I never thought she'd hurt me for real. Blood trickles down the Chimera's canines, and she licks it away. It's not the gash that stings, but my heart. I'm nothing to her now.
The wild haze in the Chimera's eyes fades. Her body shudders as the flaming quills extinguish. Slowly, her enlarged form begins to shrink to my height. Lightning falls from the brewing storm and engulfs her body. It snakes over her skin, leaving fresh scars wherever it goes. The energy forces her back into her Scythe form. Her eyes glow for the briefest moment as she meets my gaze. The warmth they once held is gone now.
"Mother, I—"
"Don't call me that. We'll be getting a new child soon, so stop acting like you're still one of us," she hisses.
Chimeras are known for their cruel evictions, but this is how they part with their children. Hurt them until they don't come back. Tomorrow, I'll belong to the Patriarch and our nation. This is how Mother cuts ties for good.
"I'll give you one last piece of advice, child. Work on that finisher. Your side is weakest once exposed to the enemy." She runs a hand through her hair and sighs. "Just go already. If I see you again, I'll finish what I started."
I feel the crescent necklace she gave me, the rugged ridges resting against my skin. It's the same one she stopped wearing a few days ago. "You love all of us, even those who are in the army now. I know you're pushing me away so you don't get hurt. But we're bonded, Mother, and nothing will change that."
A wince breaks her expression.
Father steps between us. He clasps my hands in his calloused ones, his eyes glistening as he examines the wound on my side. Blood has already soaked through my tunic. His hand hovers over the fabric, and I feel my skin tingling while the flesh joins together. "I've trained you well, Giselle. When you're out there, act on instinct, and you'll do fine."
Mother still won't meet my eyes as I retreat to my room. Curling up in my bed, I breathe in the musky smell of the blanket. This is what home smells like. Never forget that, Giselle. With thoughts stirring up a storm in my heart, sleep doesn't come. Instead, I turn on my side, and I squint at the broken window. City lights filter through the gaping hole, forming a kaleidoscope of colors splashed across the wooden floor. It's a perfect backdrop for my shadow puppets.
I kick away the sheets and pull out a box from under the bed. Inside, my shadow puppets lie in a pile of stuffing, and one of them even has a button sewn in to replace its missing eye. Sighing, I push the box away and pull out a small penknife. Beneath the waning lights, I start carving away at the splintered floor, watching as my silhouette fades with the waning lights outside. My knife glides effortlessly on the creaking wood while the city falls asleep. Each movement of the weapon tells a solemn tale, and I press my lips together to stop them from quivering.
Once I'm done, I tap my knife lightly on the ground. Quiet flames rise from my body, starting from my feet and twisting around my legs. The burning aura wraps around my chest. It casts a purple glow on the carving of a hyacinth. "Please forgive me," I whisper.
Slowly, I crawl out of bed and head down the hallway. The door to the master bedroom is cracked open, and I step inside. Quickly, I pull out some sedative vials, injecting Father and Mother with one vial each.
A deep flush crawls up my neck, and my heart jumps. Holding my breath, I press my clammy fingers to their necks. The throb of a pulse doesn't come. I keep my fingers there, watching as the their faces grow pale. My blood runs cold. There's no way I could've messed up the dosage. Five drops are all it takes for them to sleep through the night. If I killed them, I have my knife ready and laced with poison. There'll be three bodies lying here instead.
Then, I feel a thrum. It starts off light but quickly settles into a steady rhythm. I take a step back. Two figures lie together in the sheets, their faces creased with worry even in sleep. I examine Mother and memorize everything from her high forehead, the freckles dotting her cheeks, and her scarred ear. Father has a crooked nose from the time a Sentinel punched him.
They'll sleep through the ceremony later. Pain tugs at my heart as I watch the rise and fall of their chests. Before Mother changed, she told me to stay with the family. They can hide me and inform the authorities that I have run away from home. Father even planned for us to leave the planet, but that was just their hearts talking. We can't hide forever, though I dream about it every night.
The Patriarch isn't stupid. Once he sees their hesitation, they'll be interrogated until their plans are laid bare for all to see. After that, their heads will roll.
I stay here until sunlight crests the horizon. With every minute that passes, I'm closer to the point of no return. Mother was right. Though I'll never see them again, it's better to stay alive than to risk it all on a childish dream. As the sound of chatters and laughter fills the streets, I slip outside and disappear into the crowd.
My cloak twirls in the dust, turning into a shade of fiery auburn beneath the Sun's rays. The wind lashes against my cheeks with a scathing howl. Its whistles taunt me like a shrill melody, and I pull my hood over my head, careful to keep my eyes peeled as the people surge onto the main roads. Up ahead, there are others just like me. Their cloaks are shimmering from the Sun's heat, and their worn boots bellow against the cobblestone. We move as one—the Crimson Army marching to our first ceremony.
"Commander?"
The soldier next to me sucks in a sharp breath. I follow his gaze and glimpse the unmistakable, shadowed figure watching us. I turn away. Now's not the time for this.
Firestorm beats down on me, the rays scorching my face like a furnace. My skin glows beneath the five blessed suns. The pain is still bearable, but it's enough to bring tears to my eyes, and I grit my teeth to stop a cry. I'm vaguely aware as the crowd parts for us. They recite the familiar words like ancient folklore.
"Protectors of old, and ancient of days,
who sent us the Scythes with Firestorm rays,
how great and marvelous are your ways,
for the Scythes will save us from decay."
I steal a glance at them. They're trembling, and their eyes glimmer with unshed tears. I meet their piercing gazes with an unspoken promise.
We'll protect them until no Scythe is left standing. The Prisoner of Fate wasn't the last of us.