“Which is why we start simple,” I interrupt, the strategy already forming in precise layers. “We lead with, ‘Evolution Through Innovation.’ Give them undeniable proof—phoenix essence serums that heal catastrophic injuries instantly, without weeks of blood magic therapy. No side effects. Only results.”
I summon the next file: a creature crouched on malformed limbs, spine arched under translucent skin. Veins of luminous marrow pulse through tissue that twitches and reforms, unable to commit to a single shape. Bone ridges pierce through muscle along its back, the face frozen in a grotesque half-shift—jaws caught mid-snap, features split between predator and victim.
“Later, we integrate Nahual essence, shapeshifters native to Vairen. Imagine offering people the power to change forms. This could also be key to understanding how to free us from blood dependency when using magic entirely.”
“Vairen still refuses access to their sacred creatures,” Alexander notes, his tone suggesting this is a temporary inconvenience at most. “Though Rowe’s sanctuary has recently acquired one. A female, I believe.”
“A single subject is sufficient,” I reply, gaze steady. “With the right DNA samples, I can replicate the shifting properties in the serum.”
“I’m meeting with my son soon.” Alexander’s fingers tap once against the polished surface. “Though he’s being particular about his creatures lately. It may take time to negotiate access.”
I activate a new holographic display. “We roll out in three phases. First, enhancement serums. The Silva Academy hosts weeklydemonstrations—”
“Making it accessible,” Edmund interjects, eyes bright with possibility. “My advanced students can showcase the difference between traditional blood magic healing and serum-enhanced abilities. The public won’t need convincing once they see a burn victim walk away fully healed in seconds, not weeks.”
“While my facilities begin offering treatment to select high-profile patients,” Eric adds, his tone slick.
“And we’ll need a figurehead,” I say, shifting the projection’s interface with a flick of my fingers. “Someone to become the bridge between science and societal understanding. Weekly appearances onMorning Light with Madeline Shaw. A serialized documentary—The Future of Magic. Every narrative reinforces the same core idea: liberation from blood sacrifice.”
Alexander nods. “The framing is clear. This isn’t about changing magic. It’s about freeing ourselves from its price.”
“Phase two transitions us into advanced integrations,” I continue, rotating the next set of visual displays. “Permanent augmentations. Codified abilities. We show the world what happens when creature essence isn’t applied but embedded. The campaign language evolves accordingly:Magic Unleashed.”
“Meanwhile,” Eric smirks, “my private clientele will demonstrate results that speak louder than theory. Phoenix-derived serums extending cellular life. Chimera-coded enhancements in strength and reflex. Living miracles, parading through the city.”
“And by phase three,” I say, “when full integration becomes viable, the conversation shifts. The public won’t ask if it’s safe. They’ll demand access. We move from skepticism to entitlement:Why should only the wealthy be free from sacrifice?”
Kian reclines in his chair, watching with amused contempt. “And you’ll be the perfect poster child, won’t you? The brilliant daughter carrying on her parents’ humanitarian legacy. So passionate about freeing people from blood sacrifice.” He grins. “But how will you make them forget about the creatures? The public gets squeamish when they see things die.”
“We don’t cleanse the narrative,” I reply coolly. “We recast it. These creatures aren’t martyrs. They’resaviors. Each extraction, each death, is sanctified. One life traded for thousands freed. When a mother watches her child’s skin knit back together in seconds, she won’t question how many phoenixes we drained to get there.”
“And when the activists crawl out of their moral graves?” Kian’s practically vibrating with mirth.
“We hold up a mirror,” I say, recalling Alexander’s lessons in precision warfare. “They already accept the price of magic—their own pain, their children’s suffering, endless tolls to cast basic spells. Our path doesn’t create sacrifice. It redirects away from human veins. By the time the questions come, they’ll be too dependent on the results to care.”
Alexander’s subtle nod sends a thread of warmth coiling in my gut. He taught me this, how to weaponize truth and dress atrocity in the robes of progress.
“And the final phase?” Edmund asks. “When will full integration be reached?”
“Ifwe achieve it,” I correct, keeping my voice neutral. “We’re close, but the right creature and formula still elude us. The goal is restoration. Returning power to its original state—free-flowing, and unbound by bloodletting and sacrifice.”
Edmund’s head snaps up, eyes sharp behind his glasses. “She knows?”
“The foundation,” Alexander answers smoothly. “And I trust you’ll authorize access to the Founding Families’ restricted archives. She’ll need the full historical context to continue.”
Kian’s laugh splits the air. “Well, well . . . little Ellis getting a peek behind the curtain. Remember, sweetheart, some secrets are meant to stay buried. Would hate to see you join them.” He winks, making the threat sound almost playful. “Dead girls tell such boring stories.”
Alexander’s hand finds my knee beneath the table, a gesture of approval that buzzes through my nerves.
“The campaign launches next week,” he announces. “Luna’s first interview airs under a special feature titledThe Future of Magic: A Daughter’s Promise.”
“Speaking of interviews,” Kian drawls, his casual tone belying the venom beneath, “Aria’s wedding shoot is that same week. Funny coincidence, don’t you think?” His gaze gleams with malice as it cuts to Alexander. “That’s right,myson secured what yours couldn’t.”
“Aria is getting married?” The words slip free before I can stop them. We haven’t spoken since the fight. Weeks of calculated silence, late nights in the lab, and expertly timed disappearances. But this? Tying herself to Dom? The same walking trauma response who’s been dismantling her piece by piece from the moment they met?
Of course he’d strike now. When she’s fractured and furious, clawing for stability, reaching for whatever might hold. And naturally she’d let him. Too grief-stricken, too tangled in whatever mess of need and nostalgia he’s spun around her. And the timing? The same week as my campaign launch? Please. No one in that family does anything by accident. They’re trying to hijack my spotlight, drown out everything I’ve built in a haze of rings and rituals.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Kian’s laugh holds no warmth. “Big sister kept you in the dark? How fascinating.” His gaze slides to Alexander’s hand still resting on my knee. “Though I suppose you’ve been otherwise occupied. Tell me, dear friend, how many late nights does it take to perfect the research? Or is that just the excuse you give Vivienne?”
