Chapter 80

Chapter 80
Later that night

I was in the library, my sanctuary of chaos, flipping through spellbooks and sharpening the dagger I kept in my boot, when the door creaked open.

Damian stepped inside. His coat was half-buttoned. His eyes, dark.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you charging into that Rift like a wrathful goddess.”

I snorted. “I had a point to prove.”

He approached me, something unreadable flickering behind his stormy gaze. “And what point was that?”

“That I’m not afraid anymore. Not of monsters. Not of court. Not even of my father.”

Damian stood in front of me, close enough that I could see the faint bruises along his neck from battle.

“You forgot something,” he murmured.

“Oh? What’s that?”

He leaned in, lips brushing my ear. “Not afraid of falling for me either.”

I rolled my eyes. “Try again, Romeo. I’ve just survived orcs, curses, and nobles. You think one charming prince can rattle me?”

He grinned. “One can hope.”



MacMayer Mansion Throne Hall

That afternoon I went to my family’s home. The room was thick with tension, the kind that wraps around your chest and makes it hard to breathe. The air smelled of old stone, oil from the chandeliers, and the faintest tinge of betrayal. I stood on the cold marble floor of the grand hall where my ancestors once ruled with dignity. And now… here stood a traitor in my father's skin.

"You are no longer a MacMayer. You said it yourself," My father’s said coldly, his voice echoing off the carved stone walls.

My father—Duke MacMayer, once a respected general, now a power-hungry puppet of corrupt nobles—growled low in his throat. His right hand shimmered with magic, dull red runes wrapping around his fingers like cracked glass. Weak magic. Dangerous if aimed at children maybe. But to me? Child’s play.

"You dare come back here," he sneered, "after swearing loyalty to the royals who destroyed my name?"

“You destroyed it yourself.” I took one step forward, lightning crackling at my heels. It licked the floor tiles and left glowing burn marks behind. "You mean the bloodline you helped destroy, Father?" I hissed. “You sided with traitors for the promise of a fake crown. Was it worth it?”

His face twisted with fury. “Was it worth it? I raised you! I trained you! And you’d raise your sword against your own kin?”

“I am the kingdom’s knight,” I said, raising my hand and letting arcs of electricity dance between my fingertips. “I am the royal sword. And with my lightning, you don’t stand a chance.”

He roared, stepping forward—but before he could cast, a new voice slithered into the room.

“Immobilis Totalum,” my sister—Algebra, the family's golden child—whispered from the side.

Oh, Algebra. She always loved being the teacher's pet. Even now, dressed in those ridiculous embroidered robes, she thought she could bind me like some weak student in a school duel.

Her spell hit me like a summer breeze. It didn’t hurt. It didn’t paralyze. It tickled.

I blinked at her slowly. “Seriously?”

Algebra's brow twitched. “What—what are you?”

“Stronger,” I said simply, before sending a small pulse of lightning in her direction. Nothing fatal, just enough to singe the ends of her perfect blonde hair and cause the bottom of her robes to spark with panic. She screamed and stumbled back, flailing, her spellbook falling from her hands like a bird shot out of the sky.

I tilted my head, dramatic as ever. “I warned you. Don’t mess with me. Or I swear—I’ll burn this house down and use your bones as incense.”

To drive the point home, I lifted my hand—and let the chandelier above us explode with a single flick of electricity. Glass and crystal rained down, shattering across the marble, shards bouncing around us like a battle hymn.

My father stood firm, but the twitch in his eye betrayed him. The man was scared.

Good.

“You would destroy your own family?” he spat, stepping in front of Algebra who now sat whimpering on the floor.

I shrugged. “Family is more than blood. It’s loyalty. It’s love. And you? You gave all of that a long time ago. So no, you’re not my family anymore. You're just another man I’ll knock down on my way to the throne room.”

He roared again and lunged, this time with a spell I didn’t recognize—something ancient, probably one of those forbidden ones he used to lecture me never to touch.

I met it with a wall of lightning. The entire hall shook. Tapestries caught fire. The stained-glass windows cracked with the force. But I didn’t back down. I pushed.

Our magic collided—red versus white-blue—and I watched as his spell cracked, then shattered under mine like a wave against a cliff.

He fell to one knee.

“You… you would kill me,” he gasped.

I stepped forward, looming over him, lightning still dancing along my arms like snakes ready to strike. “I’d do worse, Father. I’d let you live… knowing you lost. Knowing your daughter is the one who carries the royal name with pride.”

He tried to rise, but his leg gave out.

“You lost your right to call me daughter when you let your friends plot a coup and sacrificed innocents for a crown you couldn’t even wear.”

I turned then, as if the battle was already over. Algebra was still crumpled by the wall, watching me like I was some ancient god. And maybe I was.

“You burned her hair!” she wailed.

I smirked without looking back. “Be glad I didn’t burn her head.”

With that, I flicked my hand once more and the giant oak doors at the end of the hall burst open. Wind rushed in from the courtyard. The fire behind me danced wildly in the sudden draft. I didn’t look back.

Because I didn’t need to.

They would never forget this day.

The day lightning came home.



It took exactly four days for Algebra MacMayer to hatch her revenge plan.

And by hatch, I mean scribble it down with a stolen quill from her father’s office while muttering curses and burning her toast. Because yes—her revenge plan involved toast. And glitter. And a horse named Princess Murderclaw (who was actually just a borrowed palace pony named Buttercup).

She was, in her own words, “a brilliant, dangerous, sorceress of the elder bloodline,” and in reality, just a glorified theater kid with bad judgment and access to questionable scrolls.