Darkness, not the gentle darkness of night, not the temporary darkness when you close your eyes, but absolute darkness, heavy, suffocating, as if the world had forgotten light existed.

  I was sitting, leaning against the cold, damp stone wall, legs stretched out, hands with palms facing up, resting on the dirty floor.

  I didn't move.

  I don't know how much time had passed since they threw me in here.

  Hours, days, it didn't matter.

  Nothing mattered.

  My eyes were open, fixed on nothing, empty.

  My mind was in pieces.

  Fragments floating, disconnected, each one screaming something different.

  Dad is dead.

  He wasn't my real father.

  He loved me anyway.

  I am the daughter of a demon.

  A cambion.

  Defective.

  I will die in a week.

  The thoughts wouldn't organize, they just existed, chaotic, painful.

  I breathed.

  In, out.

  The air smelled of mold, wet earth, something rotten.

  I didn't care.

  I closed my eyes.

  And a memory came.

  Flashback, five years and three months.

  "Dad, teach me about real magic."

  I had been insisting for days, ever since Jullen had interrupted that conversation before.

  Father sighed, looked at the door, checking if she was nearby.

  "Sekire, your mother won't like this."

  "Please."

  I used that look, the one that always worked on him.

  He melted.

  "Alright, but if your mother asks, you were very anxious and I was just trying to calm you down, deal?"

  "Deal."

  He pulled me close, sat with me on the wooden floor of the room.

  "Your mother stopped using magic a long time ago, before you were born, she had an affinity with water, a good one, not as strong as the Master, but enough."

  "What happened?"

  Father was quiet for a moment.

  "She used magic for something she shouldn't have, the Master punished her, not with violence, but forbade her from using it again, said there would be consequences if she disobeyed."

  He looked at his own hands.

  "Since then, she keeps it all inside, the mana is still there, but she doesn't let it out, it must hurt, but she prefers that to defying the Master."

  I swallowed hard.

  "And you, why does he let you use it?"

  "Because my magic is too weak to be a threat, and because I only use it for work, nothing else."

  Silence.

  Then he clapped, changing the mood.

  "But enough sadness, you want to learn, right, so let's go to the basics."

  He picked up a piece of charcoal and began drawing on the floor.

  "There are three main ways to use magic, Spells, Enchantments, and Direct Manipulation."

  He drew three circles.

  "Spells are magics engraved in your soul, usually you learn them from someone or through special books, when you learn a spell, it stays stored in your memories, you just need to remember and channel mana."

  "How is it stored?"

  "It's hard to explain, but when you truly learn a spell, you feel it fixing itself, as if a new door opens in your mind, whenever you want to use it, you just open that door and let the mana flow."

  He pointed to the second circle.

  "Enchantments are different, they are mana structures you build consciously, without shortcuts, you need to visualize each layer, each connection, it's slower, more complex, but also more versatile, you can create unique effects that no spell would do."

  "And the third?"

  "Direct Manipulation is the most basic and the most difficult at the same time, it's when you take pure mana and simply shape it without a defined structure, like when I chop firewood, I don't use a spell, I just take mana from the wind and direct it to the blade, simple, but requires fine control."

  He erased the drawings and made another.

  "Now, affinities, everyone has at least one, fire, water, earth, wind are the common ones, but there are others, sand magic, tree magic, metal magic, even stranger things."

  "Like what?"

  "I've heard of someone with an affinity for shadows, another for light, there are people with affinities for very specific things, like ice instead of water, or lava instead of fire."

  He looked at me.

  "Your affinity determines what type of mana you can control more easily, it doesn't mean you can only use that type, but it means that type responds better."

  "And everyone discovers it in the test?"

  "Yes, the stone reacts with your mana and shows the color of your affinity."

  He hugged me.

  "And when you take the test, little flower, no matter what it is, I'll be proud anyway."

  "Promise?"

  "Promise."

  Back to the Dungeon

  I opened my eyes.

  The darkness was still there.

  But now there was something else.

  Not anger.

  Just will.

  The will to not stay still.

  The will to do something.

  He taught me, he gave me knowledge.

  Even knowing I might never be able to use it.

  He did that for me.

  I raised my right hand, looked at it, even though I couldn't see anything.

  I searched inside myself.

  That presence, the one I had felt during the test.

  It took a while, but I found it.

  In the center of my chest, small, dormant.

  But there.

  I tried to pull it.

  Slowly, carefully.

  The presence moved.

  It flowed to my arms.

  To my fingers.

  And came out.

  I didn't see it, but I felt it.

  Something warm, different from normal heat, deeper.

  Mana.

  My mana.

  I let it flow, without direction, without purpose, just feeling it.

  And I noticed something strange.

  The mana had no color, or rather, it had no defined affinity.

  It wasn't water, it wasn't fire, it wasn't anything specific.

  Was it neutral?

  Or was it something I didn't recognize?

  I tested it.

  I picked up a small stone from the floor, held it with both hands.

  I channeled mana into it.

  The stone warmed, slightly.

  But it didn't change.

  I tried again, more mana, more intention.

  Change.

  Be different.

  Transform.

  The stone trembled.

  And began to change.

  Not melting, not breaking.

  But transforming.

  The texture changed, became smoother, lighter.

  The shape began to elongate.

  And then it stopped.

  I let the mana stop flowing.

  I analyzed the result.

  The stone was no longer a stone.

  It was something between stone and wood, strange texture, different weight.

  Incomplete, imperfect.

  But it was change.

  Transformation.

  My heart sped up.

  Is this my affinity?

  Transformation, Transmutation?

  Why didn't the test stone show it?

  I didn't know.

  But now I had something.

  A spark.

  Small, but present.

  I kept testing, night after night, or what I thought was night.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Stones turned into fragments of something different, straw turned into something more resistant.

  Each attempt was a failure, incomplete.

  But each attempt was progress.

  And while I did this, the pain in my chest decreased.

  It didn't disappear.

  But it became bearable.

  Three Days Later

  Footsteps.

  I heard footsteps descending to the dungeon.

  Faint light appeared, a torch.

  And then she appeared.

  Jullen.

  My mother.

  She was different.

  Hair loose, disheveled, red and swollen eyes, pale face.

  Lifeless.

  As if something had been torn from her.

  She stopped in front of the cell, looked at me.

  Opened her mouth, closed it, tried again.

  "Sekire."

  Her voice was hoarse, broken.

  I didn't respond.

  I just looked.

  She swallowed, tears began to fall.

  "I need to tell you, you have to understand."

  "Understand what, that you let dad die, that I'm the daughter of a monster?"

  "It wasn't like that." She shook her head, desperate. "It wasn't."

  She fell to her knees.

  "I was eighteen when Vhorkan arrived, the village was dying, drought, famine, diseases, the people were desperate."

  Her voice trembled.

  "He appeared, offered help, rain, protection, everything we needed, but with a price."

  "The sacrifices."

  "Not just that." She wiped her tears. "He wanted devotion, control, and chose some people to be closer."

  She looked down.

  "I had a strong affinity, he noticed, said I could be useful, took me to the sanctuary, taught me advanced magic, made me feel special, powerful."

  "And?"

  "And he seduced me, not with force, but with words, promises, said I would be important, that together we could make the village prosper."

  She covered her face.

  "I believed him, and when I realized what he really was, it was too late, I was already trapped, he had control over me in ways I couldn't understand."

  "You could have fled."

  "I couldn't." She shouted, then recomposed herself. "He marked me, not physically, but magically, if I tried to flee, if I tried to truly disobey him, he would know, and he would punish, not just me, but everyone I loved."

  She looked at me, desperate eyes.

  "When I got pregnant the first time, he didn't care, let me have the baby, but she was born sick, weak, died in three days."

  The first time?

  I had a sister?

  "He said it was my fault, that my lineage was inferior, and forbade me from using magic, said I didn't deserve it."

  She sobbed.

  "I met Grenrick later, he was kind, good, everything Vhorkan wasn't, but I couldn't tell him, I couldn't risk it."

  "And then I was born."

  "Yes." She looked at me. "Vhorkan called me one night, before you were born, said he needed an heir, that I would serve."

  "You didn't fight."

  "I fought." She hit the floor. "I fought with everything I had, but he is too strong, and when you were born, when I saw your red hair, I knew, I knew you were his, but I also knew I had a chance, a chance for you to be different, for you to escape."

  "Escape from what?"

  "From being turned into a weapon, into an extension of him, into a tool."

  She took a deep breath.

  "That's why I lied about the hair, that's why I kept my distance, if I loved you openly, he would notice, and use it against us."

  Tears fell freely now.

  "But Grenrick loved you, and I let him, because even though it hurt, even though it killed me inside, I knew you needed someone."

  She stretched her hand through the bars.

  "Sekire, I know I failed, I know I hurt you, I know I don't deserve forgiveness, but believe me, believe that every night I wished I could hug you for real, tell you I love you, protect you."

  Her voice broke completely.

  "But I was a coward, and now Grenrick is dead and you are going to die and it's all my fault."

  She collapsed, violent sobs.

  I looked at her.

  Part of me wanted to scream, curse, throw everything in her face.

  But another part understood.

  It didn't justify.

  But it understood.

  She was a victim too.

  Broken in different ways.

  "Jullen."

  She looked up.

  "I don't forgive you, not yet, maybe never."

  I saw the pain in her eyes.

  "But I understand."

  She sobbed louder.

  "And when I get out of here, it won't be because you saved me, it will be because I saved myself."

  I stood up.

  "So maybe we can talk again."

  Jullen looked at me, hope and despair mixed.

  She wanted to say something, but only nodded.

  She stood up, wiped her tears uselessly.

  "Thank you, for listening to me."

  And she left.

  The torchlight disappeared.

  Darkness returned.

  But this time, it didn't bother me as much.

  Two Days Later, One Day Before the Execution

  I was sitting, meditating.

  Trying to feel the mana, control it better, understand.

  The transformation was working better now, still imperfect, but better.

  I could turn stone into something close to wood, straw into something more resistant.

  Small successes.

  But not enough to break an iron door.

  Not enough to escape.

  Frustration grew.

  Tomorrow I die.

  And I can't do anything.

  Dad died for nothing.

  Jullen suffered for nothing.

  I will die without making a difference.

  The anger began to bubble.

  Small at first.

  But growing.

  No.

  No.

  NO.

  I will not die here.

  I will not let Vhorkan win.

  I will not let everything have been in vain.

  I closed my eyes.

  I searched for the mana, deeper than before.

  Beyond the small presence I knew.

  Deeper.

  More profound.

  And I found something.

  Not small, not dormant.

  But enormous.

  Asleep.

  Waiting.

  My heart stopped.

  What is this?

  I tried to touch it.

  The thing moved.

  And then roared.

  Not a sound, but a sensation.

  As if a giant beast had awakened inside me.

  Mana exploded.

  Not the neutral, controlled mana I had used before.

  But black mana.

  Crimson.

  Violent.

  It came out of me in waves, dense smoke filling the cell.

  Bubbling, boiling.

  My body began to change.

  Pain.

  Sharp, intense.

  Forehead tearing, something growing.

  Horns.

  Small, curved, black.

  Eyes burning, vision changing.

  Everything became sharper, colors more vibrant.

  Red.

  Crimson.

  Mouth hurting, teeth elongating.

  Fangs.

  Canines turning into blades.

  Fingers burning, nails extending.

  Claws.

  Sharp.

  The mana kept coming out.

  More, more, more.

  The black and crimson smoke condensed.

  Pressed against the walls, against the door.

  And then the door exploded.

  Metal twisted, hooks broke.

  The door flew.

  Hit the opposite wall with a deafening crash.

  I was standing.

  Breathing heavily.

  Smoke still coming from me.

  I didn't notice the extra height, didn't notice I had grown five centimeters.

  I just felt the emptiness.

  The hole where something should be.

  I looked at my hands, at the claws.

  At the power running through my veins.

  But my eyes remained empty.

  Depressed.

  As if none of it mattered.

  As if I were watching from afar.

  "Vhorkan."

  My voice came out hollow, lifeless.

  The smoke swirled around me.

  "You called me defective."

  I took a step forward.

  "Called me useless."

  Another step.

  "Killed my father."

  The claws gleamed in the darkness.

  "And now I will have my revenge."

  There was no fury in my voice.

  Only a statement.

  Cold, empty, inevitable.

  From the ashes comes the flame, and the flame feels nothing as it consumes.

  A forest.

  Alive in an impossible way.

  Trees with twisted trunks grew beside ancient oaks, bioluminescent flowers sprouted among exposed roots, giant mushrooms formed natural arches, colorful vines hung like living curtains.

  Impossible biodiversity concentrated in an area too small.

  As if someone had gathered pieces of different ecosystems and stitched them all together.

  In the center of this botanical madness, a girl.

  Dark cloak swayed slightly, black hair fell loose, purple eyes watched a particularly strange flower with distant interest.

  The flower had petals that changed color, blue, green, purple, back to blue.

  She touched it, delicately.

  The flower withered, died.

  She blinked.

  Looked at her own hand, then at the dead flower.

  Then shrugged.

  She was about to get up when she stopped.

  Head turning, slowly.

  East.

  Purple eyes narrowed slightly.

  Something was there.

  Not physically, but present.

  Resonance.

  Like recognizing something familiar in an unknown place.

  She stood still, just watching that direction.

  Seconds passed.

  Then she went back to playing with the flowers.

  But occasionally, she looked.

  East.

  Ash Courtyard, Dungeon

  My body ached.

  Every muscle protested, as if stretched beyond its limit.

  But I was standing.

  I left the destroyed cell.

  Narrow corridor, dark, damp.

  Stairs at the end.

  I climbed, each step calculated, no rush.

  At the top, a wooden door, locked.

  I placed my hand on it.

  Mana flowed, a little, controlled.

  The wood rotted where I touched, fibers coming apart.

  I pushed.

  It gave way, silently.

  Small building, an annex to the sanctuary, probably.

  A window showed the village, night, crescent moon, few torches.

  The sanctuary was in the center, fifty meters away.

  Vhorkan was there.

  I stopped.

  Took a deep breath.

  Analyzing.

  He was a demon, strong, experienced, centuries of life probably.

  I was six years old, a child's body, unstable magic I could barely control.

  And as for combat experience?

  Memories of Yuki surfaced, kendo classes, three years of them, basic, posture, fundamental movements, men, kote, do, nothing advanced, just enough to pass the first dan exam I never took.

  And the rest?

  Anime, manga, movies.

  Ridiculous when I thought about it that way, fictional knowledge against mortal reality.

  But this world had magic, had impossible things, maybe some techniques from those stories could work, maybe the principles were applicable.

  Or maybe I was deceiving myself to avoid panic.

  Probably both.

  Either way, direct confrontation was suicide.

  I needed an advantage, any advantage.

  I looked around.

  Barrels, tools, an oil lamp.

  I got to work.

  Fifteen minutes later, I was ready.

  Oil spread, not too much, just strategic points around the sanctuary.

  Soaked rags hidden in specific places.

  Sharp stones in my pockets, four of them.

  Improvised, desperate.

  But it was what I had.

  I remembered an anime, a weak character fighting a strong enemy, using the environment, creating distractions, attacking from unexpected angles.

  It wasn't much.

  But it was a start.

  I took a deep breath.

  I entered.

  The inside of the sanctuary smelled of incense and old wood.

  Candles cast dancing shadows on the carved walls.

  Vhorkan had his back to me, standing before the altar.

  Motionless.

  I took two steps.

  Silent, low posture, as the sensei had taught.

  Center of gravity controlled, weight distributed.

  "Sekire."

  He didn't turn.

  "Broken door, empty dungeon, you really got out."

  He turned, slowly.

  Yellow eyes found me.

  "And came straight here, brave, or stupid."

  I didn't respond.

  I just observed, calculating distances, escape angles.

  Like in a manga I had read, the protagonist always analyzed before acting.

  Vhorkan tilted his head.

  "And look at that, you transformed to get out of the cell, didn't you, I felt the cambion mana, my blood finally awakened in you."

  I transformed?

  Memories of the mana explosion came back, the black and crimson smoke, the feeling of power.

  I had transformed?

  I hadn't noticed, I was focused only on getting out.

  "So you're not completely useless," he continued. "A complete cambion, even if only for a short time."

  He walked, circling, a predator evaluating prey.

  "But you came alone, stupid child." He stopped. "What exactly do you think is going to happen here?"

  "You will die."

  The words came out simple, a fact.

  He laughed, a low sound.

  "Will I, how interesting."

  He raised his hand, casual.

  "Show me then."

  I took a stone from my pocket, threw it.

  Not at him, at the candle behind him.

  Basic distraction technique, I had seen it in dozens of movies.

  The candle fell, the oil caught fire.

  Flames rose, smoke.

  I ran to the side, not in a straight line, diagonal.

  Another throw, another candle.

  More fire, more smoke.

  Creating visual confusion, dividing his attention.

  Vhorkan watched.

  Didn't move.

  "Hmm."

  He raised his hand.

  Water condensed from the air, formed a sphere, exploded into a spray.

  The fires went out, all of them.

  Instantly.

  Shit.

  "Creative, but useless."

  He disappeared.

  Instinct screamed, muscle memory from kendo.

  I threw myself to the side.

  A kick passed where my head had been, the wind from the impact cutting.

  I rolled, got up in a guard posture.

  Feet apart, knees slightly bent, center low.

  He was already there.

  A punch came.

  I blocked with my forearm, a defensive angle I had practiced hundreds of times.

  Mistake.

  The force was too much.

  Threw me back, crossed two meters, hit the wall.

  Something cracked, a rib probably.

  I spat blood.

  He walked, no rush.

  "Five hundred years, child, five hundred years I've fought, you are six."

  I picked up a piece of broken wood, threw it.

  Didn't expect to hit, just to gain a second.

  He didn't even look.

  The wood went through where he had been.

  An afterimage.

  Too fast.

  Pain exploded in my back.

  A kick.

  I flew, slid across the stone floor.

  Everything was spinning.

  I got up, staggering.

  This isn't working.

  Tricks aren't enough.

  Distractions aren't enough.

  He is too fast, too strong.

  I needed to at least match him minimally.

  The mana inside me pulsed.

  That power, black and crimson, his.

  Instinctively, I searched.

  And found it.

  The transformation came.

  Without warning, without control.

  My body reacting to extreme danger.

  Pain in my forehead, something tearing the skin.

  Horns.

  Fingers burning, nails elongating.

  Claws.

  Eyes burning, vision changing, crimson red.

  Strength flowed.

  I attacked.

  Memories of kendo guided me, men, attack to the head.

  Claws sought his neck.

  Faster now, stronger.

  He dodged, but not as easily as before.

  Counterattack.

  I blocked, the claws held his wrist.

  For a second.

  Then he pulled, threw me.

  But I recovered, landed on my feet.

  The power kept flowing.

  And then I realized.

  This is his.

  This power.

  This transformation.

  It's his blood in me.

  My stomach turned.

  No.

  I won't use this scum's power.

  I won't become something rotten like him.

  Dad loved me without this power.

  Jullen sacrificed herself without this power.

  I don't need this.

  I began to reject it, internally.

  Pushing the mana back.

  Denying the transformation.

  The strength wavered.

  The horns trembled.

  Vhorkan noticed.

  "What are you doing?"

  I attacked again, but weaker now.

  He blocked, easy.

  "You are, rejecting?"

  He kicked, hit my ribs.

  I flew, went through the sanctuary wall.

  Wood and stone exploded.

  I fell outside, on the muddy ground.

  The transformation continued to weaken.

  I got up, staggering.

  He came out through the broken wall, walking.

  "Idiot, you are rejecting your own power."

  I attacked, claws extended.

  Slower, weaker.

  He grabbed my wrist, squeezed.

  I felt bones creaking.

  "Why, out of stupid pride?"

  He threw me.

  Ten meters, fifteen.

  I hit a house, the wall gave way.

  The transformation was almost over.

  The horns retracting, the claws disappearing.

  I had nothing left.

  Villagers began to come out, watching.

  Devotees with hatred, skeptics with pity.

  No one helped.

  Vhorkan walked to the center of the street.

  "Does anyone want to defend her?"

  Silence.

  "Thought not."

  He looked at me.

  "Last chance, Sekire, accept what you are, use my power, maybe you'll survive."

  "Never."

  The transformation ended completely.

  I was back to normal, a six-year-old child, wounded, exhausted.

  He sighed.

  "What a waste."

  He raised both hands.

  Water and wind mixed, a spinning sphere formed.

  Growing.

  Condensing.

  Lethal.

  There was no way to dodge.

  I had no strength left.

  The sphere flew.

  "SPELL, PIERCING PROJECTILE."

  A jet of water cut through the air.

  Hit Vhorkan's sphere, diverted its trajectory.

  The sphere exploded against an empty house.

  Vhorkan turned, fast.

  And the second projectile hit him.

  Left side.

  Through the ribs.

  Blood gushed.

  He staggered.

  Jullen was there.

  Hand extended, trembling, but firm.

  "No."

  "Jullen."

  The name came out icy.

  "You broke the prohibition."

  "I broke it." Tears fell. "I broke it because I won't let you take her too."

  She ran.

  To me.

  Reached me, hugged me.

  "You'll be okay, I promise."

  Vhorkan moved.

  His hand glowed intense green.

  Condensed wind, cutting.

  Went through.

  Jullen's stomach.

  Blood.

  She choked.

  Vhorkan pulled his hand back.

  She fell, holding me.

  "You will be next if you just stand there watching."

  He spoke to the villagers.

  No one moved.

  Jullen coughed, blood in her mouth.

  "Sekire."

  She could barely speak.

  "You need, to run."

  "No, you'll be okay, you."

  "Shh." She touched my face. "It's okay."

  Her eyes were becoming opaque.

  "I'll, I'll see Grenrick again, and our daughter, the first one." She smiled, weak. "Finally, I'll be able to say I'm sorry."

  "Mom, no."

  "Run, please." She squeezed my hand. "Live, live for us, for all of us."

  "I can't leave you."

  "You can." Her voice was fading. "You are strong, you always were, even without his power, you are strong."

  Her hand loosened.

  "I love you, my daughter."

  Stopped.

  Went still.

  I looked at her face.

  Still, empty.

  Hands grabbed me.

  Villagers.

  Pulled me away from her.

  "Sorry."

  "We have no choice."

  "He'll kill everyone."

  Dragged me in front of Vhorkan.

  He looked down.

  "Two deaths, because of you."

  Raised his hand.

  Water formed.

  "It's over."

  The blade came down.

  And stopped.

  Pressure.

  Oppressive, suffocating.

  The air became heavy.

  Villagers fell, some fainted.

  Vhorkan stepped back.

  And at the village entrance.

  Someone.

  A tall man, broad shoulders.

  Messy black hair.

  Amber eyes glowing.

  Dark red scarf with a golden emblem, Axoland.

  A simple sword in his right hand.

  He walked.

  Each step reverberated.

  The pressure increased.

  Vhorkan took another step back.

  Fear in his yellow eyes.

  The man stopped.

  Looked around, at Jullen's body, at me, at Vhorkan.

  "Demon."

  The voice was low, calm, deadly.

  He raised the sword, rested it on his shoulder.

  "You're having a really bad day, huh."