Chapter 159 Traitor Unmasked Part 3
They lasted exactly one hour past dawn before the world went to hell again.
Fern hadn’t budged all night, hunched in shadow behind the central column. Maribel lay limp beside her, eyes fixed on Daisy. Cornelius watched, predator-still, one hand on his blade, thumb stroking the hilt with every shift or cough from Fern.
Daisy sat cross-legged, arms on her knees, black veins like frostbite clawing her jaw. She tried to ignore the blood-hunger, but the chain throbbed with distant thunder, whispering: violence, violence, violence. The chain's magic was always old and raw—an artifact from roots beneath the mountains, bound by forgotten vows. It wanted a root and repaid its chosen with power and poison. Daisy could never tell if the hunger was hers or the chain's, reaching for blood every heartbeat.
Oliver had taken to pacing. Every few minutes, he’d stop to check the mouth of the tunnel, then glance back at Daisy, worry souring his face. She caught his eye, shrugged as if to say: still here, still myself. He didn’t look reassured.
Delia and Mira hovered by Xeris. The dragon breathed shallowly: one pupil pinprick, the other wide. Delia poured tinctures down his throat; Mira muttered words. Nothing helped. Scales flaked from Xeris’s neck, showing pale skin beneath.
When it happened, Cornelius snapped first.
He stalked to Fern, yanked her up, and drove his blade close enough to draw blood at her neck. Maribel gasped, struggling weakly, but Cornelius pressed her back with one gentle hand.
“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you,” he said, low and even.
Fern’s eyes glittered, hard and weary. “You can’t kill the chain, only feed it.” Her voice cracked, bitterness and regret raw beneath each word. “Once, I thought I could starve it.” Her gaze dropped, shoulders caving in. “I learned the hard way: the chain finds nourishment, one way or another. Blood, memory, sometimes even hope. You think you’re using it—but it is always hungrier than you.”
Daisy stood, hand rising as magic flashed into her palm—hungry, living, ready to rip Fern’s heart straight from her ribs.
She heard her own voice, distant and cold: “You don’t get to hide behind old secrets. Not anymore.”
She stepped forward. The chain in her arm pulsed, itching for blood. She could feel it, anticipating the kill, see the pattern of black spreading across Fern’s skin, as if the old woman had been infected all along.
Oliver stepped quickly between Daisy and Fern, intercepting Daisy's advance and grabbing her wrist. The chain burned him—a spark arced to his arm, singeing hair. He held on, jaw clenched despite the pain.
“This isn’t you, Daisy,” he said, blue light flickering in his eyes, soft and terrified. “Don’t let her win.”
For a second, murderous hunger surged, threatening to rip Daisy apart, the urge to kill so sharp her vision blurred. But Oliver’s grip anchored her to reality, grounding her with desperate loyalty. The chain recoiled, momentarily sated, leaving Daisy trembling and hollow.
Daisy’s teeth chattered. She looked at Fern. “You worked for the Emperor. You set the trap. You led us here.”
Fern said nothing.
Cornelius pressed the blade harder, the bead of blood becoming a line. “Give me a reason.”
Fern’s jaw trembled, words catching in her chest. “You don’t know what I’ve seen. What happens if it’s not her? If the chain snaps back—” Shame and self-disgust twisted in her voice as her eyes flicked to Maribel, then away. “Sometimes you do what you must, even when it’s unforgivable. I tried to choose the lesser evil.”
“Lie again, and I’ll peel your tongue,” Cornelius said, voice flat.
Tension escalated in the close, dim cave. Each group member pressed against their chosen refuge among scattered columns and fungal outcroppings until Daisy thought she would crack from the inside out.
Then the alarms hit.
The cave flickered blue, then violet, then red. Fungal veins shrieked as the cave vibrated. Pain howled in Daisy’s blood. Xeris thrashed, tail smashing rock, eyes rolling. A dark sickness ran under his scales, each breath ragged and thin—the curse tightening around his heart, killing him by inches.
At the center of the cave, the scrying pool—just a shallow basin lined with shards of old crystal—lit up with a searing, unnatural glare.
Daisy staggered toward the scrying pool, her legs shaking with each step, and leaned over to look in.
She saw Vex Mordain, the Emperor’s Shadow, standing on the upper ridge, both hands spread wide. His silver-gloved fingers drew symbols in the air, the marks burning themselves into the landscape. Behind him, an army of Veilseekers and Ironclaws was arrayed, waiting for the kill.
Vex’s voice crawled through the pool, smooth and venomous: “You are the last. Come up, Daisy Smithson. Let me see your roots.”
Vex dismantled the ancient wards with precision. Each gesture unraveled protections, weakening the valley. The walls groaned, fungus withered, and the air grew thin and foul.
Yet as Daisy’s gaze swept over the scene, she stopped short, her breath catching. It was not Vex alone who demanded her attention: beside him stood another figure, one whose presence chilled her to the core.
A perfect duplicate. Her own body. Her own face. Standing still as a statue. Eyes open but dead, hair shorn to the scalp, every vein mapped in perfect black. Vex reached out and touched the duplicate’s face. It shuddered, then turned its gaze to the pool. For a heartbeat, Daisy felt as if she were staring into a spell that could twist her blood from across the world. The double was more than a copy. It could channel what she could. It was a vessel meant to steal her power, or to turn it back against her. She sensed something coiling in that dead gaze—a danger that mirrored all her own gifts but was stripped of any will not to kill.
It raised its hand, echoing Daisy’s every motion. The magic in her blood responded to the twin, like a lodestone to its mate.
Oliver saw it, too. “What the fuck is that?”
Mira, voice tight: “He’s made a counterchain. They must have taken your blood in the battle. He’s using it—using you—to anchor his own spell.”
The pool flashed. The double smiled, not with Daisy’s old, sideways charm, but a cold, knowing calculation.
Fern sobbed. “I told you. If it’s not you, it’s worse. The chain needs a root.”
Cornelius hissed. “I’ll go up. Cut him open.”
Daisy grabbed his arm. “If you go, you die before you reach him.”
Xeris dragged himself upright, talons carving grooves in the cave floor. His voice was a rumble, barely human: “He’s baiting you. He needs you to break.”
Delia backed away from the pool, Mira clutching her. “What do we do?”
Daisy stared at her own reflection, at what the Emperor had shaped from her. The chain in her veins sang not with hatred, but feverish anticipation. It was like being recognized by a monster that loved her for all the wrong reasons.
She bared her teeth, wiped the black blood from her nose, and looked around the cave.
She saw her family: Xeris, dying but alive; Delia, scared and angry, quietly pressing her shoulder against Mira’s; Cornelius, blade ready, eyes flicking between them in reassurance; Mira, drained but defiant, barely brushing Delia’s arm to steady them both; Oliver, bruised and burned, still holding her hand, giving a brief squeeze. Wounds between them were fresh—betrayal not fully spoken, trust cut and re-stitched. Daisy felt the edges of Fern’s harm, Delia's lingering pain, and Cornelius's wariness. Yet, even huddled in the dark, Daisy noticed their small supports: a glance, a touch. Unity, she realized, was fragile—always threatened by fear and old wounds. But looking at each of them, Daisy understood: all they had was each other. If they broke now, they were lost.
She glanced at Fern, crumpled and shivering—ruined by her own treachery, nothing left but the cold comfort of guilt.
The scrying pool flickered again. The double’s eyes glowed, the color of fresh bruises. Daisy felt it—felt the tug, the urge to leave her body behind, to surrender to the magic and the violence and the spiral that waited for her.
Instead, she spat into the pool. “I’m coming for you, Vex,” she said, voice steady. “And when I do, I’ll break your chain, too.”
The duplicate blinked, slow and oily, then vanished as Vex cut the connection.
Daisy turned to the others.
“We leave now,” she said, her voice firm with new resolve. “No more waiting. We take the back tunnels, we climb the ridge—together—and we finish this, on our terms.”
Oliver nodded, fire in his eyes.
Delia looked at her, jaw set. “You’re not doing it alone.”
Daisy smiled, ugly and real. “Wouldn’t know how.”
She looked at Fern, who still knelt, blood drying on her neck. Daisy considered—just for a moment—finishing what she started.
But the chain was hungry for bigger things now.
She walked away.
They packed what little they had. Mira stitched up Xeris’s wounds and conjured a shield from the last of her power. Cornelius scouted the back passage, his face a mask. Oliver squeezed Daisy’s hand once, hard, before letting go.
The climb was brutal. Every uneven foothold sent fresh agony through Daisy and deepened her exhaustion. Each step blended burning muscles with a deeper ache—bones, blood, memory flaring in protest. By the upper ledge, her vision wavered, dark shapes crowding her sight, and blackened veins stood out on her skin. Still, she pressed on, refusing to yield to pain or despair. With every pulse, she reaffirmed: I will not be what you made me.
At the edge of the ridge, Vex Mordain waited.
He stood alone, no army behind him, no tricks. Just him, the silver gloves, and the double.
Daisy walked forward, flanked by her family. Xeris at her right, Delia at her left, Cornelius and Mira behind. Oliver stayed just close enough to catch her if she fell.
Vex smiled, perfect and cruel. “You finally made it.”
Daisy stepped up and spat blood at his feet. “Let’s end this.”
The double moved, perfectly in sync.
For the first time, Daisy felt afraid.
She welcomed it.
The world would break, or she would.
Either way, she’d do it on her own terms.