Developing an affinity takes time and effort, but you were a capable student, and I enjoyed teaching you. We practiced in the safety of my chambers, exploring the meaning of Blood and our respective relationships with it.

After a close call with a servant nearly finding us in the midst of practice, my worry increased and you suggested taking our lessons to a new location: outside the castle entirely. The idea made me nervous, as I had so rarely ventured from the castle grounds, but you were compelling and convincing and made me want to see the wider world.

It was depressingly easy to leave the castle; nobody tried to stop me when I filled a basket with food from the kitchens and books from the library, and when I told the guards at the gate that I was going on a picnic by myself, not a soul seemed to care. I left the castle with basket and parasol and picnic blanket all stored in my second shadow.

The castle itself was surrounded by the city of Dawn’s Bloom, the capital of our kingdom, and beyond the city walls stretched orchards and farmland for miles. It was a ways past the city gates that I saw you, leaning against an apple tree and repeatedly tossing an apple up in the air and catching it.

You were dressed as you always were, while I had chosen to wear a pink-and-cream dress with red rose embroidered patterns, and I had done up my hair in an artful braid kept in place by a golden topaz pin. I admit to feeling a bit of disappointment when I saw that you hadn’t done anything special, but I quickly quashed those feelings. Yes, this may have been a secret rendezvous like something out of my romance novels, but we had been meeting in secret for months already.

As I drew closer, you caught the apple for a final time before holding it out as if to offer it to me. “An apple for your knowledge, princess?” Your dark eyes burned with the mirth of some joke only you were in on.

I frowned worryingly at the apple. “You shouldn’t be picking those; what if someone sees you and calls the guards for theft of goods?”

“They wouldn’t catch me,” you said confidently. “But, sure, I’ll play nice.” You tossed the apple aside and fell in beside me. “Lead on. I’m looking forward to seeing more of your kingdom than just that stodgy old castle.”

“You’re not alone in that,” I sighed.

We left the orchard behind and climbed a hill that gave a breathtaking view of the whole area. I laid down the blanket and set up the parasol, but as I began pulling food out of the picnic basket you hesitated and looked around. “I don’t suppose you have a bit of magic to keep the bugs away?” you asked. “I’m… not the biggest fan of ants.”

“Oh! Of course.” I recited a quick incantation that shielded all within the parasol’s shade from outside intrusion, and swept my shadows through the grass beneath the blanket for good measure. I placed a few constellations on the dark underside of the parasol, picking out the Farmer’s Flail, the Sleeping Rabbit, and the Crowned Canopy.

We ate cucumber sandwiches and lemon tarts, and when we’d both had our fill I retrieved two books from my picnic basket. You leaned in, a twinkle in your eyes, always eager to learn.

“I want to start today’s lesson by talking a little more about the history of my family,” I began. “Every major bloodline can point to a founder who led the clan to a position of power. Sometimes that founder is the first sorcerer in the family to shape what will become the family Crest, but often the Crest artifact has already been in the family for some time before the transition to a proper clan. Our founder was Karla Sabal Dawnbringer, and she belonged to the latter camp.”

I opened up the first book, a beautifully illustrated history of the kingdom, and turned to the page that showed Karla in all her glory, holding the golden rod that would gradually become the Sunlit Scepter. “Karla was born to a branch family–you can tell from the three names–and she sought to prove herself by deviating from tradition. Where her cousins used Sunlight as war magic, healing wounds and causing them, Karla pursued the renewing properties of Sunlight. This decision would save not only the family–which had been declining in favor with the royalty of the time–but also the entire region.”

I flipped to an illustration of crops withering and peasant folk wasting away. “There came a great and terrible famine that swept through all the lands east of the Lothar River. It was a coming together of many separate tragedies: a recent war disrupting food stores, an unseasonable cold front, and a new breed of insect that preyed upon those plants which survived the cold.”

A new page, a new illustration: a hand wreathed in golden light, and fields of grain springing to life. “Karla used her power of renewal on the farms around each estate belonging to a Dawnbringer, restoring dead crops and making frozen land fertile again. The family had not been in danger of starvation, still possessing enough wealth to ensure they made it through the famine, but now they were advantageously positioned against their rivals. Karla leveraged this success to be named the new family head, and with Crest in hand she traveled across the length of the kingdom practicing her magic.”

The last illustration I showed you was that of Karla, now bearing a regal crown, sitting upon a bronze throne. “It was only a few months after the famine’s end that Karla was crowned Queen Dawnbringer, carried on a tidal wave of support from the peasantry and the nobility alike; the common folk were grateful for their lives, while the other sorcerer families had made promises they could not renege in exchange for the restoration of their most valuable crops. And so our clan became the rulers of this kingdom, and our magic became indispensable to its operation.”

I snapped the book shut and set it down with a smile. You were paying rapt attention, like always, and as soon as I signaled the end of my speech you had questions to ask. “Is that power of renewal something only used during times of famine, or does your family make use of it year-round? And what are the limits of that power? Is it just a permanent multiplier on your country’s agricultural yield?”

I gestured to the rolling fields of verdant growth surrounding us, all those miles of farmland bursting with life. “You can see the fruits of our labor everywhere in the kingdom. Every Dawnbringer takes a yearly pilgrimage to personally renew the land and encourage growth, spaced out so there’s almost always one of us cultivating.” I grimaced and added, “Except for me, obviously, since I can’t use that magic. But, normally, it’s a common practice, and one of the most important yearly events for a Dawnbringer. Our magic is the key to our kingdom’s prosperity: our crops never fail, and the removal of that risk has allowed our farmers to specialize and expand. The kingdom overflows with food every year, and one of the lesser clans has developed preservation techniques that make it easier to trade the surplus with neighboring nations.”

“Fascinating,” you murmured. “Next question, then: why is your family affinity ‘Sunlight’ if the power you’re known for is ‘renewal?’ Is it just a matter of tradition, or is there some practical reason that the bloodline didn’t shift affinities after the success of Queen Karla?”

I clapped my hands together and excitedly grabbed the second book, a text on advanced magical theory. “Ah, that actually brings me to why I shared that story. I think by this point you have a pretty solid understanding of how affinities work and how they contain other, lesser notions, but there’s one key aspect of affinities that I haven’t talked about: focus.” I flipped to the right page, knowing it from memory, and pointed to where it read Sunlight (Renewal). “This notation is read as ‘Sunlight focusing Renewal,’ and this is my family’s full affinity.

“As a sorcerer develops their magic, they can do so in one of three ways: developing a new affinity, developing their proficiency with an existing affinity, or developing a focus for an existing affinity. When an affinity is focused, all magic falling under that focus is amplified, but magic outside that focus is dampened. So a practitioner of Sunlight focusing Renewal can restore the land with incredible power, but their other uses of Sunlight are weakened.”

You licked your lips and leaned back. “Specialization and trade-off. Interesting, interesting. So, your brother and father: do they have that focus, then?”

I nodded. “They do, yes. Both of them have Sunlight focusing Renewal as their first affinity, like all clan members are meant to. Luka has a second affinity, Sunlight focusing Healing, while my father’s second affinity is Sunlight focusing Revelation–and he has a third affinity, Majesty, without a focus.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Both doubling up on Sunlight. Is that also standard? Is it just for more options, or are there additional benefits?”

“It’s very conventional for a bloodline sorcerer. The affinities feed each other, so both focuses are a little stronger than they’d be alone, and non-focused Sunlight isn’t quite as dampened thanks to the doubling effect, though that actually depends on the combination; Luka is a peerless healer thanks to the overlap between Healing and Renewal, but it’s practically impossible for him to use Sunlight offensively.” I allowed myself a small moment of satisfaction at my brother’s one inadequacy, but then I recalled the matter of inheritance and my mood fell. “Of course, one day Luka will be given our family Crest, and that will more than make up for his focus restriction. With the Sunlit Scepter in hand, any member of our family could perform the highest feats of Sunlight magic.”

A shrewd look came to your face as you considered my words. “You have a focus, don’t you? When you told me about your affinity for Blood, you described it as the ‘quintessence of harm,’ and said that it couldn’t be used for healing. That sounds exactly like a focus restriction.”

I winced. “That’s… not entirely inaccurate. My affinity for Blood has progressed to the point that I could focus it, but I’ve resisted. I know I’ll never be a healer, but it feels like giving up to just accept that one of my affinities is only good for harming. I don’t want to be that person. So, my affinity is on the verge of a focus, but I haven’t let it ‘lock in,’ as it were.”

“How about Starlight and Shadow?” you followed up.

“Nothing for Starlight, no, but Shadow… Shadow is complicated.” I hesitated, but you had always been so encouraging of my natural affinity, so I pushed aside my hesitation and animated a tendril of shadow, letting it caress my hand. “My magic doesn’t behave like it should, when it comes to Shadow. Every spell I cast with Shadow is as powerful as if I had a focus, and I’ve never been able to find a restriction. Nothing I cast with Shadow is weak, and everything I cast with Shadow is strong. It’s not like other affinities, which leads me to believe it’s some inherent property of the Abyss.”

Hunger glittered in your dark eyes, and you curled your lip with agitation. “A power like that, and your family would turn you away because it’s not the right kind of power? Absurd. If anything, they should be trying to learn from you.”

Your words made me uneasy, and I hastened to remind you, “The Abyss is dangerous, Homura. I… I appreciate the support you’ve given me, about my magic, but it’s not something I can share with others. To the best of my knowledge, I am the only human that has ever survived wielding Shadow.” If I’m even human, came the dark thought unbidden. That question had always haunted me: was I the exception that proved the rule, or was I the demon that everyone feared I might be?

You shrugged, clearly unperturbed by my warning. “Perhaps. Regardless, I think you should be given more credit. You have three affinities, one practically focused. That’s almost as much development as your father, isn’t it? And him with two decades on you at minimum. Don’t you think you deserve a bit of credit for that?”

I looked away from you and hugged myself awkwardly. “That’s not how the bloodlines see it. None of my achievements mean anything–not to the clans, not to my family, not to my father–because they’re not the right achievements. Who cares if I was the youngest mage in our family’s history to develop a third affinity, if none of my affinities are Sunlight? I thought my father might be proud of me, when I learned my third affinity at a younger age than even he had, but no, nothing. Nothing compared to Luka, because he got the right affinity, and then he did it twice!” I spat the last word, unable to stop the bitterness from overflowing. “I’ve never been good enough for my father, and I never will be. That’s why he disinherited me, after all.”

“Do you hate him?” you asked, calm but intense.

“No!” I replied automatically, but I knew it wasn’t wholly true. “I… I don’t want to hate him.”

“But he’s neglecting his only daughter,” you pressed. “He’s ignoring your achievements. And I know he’s done worse than that, Reska.” Your expression darkened, and the look in your eyes scared me. “I know he’s hurt you. Don’t you ever wish you could make him pay for what he’s done to you? Don’t you wish you could pay him back for the cruelty and neglect?”

I stared at you, nervous and uncertain. “I–I don’t know what you mean. What are you saying?”

Softly, you said the words: “Do you ever wish your father would just… die?”

“No!” I shouted, more forcefully this time. I stared at you in horror. “No, no! I’m not–that’s not–I don’t want that. I don’t want him to die. I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want to hurt anyone, Homura. I just… I just wish he’d notice me.” My voice went small and quiet, timid as a mouse, as I whispered, “I wish he wouldn’t hurt me. I don’t want anyone to hurt anyone.”

That fire in your eyes only intensified, and you rose to your feet, nails biting into your palms, before turning from me and staring off at the castle in the distance. “I’m not like you, in that way. I don’t let my spite die, or my anger. I feed it. I remember every horrible thing everyone has ever done to me, and I carve it into my fucking soul. I don’t forgive. Forgiveness is bullshit, anyway. Apologies are just meaningless drek; nobody ever means them. No, I can’t just forgive and forget when someone hurts me, no matter what promises they make, no matter how many times they tell me how bad they feel about the way I force them to hurt me.”

I was frozen against the blanket, watching you with held breath, not daring to even whisper and interrupt you.

You laughed, the sound horrible and pained. “You’ve told me a lot about your father, so I guess it’s only fair I tell you about mine: he was a bastard, and I hated his fucking guts. Every time he raised his voice at me and threatened to beat me, I hated him more. Every time he dismissed me and rejected me as his daughter, the anger burned hotter. There was fear, plenty of fear, but when it passed it left only hatred and anger. And now, a world away, divided by time and space, I only have one regret: that I never got to stick a knife in the old man and watch the blood pour out.”

A drop of blood dripped from your hand, then another, and I realized your hands were bleeding from the bite of your nails. You just laughed, seeming to relish in the pain, fueled by it. “Gods,” you marveled, “I used to fantasize about that every night, when I was young enough the consequences wouldn’t be quite so ruinous for me. I dreamed of ending the torment. But I never did it. I was weak. I was always so fucking weak.” You turned back to me and lowered your voice to say, “But I never let the hatred die.”

I found my voice, barely, and whispered, “I don’t want to hate anyone. It… it scares me. I can’t let myself hate. I’m afraid of what my magic might do, if I hate.”

“Hatred can be a righteous thing, Reska. Is it not justice, to hate the oppressor? There are people who deserve to be hated; people who need to be hated. There are some people who just shouldn’t be allowed to live. A better world is forged in the fires of anger, carved at the tip of a knife. Sometimes, violence can bring peace. Because sometimes, when the people who hurt you are the people with all the power, there’s nothing else you can do, and no one coming to save you. No one is going to take pity on you and do it for you. No one will change the world for you.”

I curled in on myself tighter, and I felt fear and sadness wash over me. “Not even you?” I asked softly.

You looked away from the castle and caught my gaze, holding me with those dark-burning eyes. “I’ll do you one better: I’ll help you save yourself. I’ll help you find the strength to make them all pay. Everyone who’s ever mistreated you, ignored you, hurt you, called you a demon–they’ll all pay. They’ll finally see what fools they’ve been. I promise, Reska: I’ll help you change the world.”

“I don’t deserve that,” I insisted, eyes watering. “I don’t deserve your kindness, or your help.”

Your fists tightened, more crimson droplets fell to the picnic blanket below, and then the blood on your palms boiled. You lifted a hand and stretched it in front of your face, watching the blood boil and seethe, and then you met my gaze again and declared, “You’re wrong. You’re wrong, and I’ll prove it to you, whatever it takes.”

I smiled despite myself, the expression slight and soft. “I think I’d like that.”

You grinned. “I thought you might. And I know how to do it, too. Thanks to you, it looks like I have magic now, and I know how to use that to make every last bastard in that castle respect you like they should. I can get you the throne, Reska, and all that entails. Everything it means to you. But, I can only help if you let me. It’s still gotta be you, in the end. So… do you trust me?”

In your eyes, droplets of red blossomed like blood spilling into ink. You held out your bleeding hand, the blood still boiling, and you grinned with such breathtaking confidence it was impossible to doubt you.

And so I took your hand in mine, and together we took our first steps on the path that would lead my world to ruin.