CW: captivity, medical coercion, torture, and dissociative trauma recollection

Silence hung in the room like a shroud. The fire crackled softly, casting warm light over Delphi's pale face and the shadows beneath her eyes. Tait and Jonas sat across from her, both rigid, both bracing themselves. The velvet of the sofa whispered as Jonas shifted his weight. Somewhere in the manor, a clock chimed the hour, distant and indifferent.

Delphi inhaled slowly. "As you may remember, when I was ten," she began, "I heard Prince Leif was ill."

Tait flinched at the name, but she continued.

"I insisted on going to the apothecary, the one that imbues earth and water mana stones into their herbs. Mother tried to stop me. It was raining, and she said I'd only make the prince worry if I got sick too. But I wouldn't listen."

Her voice softened, distant. "That morning, my maid and I left in the carriage. I promised you a sparring match when I got back. Do you remember, Tait?"

Tait's jaw tightened as he nodded.

"The driver took us to a smaller shop than I had expected. My maid said it was better. That the witch who ran it was a former imperial apothecary. And I… trusted her." Her hands curled into fists, nails biting into her palms. "That was my mistake."

The fire popped sharply. A log collapsed inward, sending sparks swirling up the chimney.

"When we stepped inside, the door closed behind us. A wet rag was pressed over my mouth and nose. And then it went dark."

She swallowed. "When I woke, two other girls were there."

Jonas's knuckles whitened against the arm of the sofa.

"The door opened. A man came in, huge, bald, with eyes like a rat. He looked at me… and smiled. Then he grabbed one of the girls and left."

She paused. Not for effect. The way someone pauses before stating the next item on a list. "The other girl never responded to me. Her eyes were empty. As the days passed, the girls were taken and brought back. Until they weren't. But I wasn't alone for long. There were always replacements."

Tait stood abruptly, pacing toward the mirror, his boots striking the floor too hard. His reflection stared back at him, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white.

"Then it was my turn," Delphi said quietly. "The first time, he threw me over his shoulder. Every other time he would just drag me by my arm. I was too weak to fight, so I cursed him like a sailor. He found it amusing."

Jonas's face twisted. The fire hissed and spat as if sharing his disgust.

"He took me to another room. Cut my hair." Her hand drifted toward her silver locks, then dropped. "Tied me to a table. Then he left."

The fire dimmed as if listening. Shadows stretched longer across the walls.

"A man came in. He wore glasses. He looked at me the way you'd look at something interesting rather than someone frightened. He said, 'You may call me The Experimentor.'" 

Tait punched the wall beside the mirror. The plaster cracked. His knuckles split, blood smearing against the pale surface. He didn’t stop.

"He said I'd been handpicked. That he had to be careful with me."

She touched her throat. Just briefly. Then her hand dropped.

"A few days later, he gave me a blood transfusion."

She was quiet for a moment. The fire crackled.

"I went back to him many times after that. There was always something. I learned not to think about what."

Jonas's breath hitched. The smell of the fire turned acrid, or perhaps that was just his imagination.

"Months later I understood. After one such—" She stopped. Started again. "I was burning. I thought I was dying. I wanted to be."

The fire crackled. Nobody spoke.

"And then there was flame on my palm."

Hope pressed against her leg, tails low, fur bristling. A soft whine escaped her throat.

"He was creating people with multiple magics," Delphi whispered. "Infusing mage blood, mana stones, and having enchanters standing over, weaving their own magic into people who may or may not have had magic to begin with."

The room felt colder despite the fire. Frost seemed to creep along the edges of the windows.

"Once a year there was chocolate cake. Rich and dark with a cherry on top." She almost smiled. Didn't. "I assumed it was an anniversary of some kind.

"The burning stopped. There were other things after that.

"The ceiling had a crack in it. I know that crack very well." She paused. "I understand now that my mind was slipping. Then I just... wasn't always there anymore."

One day, something in her changed. She stood up. Her body remembered movements learned somewhere she couldn't quite place. Where she had learned them, she couldn't say. The memory slipped away whenever she reached for it, like smoke through fingers. But her body remembered. The slow, deliberate movements. The focus on breath. And it kept her sane through the horror.

Jonas looked as if he might be sick. His face had gone grey, a sheen of sweat glistening on his temples.

"He said I had lasted longer than any other. That my benefactor was pleased." A pause. "He wanted to use me to continue his work. Pass on what had been done to me."

She said it the way you'd report a weather forecast.

Tait froze mid-punch. His arm hung in the air, trembling.

Jonas gripped the arm of the sofa so hard that the wood groaned.

"I decided it was time to die." A small flame flickered in her open palm. She didn't look at it. "You cannot die by your own flames."

The fire crackled. Still nobody spoke.

Tait's voice came out rough. "How did you get out?" 

"The door was left ajar. I slipped out."

Jonas was quiet for a moment. "The door was just... left open."

"Yes."

"In a facility that had held you for years."

Delphi met his eyes. Said nothing.

Jonas held her gaze a moment longer than necessary. Then looked away.

Delphi was quiet for a long time. Her eyes moved to the table. Unblinking. 

Long enough for Tait to sit back down. He let out a shaky breath. "Delphi...?" 

Her head came up slowly. Her impassive eyes moving between Tait and Jonas. 

Their faces were identical masks of horror and revulsion. The firelight turned their features gaunt.

Tait turned away, shoulders shaking with rage he couldn't contain. His breath came in ragged bursts. Violence was the only language he had left.

Jonas stood abruptly. His chair scraped against the floor. "Thank you for telling us," he said stiffly. His voice sounded wrong, too controlled, too hollow. "I will see you in the morning."

He reached the door, then paused. When he looked back, his face was hard as steel. The firelight caught the glint of unshed tears he refused to let fall.

"Do not tell Emmy." His voice carried iron.

Then he left. The door clicked shut behind him. His footsteps faded down the corridor, too fast, almost running.

Tait also moved to the door. He paused, one hand on the frame. His voice was hoarse. "Sleep in here tonight. No one will disturb you."

The door closed with a soft click.

The fire crackled on. Hope curled tighter against Delphi's leg. Outside, the wind moaned through the eaves, low and mournful, as if the manor itself was grieving.

~

Tait caught up with Jonas halfway down the corridor.

"Wait."

Jonas didn't slow. "There's nothing to discuss."

"Like hell there isn't." Tait grabbed his brother's arm and spun him around. "I saw your face in there. You looked at her as if she were—”

"Like she was what? A stranger?" Jonas's voice was ice. "Because she is."

"She's our sister."

"Our sister was ten years old. Our sister cried when she got a paper cut. Our sister would not have survived what that woman just described."

"But she did survive. She's here."

"Something is here." Jonas met his eyes. "Something that endured a decade of horrors and spoke of it like reading a ledger. No tears. No trembling. That is not grief, Tait. That is something else entirely."

Tait's bloodied fist clenched. "She was alone. For ten years. And your response is suspicion?"

"My response is caution." Jonas's jaw tightened. His stomach turned, and for half a second the corridor tilted. He locked his knees and kept his face still. "If what she said didn't destroy her, then what did it make her instead?"

"A survivor." Tait stepped closer. "Stronger than either of us will ever be."

"Or something else." Jonas's composure cracked, just enough for Tait to glimpse the fear beneath. "I watched her describe torture and death, and her eyes were empty. I want her to be our sister. But I will not let sentimentality blind me to what she might have become."

Tait's voice dropped to a growl. "She is Delphi. She is our blood. And if you ever treat her as anything less than family..."

He didn't finish. Didn't need to.

Jonas held his gaze. Then he turned and walked away.

Tait watched him go, blood dripping from his knuckles onto the stone.