This wasn't the cult's corrupted blood magic. Wasn't power stolen from dying girls and trapped in obsidian jars. This was dragon-kin abilities given to me through a genuine bond. This was transformation I'd earned by choosing to defect, by carving intelligence into my own spine, by surviving three days running from hunters.
This was mine.
I made the lights dance faster. Created patterns—all six flashing simultaneously, then alternating groups of three, then spiraling from center outward. The nursery became a light show, electrical current flowing exactly where I directed it.
I wasn't hurting anything. The lights were designed to turn on and off. I was just doing it with my mind instead of a switch. The power draw was negligible—probably less than if someone had been turning them on and off manually all morning.
This was just playing. Testing. Figuring out what my transformed body could do.
And it felt so good. So right. Like I'd been living my entire life with half my senses shut down and someone had finally opened the doors. The electricity flowing through the citadel wasn't just current anymore—it was music. Language. A three-dimensional symphony I could conduct with my thoughts.
The cult had taught me to see my body as a vessel for their purposes. A tool to be used in service of the Unnamed's corrupt plans. They'd trained analytical capability into me, honed my intelligence to serve their rituals, then tried to suppress any joy I might have felt.
But this—making lights dance, feeling current respond to my will, giggling alone in a nursery while electricity crackled across my skin—this was joy they'd never touched. This was mine in a way nothing had ever been mine before.
I lay back against the pillows, still making the overhead lights pulse and swirl. The patterns reflected off the glass walls, turning the whole room into a kaleidoscope—
No, not kaleidoscope. A light show. A display. A demonstration of power that felt like freedom.
Through the bond, I felt Zephyron's distant attention focused on his meeting. Tactical discussions. Border assessment. He wasn't monitoring me. Wasn't tracking what I was doing with the nursery lights.
I grinned at the ceiling.
He'd told me not to experiment with my abilities. But he'd also known I would. I'd felt his expectation through the bond, that satisfied certainty that I'd test his rules. Like he wanted me to. Like this was part of whatever dynamic we were building.
Maybe I could push just a little further. Not dangerous. Not breaking anything. Just . . . exploring the edges of what was possible.
The citadel's electrical grid spread out in my mind like a vast web. So many circuits. So many lights. So many possibilities.
My hands still crackled with unused power, lightning dancing between my fingers.
This was going to be fun.
Thecitadel'selectricalgridspread before me like a map drawn in lightning. Every circuit. Every junction box. Every light fixture and lock and powered device humming with current I could feel and potentially control.
I'd made the nursery lights dance. What else could I do?
I reached out carefully, following the main power conduits through the citadel's framework. My awareness traveled through steel and glass, tracking electricity as it branched and split. The sensations were overwhelming—not painful, just intense. Like learning a new language where every word was a frequency, every sentence a circuit path.
There. A corridor three floors down. Small lights embedded in the ceiling for nighttime illumination. They ran off a separate circuit from the main lighting, designed for efficiency.
I sent a pulse of power through that circuit. Just a tiny push.
The lights flickered.
The sensation of my power traveling through the building was intoxicating. I could feel it move—electrical current racing through copper wire at nearly the speed of light, responding to my will across hundreds of feet of distance. The lights flickered again, and I imagined someone walking through that corridor wondering what had just happened.
I tried another corridor. Made those lights pulse once. Then another. And another.
I created a pattern—sending my power rippling through the citadel's peripheral lighting circuits one after another in sequence. Anyone watching from outside would see small lights flickering in a wave pattern across the tower's exterior.
My enhanced hearing caught voices from distant rooms. Through the bond, my senses had sharpened enough that I could make out words if I focused.
"Did you see that? The corridor lights just—"
"Probably a surge. We should report it."
"Report what? They're working fine now."
