Zareth's POV
I wake up screaming.
My throat is raw, my sheets soaked with sweat. For a moment, I don't know where I am. The Reaper barracks bedroom feels wrong, too small, like a cage instead of safety.
The dream—no, the memory—still burns behind my eyes.
A little girl with my face, maybe four years old, chasing someone through a garden filled with crystal flowers. "Reverie! Wait for me!"
The other girl turns around, laughing. She's older, maybe eight, with the same silver marks as our mother but lighter, like morning mist. "You're too slow, little sister! You'll never catch me!"
"That's not fair! Your legs are longer!"
Reverie scoops me up and spins me around. "When you're bigger, you'll be faster than me. Mama says you have twice the power I do."
"Really?"
"Really. You're special, Zareth. You're going to be amazing."
I press my hands against my eyes, trying to stop the tears. But they come anyway, hot and angry and real.
Reapers don't cry. The marks stop that. The marks stop everything.
Except they're not stopping anything anymore.
I throw off the blankets and stumble to the small mirror on my wall. My reflection looks like a stranger—pale skin, wild black hair, eyes that are too bright. And my arms...
The cracks have spread to my shoulders. To my neck. Silver light pulses beneath my skin like a second heartbeat.
"What's happening to me?" I whisper.
The mirror doesn't answer. But in its surface, I see something move behind me.
I spin around, hand reaching for Silverbane—but my room is empty.
No. Not empty. There's something written on my wall in silver light that wasn't there when I went to sleep:
SHE'S STILL ALIVE
My heart stops. "Who? Who's alive?"
The words fade like they were never there.
I grab my sword and search every corner of my room. Nothing. Nobody. But someone—or something—was here. Left me a message.
Reverie? Is my sister still alive?
No. That's impossible. Cassian said my entire family died in the Mourning Districts. Disease. Starvation. The usual story of people without magic.
But Cassian lied about everything else.
I need answers. Real ones.
I throw on my training clothes and grab Lysander's file from where I left it on my desk. My hands shake as I open it, but I force myself to focus.
The first page shows his face again. Those golden eyes that haunt my broken memories.
Name: Lysander Ashencrown
Age: Unknown. Estimated 3,000+ years
Threat Level: CATASTROPHIC
Known Abilities: Time manipulation, reality warping, star magic, immortality
Kills Attributed To: 847 Empire citizens (unconfirmed)
Danger Assessment: DO NOT ENGAGE IN CONVERSATION. Subject is highly manipulative and will attempt to corrupt Reaper loyalty through emotional warfare.
I flip to the next page. It's a list of places Lysander has been spotted over the last hundred years. Markets. Villages. The Mourning Districts.
Wait.
My finger stops on one entry:
Mourning District Seven - Twenty-one years ago - Subject observed near the home of known Undying sympathizer. Family eliminated by Reaper squad. Subject escaped.
Twenty-one years ago. That's when my mother died.
Lysander was there.
Did he try to save her? Did he know who I was?
The next page makes my blood run cold. It's a sketch of my mother, labeled "Reverie the Undying - Eliminated by High Luminary Cassian."
But that's not her name. My mother's name was... was...
I close my eyes, reaching for the memory. It's there, buried under twenty-one years of lies.
"Mama, why do they call you Reverie?"
"Because I protect dreams, little anchor. I make sure people remember the beautiful things, even when the world is dark." She kisses my forehead. "And someday, you'll protect something even more important."
"What?"
"Hope."
My eyes snap open. Reverie isn't my sister. Reverie is—was—my mother's title. Her role among the Undying.
Which means my real sister's name was something else.
I flip through more pages frantically. There has to be something, some clue—
A photograph falls out of the file.
I pick it up with trembling hands. It shows two little girls standing in front of a woman with glowing silver marks. The woman has her arms around both girls, smiling at the camera. One girl is maybe four years old—me. The other is eight.
Written on the back in handwriting I don't recognize:
Reverie, Zareth, and Lyra. One year before the fall.
Lyra.
My sister's name is Lyra.
And according to the glowing message on my wall, she's still alive.
"No," I whisper. "This can't be real. Cassian said—"
What did Cassian say, exactly? That my family died? Or that I should forget them?
I sink onto my bed, the file scattered around me. Everything I thought I knew is crumbling. Every truth is turning into a lie.
My door crashes open.
I jump up, sword in hand, ready to fight—
Seraphine stands in the doorway. My former training partner, my former friend. She's breathing hard, her twin blades already drawn.
"What are you doing here?" I demand.
"I could ask you the same thing." Her eyes are wild, dangerous. "You were supposed to report to medical three hours ago for your mark maintenance. They sent me to find you."
Mark maintenance. The monthly ritual where Cassian reinforces the silver tattoos, keeps them strong and binding.
If I go, he'll know the marks are cracking. He'll know I'm remembering.
"I'm fine," I say. "Tell them I'm studying the Lysander file. I leave tomorrow night."
Seraphine's gaze drops to my exposed arms. To the cracks bleeding silver light.
Her face goes pale. "Zareth... your marks..."
"It's nothing—"
"Nothing? They're breaking!" She steps closer, and I see something in her eyes I've never seen before. Fear. "Do you know what happens to Reapers whose marks fail?"
"They get new ones."
"No." Seraphine's voice drops to a whisper. "They disappear. I've seen it, Zareth. Five Reapers in the last two years. Their marks started cracking, and then they were just... gone. Cassian said they retired, but I never saw them leave. Nobody did."
My stomach twists. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying you need to get those marks fixed before Cassian sees them. Before he decides you're a threat instead of an asset."
"I can't. Not until after I kill Lysander."
"Why not?"
Because I need to remember. Because I need to know the truth. Because if I let Cassian repair the marks, I'll forget again. I'll forget Reverie. Forget Lyra. Forget everything that makes me me instead of just a weapon.
But I can't tell Seraphine that.
"Because the cracks make me stronger," I lie. "I can feel it. More power. More speed. It's like the marks are evolving."
Seraphine studies me for a long moment. I don't know if she believes me.
"Fine," she finally says. "But if something goes wrong on your hunt, if Lysander kills you because your marks are failing..." She looks away. "I don't want to be the one who has to bring back your body."
Something in her voice sounds almost like she cares. Almost like we're still friends.
"I won't die," I promise.
"Everyone dies eventually. Even immortals." She turns to leave, then stops. "Zareth? Be careful. The old ones... they don't fight with swords. They fight with words. With memories. With the pieces of yourself you thought were dead."
"How do you know?"
"Because I almost killed one once. Five years ago. Before..." She touches the scar on her face, the one she got during our botched mission. "He showed me things. Made me remember things. I almost couldn't do it. Almost let him live."
"What happened?"
"I completed the mission." Her voice is hollow. "But I've had nightmares ever since. Of the children he showed me. The family he wanted me to remember. Sometimes I wonder if killing him was the right choice."
She leaves before I can respond.
I'm alone again with Lysander's file and my breaking marks and the terrible knowledge that everything I've ever done might have been wrong.
I pick up the photograph of my mother and sister. Stare at the little girl I used to be, smiling and innocent and loved.
"Where are you, Lyra?" I whisper to the image. "Are you really alive?"
The silver cracks on my arms pulse.
And across the room, new words appear on my wall, glowing brighter than before:
LYSANDER KNOWS WHERE SHE IS
HE'S BEEN PROTECTING HER
HE'S BEEN PROTECTING HER FROM YOU
My breath catches. No. That can't be true. I've never hurt anyone except immortals. Except parasites who steal magic.
Except... my own kind.
I look down at my arms, at the 127 silver marks that represent 127 kills.
How many of them were protecting someone? How many of them had families? Children?
How many of them died begging me to listen, just like Meridian did?
The room spins. I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't—
A knock on my door. Soft. Urgent.
"Go away, Seraphine," I call out.
"It's not Seraphine." A boy's voice. Marcus, the junior Reaper from earlier.
I wipe my face and open the door. "What?"
Marcus looks terrified. He shoves a folded piece of paper into my hands. "Someone left this at the front gate. Said it was for you. Said it was urgent."
"Who?"
"I don't know. They were gone before I could see their face. But Zareth..." He swallows hard. "They had silver marks. Just like yours. Just like... your mother's."
He runs away before I can ask more questions.
I unfold the paper with shaking hands.
Inside, written in handwriting that matches the photo's inscription, are four words:
Don't kill him, sister.