The silence after her question was a gulf, and in it, my mind was a riot. But who spread this rumor? There was no one observing me! I had been a phantom. The maids were silent fixtures. My siblings were absent. My father's visits were brief and distant. Yet, a rumor of "great talent" had reached Lyra's ears. It could only mean one thing: my activities had not been as secret as I'd believed. The estate had eyes I hadn't accounted for. Magical surveillance? The spectre Lyra had tried to kill years ago? My father's own, pervasive awareness? The violation was profound, and the danger it implied was immediate.
What would they do if they found out I'm Aetherless? I break their expectations! A rumor of genius would make my upcoming failure not just a disappointment, but a shocking, inexplicable collapse. The higher the expectation, the harder the fall. The backlash would be more severe. That's why I acted like an idiot. Playing dumb, harmless, was my only shield. Diminish their expectations now, so the eventual revelation seems less like a betrayal and more like a confirmed suspicion of mediocrity.
Who was the idiot who did that?! The anger was a hot spike. Years of meticulous, silent work potentially undone by loose talk I hadn't even uttered.
Lyra's voice cut through my internal storm. "Is something the matter?" Her tone was light, conversational, but her empty eyes were fixed on me, watching for the slightest crack.
I forced my racing thoughts to a halt. I had to be in the moment, not in the panic. After taking some seconds of delay–deliberately to simulate a child gathering simple thoughts, I answered- "No. I was just wondering how the Awakening ceremony will turn out…" A safe, obvious worry for a nine-year-old.
Her reply was a patronizing knife. "Oh, you don't need to worry about that… I know you will pass with flying colours."
I laughed at the irony… I know what will happen. Passing? I would fail in the most fundamental way possible. The colors that would fly would be the red of alarm or blood, the black of condemnation. Is this fate?... Or karma… To be built up only to be shattered. The universe had a cruel sense of symmetry.
Tch! This irritates me. The one who knows nothing is blabbering like a chatterbox. Can't you just shut up!? Her feigned sisterly concern was a grotesque performance. This was the woman who had thrown a magical weapon at an invisible watcher above my crib. Her warmth was a costume she wore poorly.
She didn't shut up. She started the conversation again- "You have grown a lot, huh, my cutie pie."
The infantilizing endearment, coming from her, was an obscenity. Wtf! I HATE this family! What is she even saying? My grip tightened on the seat cushion. I wanna say a lot but - control…
Control. It was all I had left. But as the carriage sped toward my potential doom, a new, desperate thought surfaced. A gambit. Wait… If I know that I'm Aetherless … and they will try to kill me … Let's blame it all on the Church that they did something!. Plant a seed of doubt. Make my failure look not like a defect, but like sabotage. The Church, controlled by a dragon, was the perfect scapegoat. But I needed a vector. Someone to plant the idea in, someone with power and a reason to be suspicious.
Lyra was right here. Powerful. Connected. And, if provoked, potentially reactive.
But how should I do that?
She interrupted my plotting. "Why aren't you replying?"
Argh! This thing is a pain in the ass. Can't it just shut up…. I bit back the retort. Provocation had to be strategic, not petty. I fed her a line, a piece of the "talent" rumor to see how she'd bite. I replied - "Ah, yes. I have practiced well."
She replied- "Aren't you too young for that?" Her head tilted, the empty eyes sharpening. Testing.
This was my opening. A little pushback. Not enough to reveal strength, but enough to show spine.
"Got a PROBLEM?" I let a sliver of the coldness I felt leak into my voice, mimicking the Theodore arrogance I'd observed.
She didn't recoil. She was interested. "No, I don't have any."
Then shut your mouth you damn chatterbox!. The thought screamed in my head. I kept my face a placid mask.
She replied -" Can you tell your sister what you practiced?"
She was circling, trying to pry open the rumor, to see what substance lay beneath. I gave her a crumb, the most believable one. I replied in a hurry- "Just some sword practices."
Her next words confirmed my deepest fear. Her eyes raked over my frame, not with a sister's gaze, but with an appraiser's. "Oh really, I don't think 'this' body was made by just sword practices." She saw it. The density, the defined muscle barely concealed by the fine clothes. My physical development had not gone unnoticed.
The game was up on that front. Denial was useless. So I switched tactics—defiance. "Why should I tell you?"
She was intrigued and again surprised. I was not behaving like a cowed child. Good.
"Well, I'm your 2nd—" she began, invoking rank.
I cut her off, the disrespect deliberate, calculated. "So what?."
Her reaction wasn't anger. It was a sharp, genuine laugh. "Oh, you are 'soo' similar to your father… I guess that's why they call you a lightning genius."
The name was a brand. Who the fuck gave me that cringy name!? "Lightning genius." It spoke of speed, of shocking potential. It was a target painted on my back. And it had come from the top. I questioned – "May I have the permission to question who spread such rumors?"
Her smile was thin. "Oh, I heard from father."
The confirmation was a cold hand around my heart. Again! That filthy man! What is he planning! He'd built me up. Was it to make my fall more instructive for others? To test the family's reaction? Or was there a darker purpose—to offer a "genius" sacrifice to the dragon-controlled Church to appease them somehow?
Time was running out. The landscape outside was changing, the wild estates giving way to the ordered, towering splendor of the capital city surrounding the Sunstone Cathedral. She replied- "There's only a few minutes until we reach, want to say something?".
This was it. The moment to play my desperate card. Let's try what I planned a few minutes ago. If I am gonna die anyway, let's take a risk!
I looked directly into her empty, polished-stone eyes. I let the false childishness fall away, replaced by a flat, serious intensity I usually kept buried. "Something's gonna happen to me in the church."
The shift in her demeanor was immediate and subtle. The performative sisterly air vanished. The sharp, dangerous woman beneath surfaced. Her face becomes a little serious. "What is?"
I couldn't tell the truth. I had to imply a threat, not a deficiency. I replied- "That is I don't know. But I guess it's something uncanny."
Her eyes narrowed. "How do you know that?"
I know she's gonna ask this question. Should I tell her what I got from the library? No…. It will become more hectic. And I don't have time. I needed mystery, not a confession of espionage. I gave her a deliberately evasive, almost philosophical answer. I replied- "You don't ask where the milkman gets his milk? Right?" A nonsense deflection, the kind a cryptic elder or a mad oracle might use.
She said, "You are not gonna reply, huh?" Annoyance flickered in the emptiness.
Now for the provocation. The goad. I had to insult her power, her pride, and tie it directly to my safety. I leaned forward slightly, my voice dropping, each word deliberate and cold.
"You boast a lot about your powers… right?" I paused, letting the accusation hang. "And if you do… try your best to stop what's going to happen at the church. I'm sure you have the COURAGE to do that…you have the blood of House Theodore and power…" I leaned back, letting my expression shift to one of mocking disdain. "Or are you just a goddamned blabbering chatterbox who speaks like an idiot knowing nothing… let me guess. You surely fail… you will be an utterly helpless fool."
I let a small, cold smile touch my lips. Try to save your little brother's life if you can!.
The insult was monumental. I had questioned her strength, her courage, her very worth as a Theodore. I had called her a fool and a chatterbox to her face. I had thrown down a gauntlet wrapped in a plea for protection. The goal was twofold: first, to sting her pride so deeply she would be compelled to intervene if anything went wrong, if only to prove me wrong. Second, to plant the idea that whatever happened to me wasn't natural, but an attack to be stopped.
I have tried my best to provoke her. If The Church tells I'm Aetherless... then she will know it's a scheme... even though I'm Aetherless... I'm not gonna tell her haha... And she will protect me.. I think...
It was a thread of hope thinner than a spider's silk, but it was all I had.
Now let's see what happens.
Lyra did not explode. She did not strike me. The empty eyes simply held mine, and for the first time, I saw something stir in their depths. Not anger, but a cold, intense calculation. She was re-evaluating me entirely. The mask of the harmless child was gone. In its place was someone who spoke like a Theodore, who issued challenges, who anticipated danger. The rumor of "lightning genius" might have just taken on a new, darker meaning in her mind.
She didn't say anything.
The carriage began its descent, the immense, sun-gilded spires of the Cathedral filling the window. The humming of the Aetheric engines changed pitch. We had arrived.
The carriage settled onto a pristine marble plaza with a soft sigh. The door opened, revealing a sun-drenched courtyard teeming with other noble families, their children dressed in finery, a murmur of tense excitement in the air.
Lyra stood, smooth and graceful. She stepped out without looking back at me. I followed, the bright sunlight feeling like an interrogator's lamp.
As I passed her, just before we were swallowed by the crowd and the formalities, I didn't speak. But I turned my head just enough for her to see my face. I made deliberate mouth movements, silent but unmistakable, shaping three words with crisp
contempt.
'Coward. Little. BITCH.'
Then I turned away and walked toward the grand Cathedral doors, my back straight, my heart a drum of dread and defiance.
I felt it—a sudden, sharp, localized drop in temperature at my back, like a pocket of winter had formed where she stood. The air itself seemed to flinch.
Hahaha… it was so fun seeing her shocked and dead face! The laughter in my mind was wild, unhinged, the laugh of a prisoner kicking the executioner on the way to the block. It wasn't joy. It was the last spark of agency before the world tried to snuff me out.
The gamble was placed. The seed of doubt and defiance was sown in the most volatile soil I could find. Now, I had to walk into the dragon's den and see if it would grow into a shield, or if it would simply be the first thing they burned away.