I once played with my two siblings, Makilah and Nakari.
We would race along sunlit fields, swim in the clear waters of our estate, and spend quiet afternoons studying the vast mysteries of the world.
We were happy then, untouched by the cruelties that would later divide us.
But Makilah had a flaw. A flaw so absolute it could never be ignored.
She carried within her a power that was not truly hers, a force that would awaken without her consent, seizing her body, mind, and soul.
Whenever she felt truly threatened, she became something else entirely: a living incarnation of disaster.
Storms would rise without warning, the ground would fracture, and entire landscapes could vanish into ruin.
I made my way through the darkened halls now, the stone cold beneath my feet.
The walls were wet with condensation, and the faint light that hung in the air dripped like water from a cracked ceiling.
At the far end of this place, this prison, she stood.
Makilah was wrapped in mountains of chains, each link forged with seals that suppressed not only her power but her very mind.
She could not dream, could not think freely, could not remember the taste of her own freedom without those bindings digging deeper into her soul.
Her long, unruly blue hair fell across her shoulders in tangled waves.
Her eyes, dark, endless, were dotted with scattered points of silver light, like stars trapped within a night sky that knew no dawn.
They were only slightly lighter than mine.
Perhaps the darkness she carried had stolen away the rest.
She shifted in her shackles, the sound of chains grinding echoing down the corridor.
Then she looked up at me and smiled, a slow, knowing smile that was more shadow than warmth.
"Malachi…"
I let my fingers brush across the cold metal bars, the thin, merciless barrier between this world and disaster itself.
"Makilah."
Her power… I have seen nothing else in existence that could rival it, save for Mirabel's.
It was, in fact, Makilah who had forced Mirabel to awaken her transcendent sin, just as Makilah bore one of her own.
Etched into her forehead was the mark that defined her title, an ancient sigil that seemed to pulse in and out of existence.
I remembered the day everything changed.
Nakari, our gentle, brilliant sibling, had stood in Makilah's path, pleading with her to stop.
But the disaster that had consumed her left no room for love or hesitation.
In an instant, Nakari was gone, erased by Makilah's wrath.
It was then that Mirabel acted.
Together, we fought Makilah.
The battle had been unlike anything I had endured, days of relentless devastation, the ground quaking beneath her every breath, the sky bleeding crimson with each surge of her power.
In the end, it took both Mirabel and me to subdue her.
We bound her in the depths of the earth, buried beneath mountains of wards and divine seals, in a prison meant to last an eternity.
Even here, her presence was suffocating. The mark on her forehead flickered in and out, an eternal wolf wreathed in shadow.
Its eyes glimmered like dying stars, and each time it appeared, it gave a silent, spectral howl that reverberated deep in my bones before fading away.
"Brother," she said, her voice rich with unsettling warmth, "are you thinking of killing your dear old sister?"
The bars between us crumbled to dust.
"No," I answered, stepping forward. "I need you for something."
Her dark eyes caught a faint spark of light.
"Me? What terrible threat has my mighty brother tangled in knots this time? A demon? No… perhaps an angel."
"Neither. Just some persistent holy men."
Her smirk sharpened, and the shackles on her wrists shattered with a single flex.
"Then you should have said so from the start. I'd climb from the depths of hell to kill people like that."
I let out a dry breath. "Damn it, Makilah… you're naked."
She glanced down, then gave a low, amused chuckle. "Does my little brother still avert his eyes at the sight of a woman's body?"
She walked past me with unhurried steps, the chains at her ankles breaking apart like strands of glass.
When she reached my side, her hand rested lightly on my shoulder.
"Don't be afraid, Malachi. I'm no longer a monster."
I met her gaze. "In the darkest hearts, there's always a chance for light."
Her smile deepened, not in kindness but in a quiet, knowing cruelty.
"Light? You're still so naïve. Strip away civility, rules, fear of consequence, and you'll see the truth."
She shook her head. "Every last human will feed on the suffering of others if it serves their hunger. Even you, brother."
"And yet," I said, "even knowing that, I still choose to believe in them. I choose to believe in you."
Her smile turned sharp.
I drew my sword. The steel's edge kissed her neck, and her expression bloomed into satisfaction.
"There it is, little brother," she whispered. "Now… I'll ask you again."
A bead of blood slid down her throat as she stared into my eyes.
"Who am I?"
Mana burst from her form, a flood of shadow and cold that filled the chamber.
I held her gaze. "A monster."
She closed her eyes and inhaled as though savoring the words.
"Ah… that," she murmured, "that makes me so very happy."
[Capital of Anstalionah: Sansir]
Veronica shifted the crates in her arms, her expression twisted somewhere between irritation and resignation.
"Why do I have to carry this?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at me.
I smiled faintly. "You said you wanted to train, right? This is part of it."
She pouted. "Teach me magic instead. Building muscle will ruin my perfect figure."
"Yeah, yeah. Keep it moving."
She sighed theatrically and turned forward again, adjusting her grip so the crates sat a little higher in her arms.
Her head tilted side to side as she walked, scanning her path with that light-footed awareness she'd been honing.
Reluctant or not, she was improving.
Her dodging had grown fluid, and her speed was exceptional for someone who'd only begun training recently.
She had even adapted surprisingly well to her role as head maid, though she was also the only maid.
The title was mostly honorary.
Her uniform was simple but fitted, the clean lines of her maid's dress shaping to her frame.
She had put on some healthy weight since I first took her in, back then, she'd been little more than skin and bone.
We reached Mirabel's door, and I knocked twice.
A moment later, a voice called from within. "Come in!"
I turned to Veronica with a small smile and opened the door. She stepped inside and set the crates near the entrance.
Mirabel rose slowly from her bed, her hair spilling around her face in disheveled waves before she brushed it aside with a lazy flick.
Her gaze swept over the crates, then she leaned back against her pillows.
"You can put them wherever," she murmured.
Veronica nodded, taking one of the crates toward the closet.
That was when I noticed the movement, two small shapes squirming beneath the covers.
Childish giggles followed, soft and bright against the still air. A moment later, two tiny heads emerged.
The first belonged to a boy with short, tightly curled black hair, dark skin, and eyes the shade of fresh-spilled wine.
The second was a girl, her hair the color of autumn embers, her skin lighter, her eyes pure white like polished marble.
Miraculum and Cassio.
The children of Mirabel and Nicholas.
The two monsters of Anstalionah.