Enna's Semblance.

  The realization hits harder than a knee to the groin. I twist in the water, peering through the murk of Nenuphar's roots and watching eyes.

  Six shapes cut through the depths with unnatural grace. Enna holds position above, her golden hair a pale banner in the murk, hands weaving invisible threads. Talon flanks her right, his lips curled in a snarl. Four cousins fan wide in a crescent: Marius, Marcus, Lucia, and Ria, closing the trap with methodical precision.

  My arm jerks. A puppet's spasm.

  I meet their eyes and freeze. There is nothing there. No rivalry, no competition. Just cold intent. Hunters stalking prey.

  My heart hammers against my ribs. Panic claws up my throat. They are going to kill me. Right here, under sacred waters, they will make it look like an accident. The perfect crime masked by tradition. Who would question a death during the brutal First Baptism?

  My eyes burn. I need air, need to think, need...

  Instinct kicks through the floor of my being. I surge forward. If they want me dead, they will have to earn it. I will not go quietly into the abyss.

  Each stroke is a battle against Enna's invisible grip. My lungs scream for air, but I glimpse Penelope's pale form ahead, Castor's broad shoulders cutting through the murk beside her.

  The threads around my arm constrict, yanking me back like steel cables. My muscles spasm and twist, fighting my commands. I grit my teeth against the pain as my own flesh betrays me.

  A flash of crystalline light catches my eye. Through the tangle of roots and watching eyes, I see Talon raise his hands. The water between them freezes, condensing into a gleaming blade that catches what little light filters through the depths.

  Talon has a Semblance.

  The realization should shock me. It does not. Only one truth matters now: they have come prepared to kill.

  My kicks grow weaker as Enna's power spreads through my arm, turning it numb and useless. The distance between me and safety stretches like an endless void while my pursuers close in with predatory grace.

  The ice blades glitter in more than one hand.

  A promise of a swift but brutal end.

  Ahead, Penelope's head snaps around. Her eyes find mine, widening as she takes in the scene behind me. Recognition flashes across her features. She sees the trap closing around me, sees the ice blades coming to claim blood.

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  I try to call out, but only bubbles escape my lips. Enna's threads dig deeper into my flesh, spreading their paralyzing grip down my side.

  Penelope's face hardens into sharp angles. Her jaw sets, determination blazing in her eyes as she starts to turn back toward me.

  Hope flares bright and sudden.

  Castor's hand clamps around her arm. Shakes his head. Ripples dance through my watery tomb.

  Hope dies.

  Our eyes lock again. The desperation in her gaze mirrors everything I cannot voice. The fear, the betrayal, the silent plea for help. For one suspended moment, we share the same helpless rage against forces too powerful to fight.

  Then something in her expression breaks. Her shoulders slump. She turns away, following Castor toward the surface, leaving me to face what comes next alone.

  I twist in the water, facing my attackers. Marius lunges forward, ice blade glinting. My free hand snaps up to block, but too slow. The crystalline edge slices across my side. Pain explodes through my body, hot and sharp even in the cold depths. Red clouds bloom in the murky water.

  Enna's threads slither around my legs. Each tendril tightens, crushing movement from my muscles. I try to kick, to writhe away, but my body refuses to obey. The water grows thick with my own blood.

  My mind fractures, splintering between blind panic and white hot rage. I reach for the futures. The timelines slip away like smoke, leaving me stranded in this singular, terrible moment.

  Mother's voice drifts through my fading consciousness.

  A memory surfaces. Her lap beneath my head, fingers gentle in my hair. The soft melody of a Netniem lullaby washing over me like warm rain. The scent of night blooming flowers, sweet and pure.

  Rest now, little Qilin. Her whisper between verses. The darkness cannot touch you here.

  But darkness touches me now, pressing in from all sides as my lungs burn for air. Mother's song feels so far away, drowned by the thunder of my failing heart.

  Blades of black ice flash through murky water, each cut precise and ritualistic. Marius strikes first: a slash across my ribs that sends red ribbons spiraling upward. Marcus follows from the left, driving his blade deep into my thigh. Lucia circles behind, her ice parting flesh along my shoulder blade. Ria completes the pattern, her strike opening my side.

  They take turns like dancers in some twisted choreography. Slice. Stab. Slice again. Blood clouds drift upward in crimson ribbons, marking each wound's passage.

  Through the haze of agony, I see Talon's face behind them. His teeth gleam white in a predator's grin, bubbles escaping as silent laughter ripples through the water. His lips move, forming a word.

  A name.

  Septimus.

  My heart stutters. Revelation hangs on the threshold of understanding. This is not about my mother's bloodline.

  This is about... about something I cannot remember.

  Enna floats above, her face a stone mask as she puppets my limbs. Her threads bite deeper, grinding bone against bone. Each new wound is placed with surgical precision, designed to break me piece by piece.

  My lungs burn. Agony blurs everything. Past, present, future bleeding together like my wounds. I try to summon that familiar rage, that core of defiance that has carried me through every slight and insult.

  But as Marcus's blade slides between my ribs again, something inside me cracks. The weight of water, of blood, of failure crashes down. I am four years old again, crying out in the dark.

  Mother. Bubbles escape my lips, carrying away what remains of my pride. Mother, where are you?

  But Mother is not here. She cannot save me from this darkness, this betrayal carved in ice and malice. Just like she could not save me then.

  Something begins to unravel. I feel the ribbons of blood as if they are still a part of me.

  I am the only one who can save me now.

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