Chapter 165 New Dawn Part 2
He looked nothing like Daisy expected.
He looked nothing like Daisy expected. No crown, no armor, no sign of royalty. Only a man, old, but not frail. His skin was so pale it was nearly translucent. Black veins pulsed beneath, visible with every word he spoke. His eyes were the color of a bruise. When he looked at Daisy, it felt like being shoved underwater.
He was speaking to a crowd—hundreds, maybe more, all gathered in the plaza below. His voice was amplified not by magic, but by the silence as the crowd waited for every word.
“It is a mercy,” he said, “to end the chain. To let it rest. For too long, we have been slaves to the cycle. You, the people, have suffered. But today, we reach the root.”
Daisy felt the chain in her blood twist, as if trying to crawl up her throat. A surge of helpless panic crashed over her; she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Oliver’s hand on her back was the only anchor keeping her from collapsing.
Cornelius pressed forward, blade ready. “We can do it now. He won’t see it coming.”
Oliver shook his head. “Look at the crowd. Every one of them is chained to him. If he dies, they all—”
Cornelius snarled, but held back.
The Emperor’s eyes slid to Daisy. He smiled, and it was like ice in her veins.
“Come up,” he said, and though his voice was soft, it carried across the plaza. “Let’s finish this.”
Daisy didn’t remember walking. She only knew she was moving. Each step was a fight against the chain. Oliver tried to pull her back, but she shook him off.
She reached the balcony.
The Emperor gestured to her, casually, as if inviting her to tea. “I knew it would be you. You have her eyes.”
Daisy spat, but it was blood, black and clotted, that hit the floor. “Let them go,” she hissed.
He laughed. “No one holds them but themselves. That’s the secret of the chain, Daisy. It’s always been about wanting. About who wants hardest.”
For a heartbeat, Daisy remembered something her grandmother had whispered years ago as she bandaged Daisy’s scraped knees—a half-joking warning about the family’s curse. The chain takes root wherever longing is strongest, she’d said. The old spellbinders had built it to bind enemies and loved ones alike, each link forged from hope, spite, and desperate wishes. As Daisy stood there, she realized the Emperor was right: the chain tightened for those who clung to dreams and loosened when want faded. Every bond was chosen at the core, drawn tight by the heart’s deepest hunger.
He reached for her hand. She tried to pull away, but the chain in her blood leapt to him, binding them together in a single, burning moment.
Daisy felt her life run backward: the city, the family, the world that never let her belong. She saw every ancestor, every Smithson, each one bred for this day. It wasn’t fate. It was designed—ruthless and deliberate.
The Emperor pressed her palm to his. Their veins met, merged, a shockwave of pain that sent Daisy to her knees.
He bent down, lips at her ear. “You’re the key. The last root. When you break, it’s over.”
Daisy looked out at the city. Every daisy glowed, flooding the streets with shimmering light that danced across stone, air, and water. The illumination traced every curve and corner, forming a radiant chain that not only encircled the city, but seemed to hum against her skin and fill the air with a faint, electric warmth. The world was bound in this luminous embrace, threads of light weaving together the city’s sights, sounds, and distant scents—a living memory of everything she had ever loved.
She screamed, the sound ripped from her chest, raw and desperate, all the pain and fury pouring out at once.d.
The sound shattered the morning. Everyone in the square looked up, transfixed. The Emperor staggered, not expecting Daisy’s strength, hunger, or the pure wanting in her scream.
Oliver moved. He tackled the Emperor from behind, blade flashing.
Cornelius rushed in, knocking the man off balance.
Daisy didn’t think. She just reached, pulled, snapped the chain in her arm—and felt it snap all the way down, through the Emperor, through the city, through every root and branch.
The pain was unbearable, but she didn’t stop.
The daisies shattered. The city went silent.
The Emperor fell, clutching his chest, veins exploding in black flowers across his skin.
Daisy dropped to the floor, gasping, her own veins fading to gray.
Oliver caught her, held her tight.
Cornelius finished the job, just to be sure.
They walked down together. The square was empty, the people gone, or sleeping, or dead—it didn’t matter. The chain was broken. A sharp wind moved through the stones, carrying away the last threads of magic. Curtains flapped in broken windows. In the hush, Daisy smelled lingering smoke, and in the distance, a bell tolled once before falling silent, as if the city itself was settling into a restless sleep.
Daisy touched her arm. The veins were there, but just scars now.
She looked at Oliver. He smiled, soft and broken.
They didn’t say a word.
They just walked out of the city, into the morning, each step unsteady with relief and disbelief, Daisy’s freedom tinged with a fragile sense of hope and exhaustion—a freedom she could scarcely recognize after so many years bound by fear.
High above, the clock tower’s face ticked on, every second marked by a petal, every hour by a memory.
And somewhere, deep beneath the city, the old roots twined in silence, waiting to see what might grow next.