[Sera's POV]
My hands wouldn't stop shaking.
I stared at them in the dim morning light, watching my fingers tremble like leaves in a storm. Two days until I left for Luminara. Two days to become the perfect weapon again. Two days to stop feeling.
I closed my eyes and reached for my shadow magic—the one thing that had never failed me. The darkness responded instantly, eager and alive. It wrapped around my hands like old friends, and the shaking finally stopped.
But the moment I released the magic, the trembling came back.
"You're broken," I whispered to myself. "Fix it."
I stood in the center of the training courtyard, alone in the pre-dawn darkness. Around me, the stone walls of Shadowveil loomed like prison bars. This place had been my entire world for eighteen years. Every stone was familiar. Every shadow was home.
So why did it suddenly feel like a cage?
I took a breath and let my shadow magic explode outward. Darkness swallowed me whole. My body dissolved into pure shadow—no flesh, no bone, just living darkness that could slip through cracks and hide in corners. This was my gift. My curse. The thing that made me valuable.
I flowed across the courtyard like smoke, re-forming near the weapons rack. Good. I needed to be faster. Needed to be perfect.
Because Lyris would be watching.
"Show off."
I spun around. Lyris stood at the courtyard entrance, arms crossed. Even this early, she looked put-together and dangerous. Her silver hair caught the moonlight, and her ice-blue eyes were sharp with calculation.
"You're up early," I said carefully.
"So are you." She walked toward me, each step measured. "Couldn't sleep? Bad dreams?"
Yes. I'd barely slept at all. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that painting—two infants who'd never asked to be weapons. Who'd never asked to be torn apart.
But I couldn't tell Lyris that.
"I'm fine," I lied. "Just preparing for the mission."
"Our mission," Lyris corrected. Her smile was sharp as a blade. "Remember? We're partners now."
Partners. The word tasted wrong. Lyris wasn't my partner—she was my spy. Mordain's insurance policy. If I hesitated, she'd finish the job and report my failure.
"Then you should be training too," I said.
"I don't need to train." Lyris examined her nails. "I've already killed seven targets this year. High-value contracts. Perfect executions. Zero mistakes." Her eyes flicked up to mine. "What about you, Sera? How many people have you killed?"
The answer stuck in my throat. None. I'd trained to kill. Studied killing. Practiced killing. But I'd never actually ended a life.
This would be my first.
And it would be my brother's.
"That's what I thought," Lyris said when I didn't answer. "Mordain's precious favorite has never actually gotten her hands dirty. This should be interesting."
She walked away before I could respond, her laughter echoing off the stone walls.
I stood there, fists clenched, hating how right she was.
By midday, a crowd had gathered to watch me train. It wasn't every day someone got assigned a mission this important. The younger orphans perched on walls and barrels, their eyes wide. The older ones leaned against pillars, whispering.
I ignored them all and focused on my shadow training. Dissolve. Reform. Dissolve. Reform. Each transition had to be seamless. If I materialized inside a wall by mistake, I'd die. If I stayed shadow too long, I'd lose myself in the darkness and never come back.
"Is it true?" a small voice asked.
I re-formed and turned. A boy—maybe nine years old—stood a few feet away. His name was Thomas, and he still had the softness that the Guild hadn't beaten out of him yet. Give it time. They'd harden him soon enough.
"Is what true?" I asked.
"That you're going to kill a prince." His eyes were huge. "Marcus told everyone. He said you're going to change the whole continent."
Change it. Destroy it. Same thing, really.
"Marcus talks too much," I said.
"Are you scared?"
The question hit me like a punch. Scared. Such a simple word for the hurricane of terror ripping through my chest. Scared didn't cover it. Scared was too small for what I felt.
But I couldn't let him see that. Couldn't let any of them see.
"No," I lied. The word came out smooth and confident. "Fear is weakness. Weapons don't feel fear."
Thomas nodded slowly, like he was memorizing my words. "That's what Mordain says. He says if we feel things, we die."
"He's right."
But even as I said it, I wondered if that was true. If feeling nothing kept you alive, then why did I feel like I was dying inside?
Thomas hesitated, then blurted out: "I hope you come back. You're... you're the only one who doesn't hit me during training."
Something cracked in my chest. I'd never thought about it before—the fact that I pulled my punches with the younger kids. That I corrected their forms instead of breaking their bones. Was that kindness? Or just weakness?
"Go back to your drills," I said quietly. "And Thomas? Learn to hit harder. The world won't be gentle with you."
He nodded and scurried away.
I watched him go, this small boy who still had hope in his eyes. Mordain would crush that hope soon. Turn him into another weapon. Another me.
Unless someone stopped this cycle.
I shook my head. Dangerous thoughts. I couldn't save everyone. Couldn't even save myself.
I trained until my muscles screamed and my magic felt raw. Until the sun set and the other orphans drifted away to dinner. Until only shadows remained.
That's when exhaustion finally won.
I collapsed in my small room, barely making it to the thin mattress before sleep dragged me under.
And then the dreams came.
I was standing in a garden I'd never seen before. Flowers bloomed in colors I didn't have names for. The sun was warm on my skin—warmer than anything in Shadowveil's cold halls.
"Sera!"
I turned.
A boy stood behind me—maybe five years old. He had platinum hair like mine, gray eyes like mine, a smile that made something in my chest ache. He looked like me. Moved like me. But his eyes were full of light where mine held only shadows.
"You came!" He ran toward me, arms open.
I knelt down, and he crashed into me with a hug. He was warm and solid and real. I wrapped my arms around him, and for the first time in eighteen years, I didn't feel alone.
"I've been waiting for you," he said, pulling back to look at my face. "I dream about you every night. I know you're real. I know you're somewhere."
"I'm here," I whispered.
"Don't let them make you hurt me." His small hands gripped my arms. "Please, Sera. I'm your brother. We're supposed to be together."
Tears ran down my cheeks. "I don't know how to stop them."
"You have to try." His eyes—so young, so trusting—bore into mine. "Because if you kill me, you'll kill yourself too. We're connected. Shadow and light. We need each other."
"I'm sorry," I sobbed. "I'm so sorry—"
The dream shattered.
I woke up gasping, tears wet on my face. My room was dark except for a sliver of moonlight through the window.
It was just a dream. Just my mind playing tricks.
But my left shoulder burned.
I yanked down my sleeve and stared at my birthmark—the crescent moon I'd had since birth. It was glowing. Faintly, like dying embers, my birthmark pulsed with silver light.
That wasn't possible. Birthmarks didn't glow. They didn't pulse.
Unless...
I touched it, and warmth flooded through me. Not my warmth. Someone else's. Like a thread connecting me to something—someone—far away.
"No," I whispered. "No, no, no—"
A knock on my door made me jump. I yanked my sleeve back up and stood, heart hammering.
"What?"
The door opened. Marcus stood there, his scarred face grim.
"The Guild Master wants to see you. Now. He says it's urgent."
Dread pooled in my stomach. "What happened?"
"I don't know. But he looks..." Marcus paused, choosing his words carefully. "Furious. And when I left his office, he was staring at something on his desk. A locket."
The locket. The one with the picture of two infants.
My mouth went dry.
"He knows," Marcus said quietly, and there was something like pity in his eyes. "About the birthmark. About the connection. Someone told him your magic reacted tonight—that your shadow magic flared and then went silver for a moment." His voice dropped to a whisper. "He thinks you're bonding with the prince. That the prophecy is activating."
My knees almost gave out.
"Who told him?"
Marcus's silence was answer enough.
Lyris. She'd been watching me. Seen something. Reported it.
"You need to go," Marcus said. "Now. And Sera?" He looked at me with something that might have been regret. "Whatever he asks you to do to prove your loyalty... just do it. Don't fight. Don't hesitate. Or he'll kill you where you stand."
He left before I could respond.
I stood there, staring at my hands—the hands that wouldn't stop shaking. The hands that were supposed to kill my brother.
The hands that were now glowing faintly with the same silver light as my birthmark.
The bond was real. Kael and I were connected.
And Mordain knew.