“Pfft, so that’s your trick? Wear another man’s skin and scare a child into screaming?”

The real shadow of Milo laughed, low and unshaken, before turning to his daughter. “Don’t cry, Amy. If you listen closely, he’s actually very dull.”

“Milo!” Amy screamed as her father’s figure began to fade.

“Remember this, men like him are always weak. He clings to the memory of being a god, but it was your mother—a mortal—who broke him. You scream now, but in the end, he will. Keep moving. Men like him own nothing, so they demand kneeling. Oldest trick there is.”

“Wait! Don’t leave me!” She remembered her old life vaguely. And it wasn’t all bad. A crackling fire. Milo reading a book. The warmth of the flames pressed into her skin. And his calm voice that never mocked her curiosity. He had never told her to be quiet, even as she played, screeching. His answers had been patient, his gaze lightly amused, as if every childish word she spoke deserved to be met with care.

Amy blinked hard. Her hands grasped at nothing. The smoke, the warmth, even his voice vanished. That warmth had burned orange in her chest, already fading as his figure dissolved.

The grin that replaced him was nothing but teeth. Cerceras’.

Her stomach lurched. As the grin dissolved into a frown. Cerceras too faded away.

Amy gaped. He has a time limit. He can’t talk to me forever. Kristo and Milo are right. It’s all for show. He’s just trying to scare me. He has no hold over me.

But her ears still rang with Cerceras’s laughter. The firelight was gone, but the echo of it clung to her skin. That was when Libbet’s voice cut through, her grip tight on Amy’s shoulders. And as the visions vanished, Amy was left with Libbet’s glare. Princessa yelped at the sight of Bennet’s sprawled body and Aurora kneeling beside him, then bolted.

But Libbet held her ground.

“Monster,” she whispered, voice trembling slightly.

Amy froze. The word cut deeper than it should have. She means nothing to me.

“It all makes sense,” Libbet hissed. Her eyes burned like Cerceras’. “You were unnatural from the beginning. You’re a demon.”

“No,” Amy’s voice cracked. “I’m not—”

“Shut up,” Libbet stepped closer, twisting her fingers into her shoulder. Amy yelped. “Your parents should have never been born. You have rotten blood. You ruin everything by breathing.”

Amy’s heart hammered so loud she couldn’t breathe. Her hands trembled as she held the ice inside even as her pain screamed. Then Libbet fired, fire blooming on her shoulder. Amy screamed. Her dark clouds flared out, but she reeled them back praying not to hurt anyone. Not even Libbet.

And that’s when Libbet’s head snapped sideways as Aurora struck.

“You want to see a real monster, kiddie?” she hissed. Despite her words, her eyes held no amusement.

Libbet fired again, but Aurora slammed her to the ground, pinning her.

“You’re one of the brats who never learn their lesson!”

“Stop!” Amy cried, clutching her mother’s raised arm.

But her mother’s fist crashed down just to smash into hard, dark ice levitating between her and the girl.

Aurora froze. She shot Amy a look that hissed ‘why?’ Her fist trembled above Libbet’s face. For a tense moment, Amy thought she would punch again, declaring war on the ice.

But then Aurora’s shoulders shook once. She exhaled hard and released her.

Amy sighed. Good.

Part of her wanted to ask if she’d stopped for her sake, but the words stuck in her throat. Her mother’s eyes stayed on the ground, jaw clenched, as if deep in thought. They didn’t speak as the dust of the landscape swirled around them.

And Libbet staggered back, lips twisted in something between a vow and a curse, before vanishing into the trees.

Aurora stayed kneeling, hands trembling. Amy’s chest tightened. Aurora looked so livid.

She remembered Aurora’s inappropriate amusement when meeting her for the first time. It made her think her mother didn’t care. But Aurora’s shoulders shook with rage.

She… cares?

“Mom…?”

Aurora’s fist tightened, her gaze still trained on the dirt. “Karl’s coming. Bennet will live. We need to move.”

Aurora tore Amy’s sleeve and pressed it to the burn. Amy cried out.

“Oh hush. Better you scream now than rot later.” Her eyes snapped to Amy’s. “Now—ice.”

Amy blinked.

“I said ice.”

After cooling Amy’s burn, they walked for a long time in silence. The land itself seemed to split in two beneath their steps. Behind them, the hard, cracked soil softened slightly. But dust still rose in little clouds with every foot step.

They walked the whole day before Amy saw green.

It began slowly. Then there was grass and trees. Cool shade started to wrap around them, alongside the sound of leaves. The smell of pine rose steadily.

Amy slowed to take it in, dragging her hand across the rough bark of a trunk. But Aurora didn’t slow or stop, as if unfazed leaving Amy behind. Amy ran to catch up. Aurora’s eyes tracked the treeline with practiced, unreadable sharpness.

“Home,” she muttered, but the word came out oddly.

Amy hugged her arms tight. If this was home, why did her mother look like she’d just stepped into a graveyard?

“The land back there was called Ashborne.”

“And here?” Amy asked.

“Amoria.”

Something was strange about the name. They walked a bit more.

“We’ll have to sneak in,” Aurora muttered.

Amy rubbed her arms as shadows of trees swallowed and hid them. The sun was setting.

The wilderness told Amy this wasn’t Aurora’s home. She remembered the large city she met Aurora in. The one with shops and glossy buildings. Crumpled statues. That seemed more like home.

“Didn’t you live in a palace? Before… the alley?”

Aurora didn’t answer at first. Then: “I did. Aren’t you wondering about your magic?”

Amy’s head spun as her fingers twitched.

“My powers…” Amy looked down at her hands, still feeling bitter. She still hated being the child of monsters and wanted to go back to Sunji. But why? For what? Kristo? There was nothing for her back there.

Besides, she thought, swallowing. Aurora hadn’t exactly welcomed her in the beginning.

Aurora walked on, seemingly unfazed. “Was today the first sign of your…magic?”

Amy swallowed, then decided on honesty. “I’ve always been able to feel other people’s feelings. I also see Milo in my dreams…”

Aurora halted. Amy stumbled into her, almost tripping. Her mother’s horrified glare said more than her flat reply. “I see.”

As they neared, Aurora quieted. Her mother grabbed her arm a few times as they dodged guards near the city. By nightfall they had walked far away from civilization, making camp. Amy poked at the fire, watching the sparks jump.

“Who is Cerceras? He’s been speaking to me.”

Aurora didn’t answer at first. Amy closed her eyes.

“Cerceras is a dark god,” Aurora said at last, her eyes still on the flames. “He possessed Milo. And he used to also talk to me.”

The name landed heavy in Amy’s chest. She swallowed. “So… Milo gave him to you?”

Aurora’s jaw twitched. She prodded the fire with a stick hard enough to snap the wood. “He wanted me to have power. It was his way of giving a ‘gift.’”

Amy pulled her knees to her chest. “And then…?”

Aurora leaned back, eyes on the clouds illuminated by the moon. “Someone took him from me. Set me free.”

Amy hesitated, her throat tight. “Who?”

“My father,” Aurora said, a little too quickly. She pressed her palm over her eyes, like the fire’s smoke stung them. She rubbed her forehead. “Adoptive father. You know how that goes.”

Amy poked at the fire too.

“Did Kristo kidnap me?”

Aurora shook her head. The answer didn’t come as a surprise. If Kristo had, it would have shattered Amy’s image of him. It only confirmed Aurora had given her up.

“Do you regret leaving me?”

Aurora’s shoulders tightened. For a long time she said nothing. Then, softly, wrongfully, she laughed.

“Amoria. Amy. Home. Strange words, aren’t they?”

Amy stopped poking the fire.

The laugh caught in Aurora’s throat, sharp and broken. She curled onto her side, back to Amy. Her next words came out softly.

“That’s enough talking.”

Before she drifted off, she looked back at Amy.

“Good thing Karl can’t sense the landscape like me. He’s walking the wrong way, toward another city.” Aurora laughed softly again before yawning, as if the next words weren’t important. “And do me a favor. Use Milo’s dark magic next time someone attacks you. You don’t seem like a psychopath like me and Milo. Honestly, I don’t know whether to be proud or horrified. What I’m saying is, defend yourself. You’re nothing like your parents so…if they get hurt, I know they deserved it.”

“But—” Amy never got to finish. Aurora had already turned away, shutting down for the night.

Amy watched her strange, terrifying mother. She remembered Aurora’s white lightning that matched Samantha’s chains. She looked down at her own hands.

Amy lay awake long after Aurora’s breathing evened out. She watched the fire’s last embers die into ash. She focused on the chirps of crickets that sang somewhere in the dark.

Her mother’s words coiled in her chest, which felt heavy. Only then did she hear Milo’s whisper in her ear.

That frost in your veins is… exquisite, isn’t it? So don’t squander it on shame. Shape the world the way you want it. Command it. Show the world who you are.

She swallowed, shaking her head. There was so much talk from Cerceras and Milo. But they weren't who she wanted to talk to.