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.

Alina walked down the long, carpeted corridor.

The walls were lined with massive oil paintings of Padilla ancestors. Their painted eyes seemed to follow her, heavy with the same disdain her father carried.

Two maids carrying fresh linens stopped at the intersection. They saw Alina's canvas bag and plain clothes. They didn't bow. They didn't lower their eyes. One of them smirked, whispering something to the other.

Alina kept walking. Her boots made no sound on the carpet. Her mind flashed to the countless nights in her past life, burning her hands on alchemy cauldrons to brew potions that would keep those same ancestors' legacies alive.

She pushed open the heavy double doors leading to the central courtyard.

The morning air was crisp. In the center of the manicured lawn stood the Silvercrest Academy monument-a towering crystal array she had designed in her past life, completely uncredited.

Joesph Cannon stood at the base of the monument.

He wore his pristine white Silvercrest uniform. His blonde hair was perfectly styled. When he saw Alina in her black clothes, his brow furrowed in deep annoyance. He marched toward her.

"You shouldn't have upset Karina," Joesph said. His tone was dripping with condescension. "If you just go back inside and apologize to her and your father, I can talk them into letting you stay."

Alina stopped. She looked at the man who had driven a blade through her chest in her previous life.

Her stomach didn't drop. Her heart didn't race. She just felt a profound, exhausting disgust.

"Move," Alina said.

Joesph blinked. He was used to her stuttering, to her looking at the ground when he spoke.

His face hardened. "Excuse me?" He reached out, aiming to grab her shoulder.

Alina didn't step back. She shifted her weight slightly to the left, dropping her shoulder a fraction of an inch.

Joesph's hand swiped through empty air. His momentum carried him forward, making his heavy boots stumble over the cobblestones. He caught himself, his face flushing dark red.

"You are going to regret this!" Joesph yelled, spinning around. "You won't last a month in a savage place like Aethelgard! You're nothing without us!"

Alina didn't look back. She kept walking straight toward the massive iron gates of the estate.

The guard stationed at the gatehouse saw her coming. He leaned against the stone wall, crossing his arms, making no move to pull the heavy lever that operated the gate.

Alina didn't slow down.

She walked up to the gate, seemingly casual, and tapped a specific node on the lock's casing three times with her index finger. With each tap, she injected a microscopic, chaotic sliver of her unrefined mana. It was the exact resonance frequency she had discovered while studying ancient mechanics in her past life. A few seconds later, the internal gears let out a sharp crack, the precision mechanisms violently shifting and breaking under the magical resonance.

With a loud, screeching groan, the massive iron gates swung open on their own.

The guard dropped his arms, his jaw going slack. He stared at the open gate, then back at Alina. A cold sweat broke out on his neck. He pressed his back against the wall, terrified to make a sound.

Alina stepped past the property line. The cold wind hit her face. Her lungs expanded, taking in air that finally didn't smell like expensive perfume and lies.

She bypassed the family carriage house entirely. She walked two miles down the dirt road to the public transit station.

She dug into her pocket, pulling out three silver coins. She slid them across the scratched wooden counter.

"One ticket to the Northern Border. Cheapest airship," she told the clerk.

Ten minutes later, she stepped onto the deck of a rusted, sputtering airship. The cabin smelled strongly of unwashed bodies, cheap ale, and engine grease.

She found a seat near a scratched porthole.

A massive mercenary, covered in scars and reeking of stale beer, lumbered over. He slammed his heavy hand on the back of her seat.

"Move, little girl. I like the window."

Alina slowly lifted her head. She locked eyes with him.

She didn't say a word. She just let the killing intent from a decade of frontline warfare bleed into her gaze. Her pupils dilated, turning her eyes into black, bottomless pits.

The mercenary's breath hitched. The color drained from his face. His hand violently jerked away from her seat as if the leather had burned him. He stumbled backward, tripping over his own boots, and practically ran to the other end of the cabin.

A few passengers laughed, but they all gave her a wide berth.

Alina pulled a worn magic theory book from her bag and opened it, resting it over her face.

The airship engines roared to life, vibrating through the metal floor.

Beneath the cover of the book, Alina closed her eyes and looked inward.

Her Prismatic Core was a mess. Five different elemental energies clashed violently against each other, tearing at her mana veins. It was agonizing.

She began to breathe in a specific, rhythmic pattern. The Primordial Conduit technique.

Slowly, the violent clashing stopped. The red fire, blue water, green earth, yellow light, and purple dark began to swirl together. They merged, dissolving into a pure, colorless stream of raw power.

The energy flowed through her damaged veins, knitting the torn tissue back together. The pain faded, replaced by a deep, thrumming heat.

Three days later, the airship violently shook as it broke through a thick layer of storm clouds.

"Northern Border!" the conductor shouted over the engine noise. "End of the line!"

Alina pulled the book off her face. She looked out the porthole.

Perched on the edge of a jagged, snow-covered cliff was a massive fortress built of black stone. It looked like a sleeping beast.

Aethelgard Order.

Alina grabbed her bag and stood up.

Alina's boots crunched against the thick snow.

The wind howled, biting at her exposed cheeks like tiny needles. She walked up the steep, icy stone steps leading to the main entrance of the Aethelgard Order.

The black iron gates were easily forty feet tall. On either side stood two massive gargoyle statues, their stone faces twisted into permanent snarls. The air around them hummed with a heavy, oppressive magical frequency.

Alina reached into her jacket and pulled out the blood-stained transfer contract.

Before she could step closer to the gate, a harsh grinding noise echoed through the freezing air.

The stone skin on the left gargoyle cracked and peeled away, revealing a scrawny, hunched man with pale skin. Pip Riddle.

A second later, the right gargoyle shattered its stone shell. A massive man with a thick neck and a scarred jaw stepped down. Brock Mason.

Pip snatched the parchment right out of Alina's hand. He unrolled it, his eyes scanning the runes.

He let out a loud, grating laugh. "A Prismatic Dud? Silvercrest sent us a defective toy!"

Brock threw his head back and roared with laughter. The sound bounced off the black stone walls. "We take the crazy ones, little girl. But we don't take trash that can't even light a candle."

Alina didn't blink. She didn't cross her arms. She just held her hand out, palm up.

"Give it back."

Pip stopped laughing. He sneered, holding the parchment high above his head. "This piece of paper is toilet paper here, princess. Go home."

Brock took a heavy step forward. His massive shadow fell over Alina. "Turn around before you freeze to death. We aren't opening the gate."

Alina slowly lowered her hand. She looked directly into Brock's eyes.

"The Founding Charter of Aethelgard, Section Four," Alina said, her voice cutting clearly through the howling wind. "Any bearer of a legitimate transfer writ holds the right to face the trial of entry."

Both men stiffened. Their mocking smiles vanished.

"How does a spoiled brat know about the old laws?" Pip muttered, his eyes narrowing.

Pip looked at Brock, then back at Alina. A nasty, cruel smile stretched across his face.

"Fine," Pip said. "You want your trial? You can take the Gauntlet of Will."

Brock sucked in a sharp breath. He looked at Pip, his eyes wide. The Gauntlet was a death sentence used for executing high-level traitors.

Pip ignored him, leaning in close to Alina. "It's a corridor of pure, unstable arcane energy. It will peel the skin from your bones and shred your mind before you take ten steps. Still want in?"

Alina felt the thrum of her Primordial Core in her chest. It was starving.

She didn't argue. She didn't flinch. She just jerked her chin toward the massive black gates.

"Open it."

Pip's jaw tightened. He looked like he wanted to hit her. Instead, he reached into his robes and pulled out a long, black bone key. He shoved it into the skull-shaped lock on the gate.

The ground shook. The iron gates groaned, slowly pulling apart.

A blast of violet light and violent wind exploded outward.

The air pressure was so intense it pushed Brock back a step. Inside the gates was a long, dark corridor. Swirling vortexes of purple arcane energy screamed through the space like trapped ghosts.

"Last chance to run, kid," Brock yelled over the noise, genuinely looking a little sick.

Alina tightened her grip on her canvas bag. She stepped forward, crossing the threshold into the violet storm.

Crack.

A sharp sound echoed over the roaring wind.

On the left wall of the corridor, an old, rusted iron lantern suddenly flared to life. A bright blue flame danced inside the glass.

Pip's eyes bulged out of his head. "No way. That's a soul-forged lantern. It only reacts to absolute mana purity."

Alina kept walking. Her posture was perfectly straight. The violent winds whipped her black hair around her face, but her feet never faltered.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

Three more lanterns ignited. The blue light pushed back the heavy darkness of the corridor.

The chaotic arcane energy in the air suddenly shifted. Instead of attacking her, the purple streams of magic violently rushed toward Alina's body.

Brock gasped, expecting her to explode into a mist of blood.

The energy hit her skin-and vanished. It sank into her body without leaving a single mark.

The heavy iron gates slammed shut behind her with a deafening boom, cutting off the guards' view.

Alina was alone in the storm.