That emptiness inside me, starved for magic—
No, Daphne. Don’t go there. Don’t let him win. Don’t let him tell you what you are.
“Liar,” I said, but the word tasted like ash. Because something in me already knew it was true.
Memories of the last time I saw my grandfather stirred, his scent of cologne and tobacco tingling my nose. He wore his spotless royal navy uniform, his white hair was combed in a hopelessly old-fashioned way.
His ship sank, they said. An unfortunate incident. Nobody survived. Mother locked herself in her bedroom for a week.
“He was my right hand,” the Renegade smirked, his angelic face twisted by something darker. As if his image crumbled like a poorly made mask and the decay beneath it showed. “He served his purpose. But you, Daphne.” He tookanother step toward me and I clenched my fists. “You’re far more valuable. Ever wondered why that undyne chased you so relentlessly? And how you walked the Dusk Roads - alone? You’re a Hollowborn, Miss Draymoore. The rarest type of human. And you’ll serve me. In life and in death.” He reached out to touch me, but I was faster. No way I’d let him mark me again. Amused wrinkles appeared in the corners of his cerulean eyes. “You’re trying to tame it,” he said. “It’s beautiful to watch. How does a mortal handle such power, Daphne? Do you think you can fly just because your cage is open? No, dear girl. Your wings are cut.”
Something swept my feet and the floor beneath me shifted. He was trying to drag me into the Dusk Roads, I realized, in that maze of hideouts, secret worlds and magical highways where they would never find me.
Where I’d be at his mercy.
It made me angry. All my life, someone else was deciding my fate. That was enough.
“I’ll not serve you, Cagliostro.” My voice was so loud it startled the shadows in the corners. He looked down at me, surprised. “I’ll stay with you right here.”
He thought I was still the frightened girl in the refectory who drew the Death card from the tarot deck.
Time for a lesson.
I reached out to him with... something. It wasn’t my hand or any part of my body. It was something wild, roaring, singing for vengeance. Lashing out to protect me.
“You—” His eyes bulged, bloodshot. “You depleted the Surge,” he gasped, writhing in the grip of my magic. “That’s impossible.”
I stepped closer, light crackling at my fingertips. “You said it yourself, Cagliostro. I’m far more valuable than you imagined.”
The magic surged. I lifted him from the floor without touching him. His wings spasmed, feet kicking against the air like a drowning man. His bones groaned beneath the pressure.
“This is for my grandfather,” I said. Blood trickled from his nose, pooling at his lips. “And this—” I twisted my wrist, and his arms snapped behind him, “is for Emrys.”
He screamed—but the void inside me didn’t.
It sang.
For a single terrifying moment, I saw how easy it would be. To break him. Make him suffer. I had the right.
I had been silenced. Shackled. Beaten and forgotten.
But I wasn’t like him.
I wouldn’t be.
My fists relaxed. The magic settled—softer now.
I had made my choice.
“You don’t get to define what I become,” I whispered. “You don’t get to win.”
The Renegade dropped to his knees with a sound between a gasp and a curse. His wings flared wide, but they trembled.
He lay at my feet, face twisted, gasping like a god who never thought he’d kneel. And maybe he wouldn’t. Not before me. Not before a mortal girl born broken.
I looked down at him, breathing hard. Magic still throbbed under my skin—hot and raw, as if the stars roostedin my bones. The roar of the Surge was steadying now. It listened. It belonged to me.
“I wasn’t supposed to survive you,” I said. “Not the asylum. Not the Hollowborn. Or the truth about what I am.”
