Dual Rebirth: Vengeance of the Discarded Daughter

Alina shot up from the mattress.

Her lungs seized, desperately pulling in air that tasted like copper and dust. Her fingers clawed at the bedsheets. Velvet. Soft, pristine velvet. It was wrong. A second ago, her skin was tearing apart, her magic being siphoned from her veins by the very people who shared her blood. The phantom agony of her core being ripped open still burned behind her ribs.

She swallowed hard, the muscles in her throat clicking. Sweat stung her eyes. She blinked rapidly, forcing her vision to clear.

The heavy mahogany wardrobe. The silver-trimmed vanity. The silk curtains drawn tight against the morning sun.

This was her bedroom in the Padilla estate. The room she hadn't seen since she was fifteen.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. Fast. Urgent.

Alina's spine snapped straight. The overwhelming hatred in her chest threatened to choke her. She forced her jaw to unclench. She took a sharp breath in through her nose, held it for two seconds, and let it out. She smoothed her features into a mask of groggy confusion just as the brass doorknob turned.

The door swung open. Karina rushed in.

"Alina! Are you awake?" Karina's voice pitched high with manufactured panic.

Her younger sister reached out, aiming to grab Alina's hands.

Alina's body reacted before her mind did. She shifted her weight, pulling her hands back and pressing them flat against the mattress.

Karina's fingers grasped empty air. She froze for a split second, the practiced panic on her face faltering into genuine surprise. Then, as if remembering her role, she quickly morphed the expression into a wounded pout.

"Why are you being so cold?" Karina asked, her lower lip trembling. "I was worried sick."

Alina stared at the face of the girl who, in another life, had stood over her bleeding body and smiled. Her stomach churned, but her voice came out flat.

"I have a headache. Don't touch me."

Heavy boots thudded against the hardwood floor of the hallway. The sound vibrated through the heavy wooden bed frame, a familiar tremor she had learned to dread deep in her bones.

Marcus Padilla stepped into the room. He didn't look at her face. He didn't ask if she was well. His sharp eyes immediately dropped to the center of her chest, as if he could see the magic core inside her.

"Your Prismatic Core is a disgrace," Marcus said. His voice was a low rumble that usually commanded absolute silence in the household. "The academy board is questioning my leadership because of your inability to cast a single basic spell."

Karina stepped closer to their father. "The Aethelgard Order is taking exchange students, Father. Maybe Alina would do better there. It's... a different environment."

Alina caught the micro-expression. The slight tightening of Karina's cheek muscles. The hidden gleam in her eyes.

Karina knew.

Karina was reborn too, and she was already making moves to steal Alina's resources by shipping her off to the most dangerous, brutal faction in the continent.

"It is decided," Marcus said, taking Karina's suggestion as his own. "For the honor of the Padilla name, you will accept this transfer. You leave today."

The room went dead silent. Marcus squared his shoulders. Karina tilted her chin up. They were waiting for the tears. They were waiting for Alina to drop to her knees and beg to stay in the luxurious estate, just like she had done before.

Alina didn't cry.

She threw the velvet blanket off her legs. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her bare feet hit the freezing hardwood floor. She stood up.

She walked right up to Marcus, stopping inches from his chest. She tilted her head up and looked him dead in the eyes. Her breathing was perfectly even.

"Fine."

Marcus blinked. His mouth opened slightly, the long speech he had prepared dying in his throat.

Karina's eyes widened. "Aethelgard is harsh, Alina. They don't have servants. They don't care about our family name. You could get hurt."

Alina took one step toward her sister. The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

"Do you actually care if I get hurt, Karina?" Alina asked. Her voice was barely a whisper, but it cut through the air like a razor.

Karina physically recoiled, stumbling back half a step.

"Watch your tone with your sister," Marcus snapped, stepping between them. He reached into his tailored coat and pulled out a thick roll of parchment.

He unrolled it. The paper glowed with harsh, red magical runes.

"This is the transfer agreement," Marcus said. "It also legally separates your resource allocation from the main family vault. Sign it."

It wasn't just a transfer. It was a disownment.

Alina didn't bother reading the dense paragraphs of predatory clauses. She lifted her right hand. She brought her thumb to her mouth and bit down hard on the pad of her finger.

The sharp pain grounded her. The metallic taste of blood coated her tongue.

She pressed her bleeding thumb directly onto the bottom of the parchment.

The red runes flared bright white, searing the blood into the magical weave. The contract was sealed. The physical tie to the Padilla family was severed.

Marcus stared at the bloody fingerprint. A muscle in his jaw twitched. He looked at his eldest daughter, a sudden, inexplicable unease settling in his gut. She was too calm.

Karina hid a smile behind her hand. She had done it. She had pushed the useless sister into the meat grinder.

"Get out," Alina said.

She pointed a bloody finger toward the open door.

"I need to change."

Marcus's face flushed red. He scoffed, turning on his heel. "You will regret this arrogance." He marched out of the room.

Karina lingered for a second. She tried to give Alina a look of deep pity, but Alina's eyes were completely dead. Black, empty voids. Karina swallowed hard and hurried out, shutting the door behind her.

The heavy wood clicked into place.

Alina let her shoulders drop. A cold, sharp smile stretched across her face.

She walked over to the vanity mirror. Her reflection showed a pale, sickly fifteen-year-old girl. But the eyes were ancient.

"Never again," she whispered to the glass.

She held up her right hand. She focused inward. A chaotic, multi-colored light flickered in her palm-the Prismatic Core. The world called it a defect. A dud. But she could feel the terrifying, pulling gravity hidden beneath the colors.

She closed her fist. The light vanished.

She walked to the wardrobe. She bypassed the silk dresses and corsets. She pulled out a pair of dark, heavy-duty trousers, a plain black shirt, and a thick leather jacket.

She dressed quickly. She grabbed a canvas duffel bag from the bottom drawer and shoved a few basic necessities inside. No jewelry. No family crests.

She slung the bag over her shoulder, opened the door, and walked out.