the last of her protein bar, chewing mechanically while the Chaos Force inside her hummed a soft lullaby, content for the moment to watch the city with her.
But peace never lasted long.
The hum shifted, grew deeper, insistent, pulling at memories she had tried to bury under layers of fake names and midnight runs. Christna closed her eyes. The rooftop faded. The city sounds dulled. And the Chaos Force opened a door inside her mind, one she hadn't touched in years.
She was seven again.
The apartment was smaller then, a one-bedroom walk-up near the river where the walls were thin enough to hear neighbors arguing about rent. Elara sat cross-legged on the living room floor, a cracked mug of tea gone cold in her hands, while a tiny Christna knelt in front of her, palms up, trying to make a single violet spark dance between her fingers without setting the carpet on fire.
Elara's voice was gentle, patient, the same tone she used to read bedtime stories about dragons and lost kingdoms. "Long ago," she began, "before the Gifted were organized, before governments started handing out licenses for powers like they were driver's permits, there were people called Magicians."
Christna's tiny spark flickered brighter, excited by the word.
"They didn't have one gift," Elara continued. "They had all of them. They could summon wind with a whisper, turn water to ice with a thought, weave fire into living shapes. They drew from something bigger than themselves—the Chaos Force. It was like… the heartbeat of the world. Everything connected. Everything alive. And the Magicians were its chosen voices."
Christna tilted her head, silver-streaked bangs falling into her eyes. "Why did it stop choosing?"
Elara's smile faltered, just for a second. "Because people got scared. Magicians were too powerful. Too unpredictable. They could heal a city or burn it down on a whim. So the world decided it was safer if no one had that much power anymore. Governments hunted them. Corporations studied them. And one group—the MEO—made it their mission to erase them completely."
The spark in Christna's hands grew unsteady, violet light pulsing erratically. "Did they win?"
Elara reached out and gently closed her daughter's fingers, snuffing the spark. "They almost did. The Chaos Force felt the pain. It felt the fear. So it pulled back. It stopped choosing new Magicians. The last ones were hunted down, experimented on, broken until nothing remained but rumors and nightmares."
Christna stared at her empty palms. "But I'm here."
Elara pulled her into a fierce hug. "You're here because the Chaos Force decided one last time. One final gamble. You're the Chaosborn, baby. The last spark before the dark. And that makes you the most dangerous thing in the world to them… and the most precious thing in the world to me."
The memory dissolved like smoke.
Christna opened her eyes on the warehouse roof. The city lights blurred for a moment through sudden tears she refused to let fall. The Chaos Force wrapped around her heart, warm and steady, like an apology for showing her the truth.
She stood slowly, brushing dust from her dress, silver hair catching the moonlight like a crown she never asked for. Below, the streets still moved, oblivious, full of people who thought magic was just a neat trick for parties and paychecks.
They didn't know.
They didn't remember.
But Christna did.
And tonight, the Chaos Force wasn't whispering anymore.
It was laughing—soft, delighted, dangerous.
Because the girl who used to hide her sparks under blankets had just learned something important.
She wasn't the last one left.
She was the beginning of something new.
Christna looked out over Newhaven, violet eyes glowing bright enough to rival the stars.
"Let them come," she whispered to the night.
"I'm ready to remind the world what they tried to forget."