The second day began with gray light filtering through a fogged window.

  I was awake. If babies really sleep or just exist in alternating states of hazy consciousness.

  Arms lifted me. Jullen. I recognized the touch. Functional. Efficient.

  "Good morning, Sekire," she murmured. Low voice. No real emotion. "Today we go to the sanctuary. You need to be blessed."

  Blessed?

  I didn't have time to process.

  I was wrapped in rough fabrics. Not exactly uncomfortable, but far from soft. Cheap cloth. Patched in places.

  The door opened.

  And for the first time, I saw the outside world.

  ***

  The village was depressing.

  There was no other word.

  Even through baby eyes still adjusting focus, I could grasp the essentials: low houses of dark wood, some with torn thatched roofs. Dirt streets with mud puddles. Crooked fences. Withered gardens.

  Everything in shades of brown, gray, and faded green.

  But the worst weren't the houses.

  It was the people.

  Jullen carried me down the main street and we crossed paths with residents.

  Some smiled.

  Broad smiles. Bright. Too intense.

  Glazed eyes. Expressions that didn't match the surroundings.

  "Good morning, Jullen!" A woman waved, her voice singsong. "Taking the little one to see Master Vhorkan?"

  "Yes," Jullen replied. Neutral tone, but something passed over her face. Too fast for me to identify.

  "Ah, what a blessing! What a BLESSING!" The woman clasped her hands. "He will love her! He will protect her! He will..."

  She kept talking, but Jullen had already passed.

  Further ahead, another resident.

  An old man. Sitting on his house step. Staring at nothing.

  A completely expressionless face.

  He didn't blink as we passed.

  He didn't move.

  He just existed.

  What is wrong with these people?

  Jullen turned a corner.

  And there, at the village center, stood a structure different from the others.

  Sanctuary.

  Not large. Not imposing. But different.

  Darker wood. Intact roof. Symbols carved into the beams. Patterns my baby eyes couldn't fully process, but that made something in me tingle.

  Jullen climbed the steps.

  Stopped at the entrance.

  Her breathing changed. Faster. Almost anxious?

  "Master Vhorkan," she called. Respectful voice. But there was something more. Something hidden at the edges. "I have brought my daughter. For the blessing."

  Silence.

  Then, movement in the internal shadows.

  And he appeared.

  ***

  The first thing I noticed were the horns.

  Small. Curved. Black as obsidian.

  Then, the eyes.

  Yellow. Not human. Vertical pupils.

  Pale skin. Black hair falling over his shoulders. Simple but impeccable robes.

  He was handsome. Beautiful in a wrong way. As if beauty had been applied over something fundamentally alien.

  Demon.

  The word arose instinctively. Not from fear or prejudice.

  Just recognition.

  He is not human.

  Vhorkan approached. Fluid movements. Graceful. Silent.

  His eyes met Jullen's.

  And something passed between them.

  Not words. Not touch.

  Just recognition.

  Intimate.

  "Jullen," he said. Low voice. Soft. Controlled. "Second child."

  An almost imperceptible pause.

  "Red hair. Interesting."

  The way he said it. The weight in that single word.

  Jullen stiffened slightly. "Recessive gene, Master. My grandmother..."

  "Yes. Of course." He cut her off, but not cruelly. Almost amused. "Your grandmother."

  He extended his hand.

  Jullen offered me.

  But there was hesitation. Microscopic. Almost imperceptible.

  As if she didn't want to let me go.

  Or perhaps didn't want him to touch me?

  What is happening here?

  Vhorkan took me.

  And the world changed.

  ***

  The demon's arms were cold. Not icy. Just an absence of heat.

  He held me carefully. But there was familiarity in his touch.

  As if he had held a child before.

  Or specifically this child?

  No. Impossible. I was just born.

  But the sensation persisted.

  "Sekire Dawnveil," he murmured, testing the name. Then, lower, almost to himself: "Not Vhor'sekire. Just Sekire."

  Jullen didn't respond.

  Vhorkan studied my face. Intensely.

  Searching for something.

  And his eyes, those inhuman yellow eyes, softened.

  Just for a second.

  But I saw it.

  "She has your eyes, Jullen," he finally said.

  "Yes, Master."

  "But the hair..." He touched a red lock. Delicately. "The hair is unique."

  Heavy silence.

  Then Vhorkan smiled. Small. Cold.

  "Genetics is fascinating, isn't it?"

  There is something they are not saying.

  Vhorkan turned his attention completely to me.

  His eyes glowed faintly.

  "Sensory Enchantment: Deep Diagnosis."

  He raised his right hand. His palm began to glow. Pale green-blue. Soft.

  And then I felt it.

  Something flowing from him.

  Not physical touch. Not wind. Not heat.

  But presence. Energy. An invisible wave expanding, passing through me, examining every fiber of my being.

  *Mana*, a distant part of my mind whispered. *This is mana.*

  And more. Not just raw mana.

  There was structure.

  Complex patterns. Interwoven layers. Invisible webs being woven through my body.

  Enchantment.

  Structured and refined magic.

  The energy penetrated deeper.

  A complete scan. Invasive but not painful.

  And then something inside me responded.

  ***

  It burned.

  Not pain. Not exactly.

  But a reaction.

  As if something dormant had been poked.

  My eyes, which had been half-closed, opened completely.

  And glowed.

  Red.

  Intense ruby. Crimson.

  I saw the reflection in Vhorkan's eyes.

  Surprise.

  Genuine surprise.

  And something else. Something that disappeared too quickly to identify.

  Satisfaction? Fear? Recognition?

  And then I saw more.

  Smoke.

  Black and crimson, intertwined.

  Coming from him. Or from me? Or from the space between us?

  I couldn't tell.

  But it was there. Visible. Real.

  Pulsing in synchronized rhythm.

  Resonance.

  Like two instruments tuned to the same frequency.

  Like recognizing the echo of your own voice.

  He and I are resonating.

  The smoke intensified. Denser. More present.

  Vhorkan froze.

  His expression, so carefully controlled, slipped for a fraction of a second.

  And I saw.

  Not fear.

  Not surprise.

  But confirmation.

  As if he expected this.

  As if he knew.

  "Impossible," he whispered. But the tone was wrong.

  It wasn't true disbelief.

  It was theater?

  The smoke increased even more.

  And then, abruptly, he cut the magic.

  The energy vanished. The smoke dissipated. My eyes returned to normal.

  Vhorkan returned me to Jullen.

  But this time, his fingers lingered an extra second.

  Brushing against Jullen's.

  She didn't pull away.

  "She is healthy," he said. Voice back in absolute control. "No physical problems. Strong. Robust."

  A pause.

  "Exceptionally strong, actually."

  "Thank you, Master," Jullen bowed her head slightly.

  "But," he continued, eyes still fixed on me, "keep her away from magic until she is five years old. At the minimum."

  Jullen blinked. "Away?"

  "No exposure to enchantments. No rituals. Not even simple tricks." His voice was firm. An order, not a suggestion. "Her essence is volatile. Needs to stabilize naturally before any training."

  "I understand." Jullen sounded confused.

  "And Jullen," Vhorkan added, lower. Almost intimate. "Visit me in three days. Alone. We have matters to discuss."

  Something passed over Jullen's face.

  Tension. Anticipation. Fear?

  "Yes, Master."

  Vhorkan nodded. Dismissal.

  Jullen bowed and turned to leave.

  But as we descended the steps, I looked back.

  Vhorkan was still there. At the sanctuary entrance.

  Looking at me.

  And for the first time, I saw something close to emotion in those yellow eyes.

  Possessiveness.

  Not with paternal love.

  But with ownership.

  What is he to me?

  And what am I to him?

  ***

  **Three Weeks Later**

  The world began to make more sense.

  Or less. Depending on how you looked at it.

  My baby body was still frustrating. Non-existent motor coordination, inability to speak, total dependence.

  Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  But my mind was active.

  Observing. Processing. Connecting dots.

  And the dots formed a disturbing picture.

  ***

  The village was called Courtyard of Ashes. An appropriate name.

  Population: maybe two hundred people. Maybe less.

  Economy: subsistence farming. Potatoes. Grains. Hardy vegetables. Nothing abundant.

  Social structure: simple. Hierarchical. With Vhorkan at the top.

  Master, everyone called him.

  Never just Vhorkan.

  Always Master.

  And the people divided clearly into two groups.

  The Devotees. Like mother.

  Broad smiles. Bright eyes. Animated talk about blessings and divine protection.

  Attended all rituals at the sanctuary. Offered sacrifices. Small ones, mostly food. Decorated their homes with amateurishly carved religious symbols.

  Spoke of the Master with absolute reverence. Savior. Protector. Benefactor.

  "He gives us rain," mother explained while rocking me. Dreamy tone. "Without him, the crops would die. We would die. He is our salvation."

  And she believed it.

  Every word. Every syllable.

  Blind devotion. Total.

  But there was something more in how she spoke of him.

  Something I couldn't name yet.

  A different intensity when she uttered his name.

  The Skeptics. The silent minority.

  Expressionless faces. Neutral voices. Mechanical obedience.

  Didn't actively participate in rituals. Only appeared when obligatory.

  Offered the bare minimum. No fervor. No enthusiasm.

  But also no rebellion.

  I heard fragments of conversations. Adults don't pay attention to babies.

  "...he brings rain, it's true. But at what cost?"

  "Shh. Don't speak like that. The walls have ears."

  "I know, I know. But you saw what happened to..."

  Abrupt silence.

  Change of subject.

  The skeptics knew something.

  Something the devotees ignored or chose to ignore.

  And I discovered what on a rainy afternoon.

  ***

  **Six Months — Able to Sit**

  Father placed me on the living room floor. Surrounded me with improvised cushions.

  "Stay there, little flower," he said, smiling. "Daddy needs to work a little."

  Little flower.

  He always called me that.

  Different from mother, who only used my name. Formal. Correct.

  Father had warmth.

  Not just temperature. But affection.

  When he held me, it was different. Gentle. Protective. As if I were precious, not just a responsibility.

  He hummed while working. Simple songs. Rural melodies.

  Smiled when I made baby sounds.

  Talked to me, even knowing I couldn't respond.

  "You know, Sekire, when you grow up, I'll teach you to chop wood. Maybe you'll be better than me! Wouldn't that be great?"

  And there was hope in his voice. Genuine.

  Not heavy expectation. Not obligation.

  Just sweet paternal dreaming.

  He is different.

  He really loves me.

  And part of me, the part still Shimizu Yuki, felt something warm and painful.

  *This* is how a father's love should be.

  But then, a memory hit me.

  The way Vhorkan had looked at me.

  The resonance between us.

  The red hair that neither Jullen nor Grenrick had.

  Recessive gene.

  Is it?

  I pushed the thought away. I was a baby. I couldn't process that yet.

  Father went out to the small backyard. Through the window, I saw him picking up an axe.

  But it wasn't a common axe.

  He held it. Closed his eyes. Took a deep breath.

  And then a pale green glow.

  Around the blade. Faint. Weak.

  Wind.

  Not strong. Not impressive.

  Just a subtle blade of air enveloping the metal.

  He swung.

  The firewood split. Clean. Smooth.

  Easier than brute force alone.

  Magic.

  My eyes widened.

  *He's using magic!*

  It was small. Simple. Probably the most basic level possible.

  But it was real.

  Energy flowing. Being shaped. Having a physical effect.

  Something inside me yearned.

  I wanted to reach out. Touch. Do.

  But I couldn't.

  I just sat. Watched.

  And stored that image away.

  One day. One day I too will...

  Father finished and came in, sweaty but smiling.

  "See that, little flower? One day I'll teach you!" He picked me up, spinning gently. "You're going to be amazing, I'm sure!"

  Jullen entered at that moment.

  Saw the scene.

  And something crossed her face.

  Not anger. Not jealousy.

  But sadness?

  Guilt?

  "Grenrick," she said, careful voice. "You shouldn't make promises you might not be able to keep."

  He stopped. Looked at her.

  "Why couldn't I?"

  "You just shouldn't."

  And she left.

  Leaving a heavy silence.

  ***

  **One Year — Walking (poorly)**

  It was during the Harvest Festival that I understood a darker truth.

  The entire village gathered in the central square. A large bonfire lit. More food than normal being prepared.

  Mother dressed me in clean clothes. Rare.

  "Today is a special day," she said. Reverent tone. "A day to thank the Master."

  She carried me to the square.

  Music played. Simple instruments. Drums. Flutes.

  People danced. Laughed. Drank.

  The atmosphere was festive.

  But there was something wrong.

  An underlying tension.

  And then I saw.

  In the center. Near the bonfire.

  Three people kneeling.

  Tied up.

  An old man. White hair. Hunched back.

  A woman with a deformed leg. Walked with a crutch.

  And a middle-aged man. Bruised face. Black eye.

  My stomach, even as a baby, churned.

  What...?

  Vhorkan appeared. Coming from the sanctuary.

  The music stopped. The conversations ceased.

  Everyone knelt.

  Including mother. With me in her arms.

  "Master," the crowd murmured in unison.

  Vhorkan walked to the three tied-up people. Studied them.

  "This one," he pointed to the old man, "has lived a long life. Contributed. But now only consumes without returning."

  "This one," pointed to the woman, "was born imperfect. A burden to others."

  "And this one," his tone grew colder, "stole from the offerings. Betrayed the trust."

  Absolute silence.

  "But," Vhorkan continued, voice softer, "we do not waste. Everything has purpose. Even the end."

  He raised his hand.

  Magic flowed. His palm glowed deep blue.

  Water.

  Not the gentle rain he conjured for the crops.

  Something different. Denser. Darker.

  The water formed around the three people. Enveloped them.

  And then penetrated.

  Mouth. Nose. Ears.

  Drowning. Quick. Efficient.

  It lasted less than a minute.

  The three fell. Motionless.

  And the crowd applauded.

  "Thank you, Master!"

  "For your protection!"

  "For ridding us of burdens!"

  My blood froze.

  They are happy.

  They are thanking him for murder.

  Vhorkan nodded. The bodies were taken away.

  To where?

  I didn't see.

  But I heard, days later, fragments of conversation between neighbors:

  "...the meat was tender..."

  "...shared blessing..."

  "...strengthens the community..."

  Ritual cannibalism.

  They eat the sacrificed.

  I vomited. Literally. Undigested milk.

  Mother cleaned up efficiently. No real concern.

  "Sensitive stomach," she murmured.

  But it wasn't my stomach.

  It was my soul.

  ***

  **Two Years — Beginning to Speak**

  With speech came access to more information.

  Adults talked near me. And some answered my simple questions.

  "Mommy, where are we?"

  "In the Courtyard of Ashes, dear. Our home."

  "And outside?"

  "The Kingdom of Kitsumi. Ruled by the Queen."

  Kitsumi.

  The name sounded foreign but real.

  "Good Queen?"

  Mother hesitated. Expression hardened.

  "The Queen is distant. In the capital. Where nobles live."

  The way she said *nobles* carried venom.

  "We, commoners, serve. Pay taxes. Suffer." A pause. "That's why the Master is so important. He protects us."

  Protects or imprisons?

  But I didn't say that aloud.

  Father was more open.

  "Kitsumi is complicated, little flower," he explained while rocking me. "The Queen Mother rules. Women have power here. More than men."

  "Is that good?"

  "It should be. But..." He sighed. "Power isn't good or bad. It depends on who has it. And the nobility of Kitsumi, they don't care about people like us."

  "Why?"

  "Because we are just resources. Numbers. We provide food, pay taxes, die in silence."

  His voice was sad. Resigned.

  "The capital shines. Advanced magic. Wealth. Beauty." A pause. "And we here survive."

  I began to find books.

  Few. Old. Yellowed pages.

  But they were windows.

  One was *Stories of Kitsumi for Children*. Disguised propaganda.

  It spoke of the great Queen. Just laws. Prosperity.

  Obvious lies.

  Another was *Basic Geography*. More useful.

  Kitsumi: a matriarchal kingdom. Women inherit titles. Men serve as consorts or advisors.

  Capital: Hanami. City of eternal cherry blossoms, magically maintained. Population: fifty thousand. Nobility concentrated.

  Villages: hundreds. Forgotten. Exploited.

  The map showed Courtyard of Ashes. Far. Remote. Almost on the border.

  A perfect place to hide abuses.

  ***

  **Three Years — Clearer Thinking**

  My view of the village crystallized.

  Jullen, my mother.

  Fanatic devotee. True believer.

  She loved the Master more than me.

  Her affection was conditional. Controlled.

  "You are growing up well, Sekire," she would say while combing my hair. "Well-behaved. Obedient. Keep it up."

  Keep it up.

  Or what?

  She never said. But the implicit threat was there.

  But there were moments.

  Rare.

  When she looked at me and something crossed her face.

  Not common maternal love.

  Something more complex. More painful.

  Guilt?

  Remorse?

  And sometimes, very rarely, she would touch my red hair with a distant expression.

  Lost in memories I couldn't access.

  Other children also gave me a bad impression.

  A small group of four or five. Children of other devotees.

  They played near the sanctuary. Always near the sanctuary.

  Glazed eyes.

  "Let's play ritual!" a boy suggested.

  "I'll be the Master!" another declared.

  And they would enact a sacrifice. With straw dolls.

  Laughing.

  There is something rotten here.

  Not just the demon.

  But what he has done to these people.

  Grenrick, my father.

  The only light.

  Genuine. Gentle. Protective.

  He taught me words. Sang songs. Carved little wooden animals for me.

  "You are special, little flower," he would whisper when mother wasn't listening. "Don't let anyone extinguish your light."

  And I clung to him.

  An anchor in the storm.

  At least someone here loves me for real.

  But even he had a limit.

  He didn't question the Master. Not openly.

  He obeyed. Participated in the rituals.

  Because disobedience meant becoming the next sacrifice.

  ***

  At three years old, sitting on father's lap as he sharpened tools, I asked:

  "Daddy, why do people obey the Master?"

  He paused. Looked at me. Surprised by the question.

  "Because he protects us, little flower."

  "But what if someone doesn't want protection?"

  Long silence.

  Then he hugged me. Tightly.

  "Don't ask those questions, Sekire," he whispered. Tense voice. "Please. Just don't."

  And I understood.

  He knows.

  He knows something is wrong.

  But he is trapped. Like everyone.

  Lying in my small crib that night, I looked at the cracked wooden ceiling.

  And I thought of Akaester's words.

  *Not all love is real. Not all family is home.*

  Jullen gave me life.

  But she didn't love me. Not truly.

  Or loved in a twisted way. Complicated. Stained by something I still didn't understand.

  Grenrick loved me.

  But he couldn't protect me. Not completely.

  And the village was a prison disguised as a community.

  I need to get out of here.

  One day.

  Somehow.

  I must.

  Because if I stayed I would become like them.

  Or die trying not to become.

  And neither option was acceptable.

  I closed my eyes.

  And waited.

  For the years to come.

  For the magic I still couldn't touch.

  For the chance to finally be free.

  ***

  Three years passed.

  I grew. Learned to walk properly, speak clearly, and most importantly, learned to observe.

  The village had a routine. People woke early, worked in the fields, returned tired. The devotees went to the sanctuary every full moon morning. The skeptics only did the bare minimum.

  And I paid attention to everything.

  ***

  **Three and a Half Years**

  The first time I left the house at night was unintentional.

  A nightmare woke me. Cold sweat, rapid breathing. Jumbled memories of Yuki and visions of the sacrifice festival.

  I got up. The house was silent.

  Father snored in the next room. Mother slept without making a sound.

  I went to the door. It had no lock. I opened it slowly.

  The night air was cold. Empty streets. Only the wind making noise in the trees.

  I went out.

  I walked down the main street, bare feet on the dirt. All the houses were dark, except a faint light coming from the sanctuary.

  Vhorkan was awake.

  Or maybe he didn't sleep at all.

  I avoided that direction. Went the other way.

  And I saw the fence.

  Old wood, half-rotten in some places. Maybe one and a half meters tall. Easy for an adult to jump over. Impossible for a three-year-old.

  But I looked anyway. Searched for holes, loose boards.

  Nothing I could use now.

  On the other side, dark forest. Dense. Probably full of things I didn't want to encounter.

  But it was an exit.

  I returned before anyone woke up.

  And I started doing it regularly. Two, three times a week. Always in the dead of night. Always in silence.

  Mapping. Memorizing. Searching.

  ***

  **Four Years**

  "Little flower, you're growing up so fast!"

  Father lifted me, spinning. I laughed.

  With him, I didn't have to pretend.

  "Daddy, teach me magic?"

  "Ah, want to learn?" He smiled, but something in his eyes turned sad. "You're still too young, Sekire. At six we do the affinity test. Then you find out what kind of magic you can use."

  "And if I don't have an affinity?"

  "Everyone has some affinity. Even if it's weak." He put me down. "I have a weak wind affinity. I can only do simple tricks. But your mother..."

  He stopped.

  "Mother has an affinity?"

  "Had. Water. Reasonably strong." His voice became strange. "But she stopped using it after..."

  He didn't finish.

  After what?

  But I didn't ask. Father got too quiet when the subject was mother and magic.

  Jullen entered at that moment. Looked at the two of us.

  "Grenrick, she needs to eat."

  There was no warmth in her voice. Just instruction.

  "Of course, of course." Father stood up too quickly.

  Jullen observed me. That look I couldn't decipher.

  Then she turned and left.

  ***

  **Four and a Half Years**

  I met Tomas three weeks before the festival.

  He was young. Maybe in his early twenties. A skeptic. Worked in the fields, kept his head down.

  And he was planning to escape.

  I found out by accident. I was on one of my nightly explorations when I saw him near the fence. He had rope. Was testing the posts.

  I hid behind a house. Watched.

  He was careful. Silent. But too anxious. Hands shaking.

  He was going to fail.

  Not because the fence was a problem. But because he didn't know what I had discovered in recent weeks.

  Vhorkan had a surveillance enchantment.

  Didn't see everything. But felt disturbances. Wrong movement at the village limits.

  I had to warn him.

  But how? A four-year-old shouldn't know these things.

  I waited for him to finish checking the fence and return.

  I followed. From a distance.

  When he passed through a narrow alley between two houses, I let a stone fall. Loud enough.

  He turned. Saw me.

  "What... child, what are you doing awake?"

  I looked at him. Serious.

  "You're going to escape."

  It wasn't a question.

  He froze. Fear on his face.

  "I don't know what you're..."

  "The fence isn't the problem. It's what happens when you jump over." I spoke low. Fast. "He feels it. I don't know how, but he feels when someone tries to leave."

  Tomas paled.

  "How do you..."

  "I paid attention." I shrugged. "Last year, a woman tried. Jumped the fence at dawn. He appeared in five minutes. Brought her back."

  She became a sacrifice the following week.

  Tomas swallowed hard.

  "So there's no way?"

  "I don't know. But if you're going to try, you need to be faster. And farther. Much farther before he notices."

  I looked back. At the sanctuary.

  "And even then, it might not be enough."

  Tomas crouched. Came to my eye level.

  "Why are you telling me this?"

  "Because if you die being stupid, it's a waste."

  I stood up and went home.

  Left him with the information.

  What he would do with it was no longer my problem.

  ***

  Tomas tried anyway.

  Two weeks later. On the darkest night of the month.

  I was awake. I always was on important nights.

  I heard it. Fast movement. Running.

  He was going.

  I counted.

  One minute.

  Two.

  Three.

  At five, blue light exploded from the sanctuary.

  Vhorkan came out. Not walking. Flying? No. Gliding. Too fast.

  Disappeared in the direction of the forest.

  Fifteen minutes later, he returned.

  Dragging Tomas.

  The man was alive. Injured. Bleeding. But alive.

  For now.

  ***

  **Harvest Festival. Four and a Half Years.**

  Tomas was one of the three sacrificed.

  I watched. Had to watch. Everyone had to.

  Mother held me in her lap. Calm face. Almost serene.

  She saw no problem with it.

  Or chose not to see.

  Vhorkan executed the three with water. Quick. Clean.

  The bodies were taken away.

  And the party began.

  Music. Dance. Food.

  I didn't eat anything that day.

  Father noticed. Pulled me close.

  "Are you alright, little flower?"

  "I'm not hungry."

  He understood. I saw it in his eyes.

  He didn't eat much during festivals either.

  ***

  **Five Years**

  I became bolder.

  Not only explored at night. Began talking to the skeptics. Subtly. A curious child's questions.

  "Why does the Master need sacrifices?"

  "To maintain order, child."

  "But why?"

  Silences. Uncomfortable looks.

  But sometimes, answers.

  "Because he feeds on something beyond common food."

  "Because without the sacrifices, he would become... unstable."

  "Because that's how it's always been."

  I pieced it together.

  Vhorkan wasn't just a demon who lived there by chance.

  He fed. Not on the flesh. But on something more.

  Mana? Soul? Fear?

  I didn't know.

  But he needed the sacrifices for something.

  And the village accepted because he gave rain in return.

  A transaction.

  Simple. Horrible. But simple.

  ***

  My relationship with Jullen worsened.

  Not openly. She still cared for me. Food, clothes, shelter.

  But the distance increased.

  Sometimes I caught her looking at me. Strange expression.

  Regret? Guilt? Hatred?

  I couldn't tell.

  "Sekire, walk properly."

  "Sekire, don't speak like that."

  "Sekire, behave."

  Always corrections. Never praise.

  And when Vhorkan passed by on the street, she grew tense. Hands squeezing my shoulder too hard.

  Possessive? Afraid?

  Both?

  ***

  Father was different.

  He taught me things. Small. Practical.

  How to identify edible plants. How to know when rain was coming. How to sharpen a knife.

  "One day you'll need to take care of yourself, little flower."

  He said that sometimes. Sad tone.

  As if he knew he wouldn't always be there.

  "Daddy going somewhere?"

  "No, no." He smiled. But it wasn't convincing. "I just want you to be prepared. For whatever comes."

  I understood.

  No one was safe here.

  Not even him.

  ***

  **Six Years**

  Test day arrived.

  All six-year-old children were summoned. Seven in total, including me.

  We gathered in the central square. Cold morning. Cloudy sky.

  Vhorkan was there. Waiting.

  In his hand, a small wooden box.

  "Today," he said, calm but authoritative voice, "you will discover your affinities."

  He opened the box.

  Inside, seven stones. Small. Marble-sized. Translucent. Colorless.

  "Each will take a stone. Hold it with both hands. And try to feel something inside you. Something warm. Something that pulses."

  He looked at each child.

  "When you feel it, push it into the stone. It will show your affinity."

  Simple. Direct.

  The first child was called.

  A boy. Son of devotees. Eyes just as glazed as his parents.

  Took the stone. Closed his eyes. Concentrated.

  The stone glowed. Earthy brown.

  "Earth. Medium affinity."

  Applause. Smiles. The boy was hugged by his parents.

  Next.

  A girl. Skeptic. Daughter of farmers.

  The stone glowed. Light green.

  "Wind. Weak affinity."

  Less applause. But still acceptable.

  Next. Next. Next.

  Fire. Water. Earth again.

  Everyone had something.

  Until it was my turn.

  "Sekire Dawnveil."

  Vhorkan called me.

  Yellow eyes fixed on me.

  There was something in them. Expectation? Curiosity?

  I approached. Took the stone.

  It was cold. Smooth. Light.

  I closed my eyes.

  Searched for what he had described. Something warm. Something that pulses.

  And I felt it.

  Not warmth. But presence.

  In the center of my chest. Small. Dormant. But there.

  I tried to push.

  The presence moved. Slowly. Reluctantly.

  Flowed to my arms. To my fingers.

  To the stone.

  And...

  Nothing.

  The stone didn't change.

  Remained translucent. Colorless. Without glow.

  As if nothing had happened.

  I opened my eyes.

  Confusion.

  I tried again. Concentrated more. Pushed harder.

  The presence reacted. More intense now.

  But the stone remained the same.

  Inert.

  Silence fell over the square.

  All the children looked at me. Then at their parents. Then at Vhorkan.

  The adult devotees began to whisper.

  "No affinity?"

  "How is that possible?"

  "This is..."

  The expressions changed.

  From neutral to uncomfortable.

  From uncomfortable to hostile.

  "Aberration."

  I heard someone whisper.

  "Defective."

  Another.

  "Useless."

  My stomach tightened.

  I looked at mother.

  Jullen was pale. Eyes wide. Not with concern.

  With horror.

  With shame.

  She took a step back.

  As if wanting distance from me.

  Father tried to approach, but devotees held him back.

  "Grenrick, stay where you are."

  Vhorkan stood up. Slow movements. Deliberate.

  And for the first time, I saw fury on that always-controlled face.

  Not anger. Fury.

  Pure. Cold. Dangerous.

  "Jullen."

  He didn't shout. But the name came out icy.

  Mother trembled.

  "Master, I..."

  "Your offspring," he spat the word, "is defective."

  Absolute silence.

  "Six years. Six years and she has no affinity." Vhorkan approached me. Looking down. "Useless. Empty. Waste of resources."

  He turned to the crowd.

  "The festival will be moved up. One week. We need to correct this... error."

  No.

  No no no.

  "Master, please!"

  Father broke free. Ran. Knelt before Vhorkan.

  "Please, she's just a child! Maybe the affinity will appear later! Maybe..."

  "Silence."

  Vhorkan's voice cut.

  But father didn't stop.

  "I offer my life. In her place."

  The world stopped.

  "Grenrick, no!" Jullen shouted.

  But he had already spoken.

  "My life. In exchange for hers. I serve. I work. I am useful." Father looked at me. Tears in his eyes. "Sekire hasn't done anything wrong. So, please. Take me."

  Vhorkan looked down. Studied father.

  Then smiled.

  Small. Cruel.

  "Very well. I accept."

  Relief flooded father's face.

  "Thank you, Master, thank you..."

  Vhorkan's hand glowed. Deep blue.

  "But not now."

  And the water exploded.

  Not from outside. From inside.

  From father's body.

  He screamed. Blood gushed from his mouth, nose, ears.

  His veins swelled. Skin cracking.

  "DADDY!"

  I ran. Tried to reach him.

  But someone held me back. A devotee. Strong hands holding me.

  Father fell. Still conscious. Still alive.

  He crawled. Toward me.

  Blood marking the path.

  He got close. Hand trembling.

  Touched my face.

  "Little... flower..."

  Broken voice. Wet.

  "Daddy loves you... always... always..."

  Tears fell. His. Mine.

  "You'll be... alright... you'll..."

  "Grenrick."

  Jullen spoke.

  Strange voice. Trembling but determined.

  Father looked at her.

  "She is not your daughter."

  Everything stopped.

  "What...?" Father whispered.

  "Sekire." Jullen swallowed. Red eyes. "She is not yours."

  Father looked at me. Then at Jullen. Then at Vhorkan.

  Slow understanding. Painful. Devastating.

  "She is... his?"

  Jullen didn't answer.

  Didn't need to.

  "Cambion," Vhorkan said. Casual tone. "Half human. Half demon. My offspring."

  He looked at me. No warmth. No affection.

  "And apparently, defective."

  Father looked at me. Horror. Betrayal. Confusion.

  But then, something changed.

  He squeezed my hand. With strength.

  "Doesn't... matter..."

  Blood flowed faster.

  "You are... my little flower... always..."

  And the light left his eyes.

  His hand went slack.

  Fell.

  Silence.

  I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

  Just looked.

  At my father's body.

  At the man who wasn't my father by blood.

  But who had been the only one who truly loved me.

  "Take her."

  Vhorkan ordered.

  Hands grabbed me. Dragged me.

  "The execution will be in one week. Until then, she stays in the dungeon."

  I didn't fight.

  I had no strength.

  Just let them take me.

  But as we passed the place where I had dropped the stone, I looked.

  The stone was no longer there.

  In its place, a feather.

  Small. Delicate.

  Strange coloration. Iridescent. Changing between deep purple and metallic green depending on the light angle.

  As if it didn't belong to this world.

  And then the dungeon door closed.

  Complete darkness.

  And silence.