Chapter 5 #2
I reached out with my awareness, following the current through the ceiling conduit.
Found where it split, sending power to each fixture through separate branches.
The wiring diagram appeared in my mind like I'd studied blueprints—which socket connected where, which breaker controlled this section, how the entire system integrated with the citadel's larger grid.
I pushed power to the first light. It brightened while the others stayed dim.
Then the second. Then the third.
I made them light up in sequence—one, two, three, four, five, six—then back down. Over and over, creating a circular pattern that chased itself around the ceiling.
Laughter bubbled up before I could stop it. Pure delight. Childlike joy in making something respond to my will, in having power that was mine and controllable and not hurting anyone.
This wasn't the cult's corrupted blood magic.
Wasn't power stolen from dying girls and trapped in obsidian jars.
This was dragon-kin abilities given to me through a genuine bond.
This was transformation I'd earned by choosing to defect, by carving intelligence into my own spine, by surviving three days running from hunters.
This was mine.
I made the lights dance faster. Created patterns—all six flashing simultaneously, then alternating groups of three, then spiraling from center outward. The nursery became a light show, electrical current flowing exactly where I directed it.
I wasn't hurting anything. The lights were designed to turn on and off. I was just doing it with my mind instead of a switch. The power draw was negligible—probably less than if someone had been turning them on and off manually all morning.
This was just playing. Testing. Figuring out what my transformed body could do.
And it felt so good. So right. Like I'd been living my entire life with half my senses shut down and someone had finally opened the doors. The electricity flowing through the citadel wasn't just current anymore—it was music. Language. A three-dimensional symphony I could conduct with my thoughts.
The cult had taught me to see my body as a vessel for their purposes. A tool to be used in service of the Unnamed's corrupt plans. They'd trained analytical capability into me, honed my intelligence to serve their rituals, then tried to suppress any joy I might have felt.
But this—making lights dance, feeling current respond to my will, giggling alone in a nursery while electricity crackled across my skin—this was joy they'd never touched. This was mine in a way nothing had ever been mine before.
I lay back against the pillows, still making the overhead lights pulse and swirl. The patterns reflected off the glass walls, turning the whole room into a kaleidoscope—
No, not kaleidoscope. A light show. A display. A demonstration of power that felt like freedom.
Through the bond, I felt Zephyron's distant attention focused on his meeting. Tactical discussions. Border assessment. He wasn't monitoring me. Wasn't tracking what I was doing with the nursery lights.
I grinned at the ceiling.
He'd told me not to experiment with my abilities. But he'd also known I would. I'd felt his expectation through the bond, that satisfied certainty that I'd test his rules. Like he wanted me to. Like this was part of whatever dynamic we were building.
Maybe I could push just a little further. Not dangerous. Not breaking anything. Just . . . exploring the edges of what was possible.
The citadel's electrical grid spread out in my mind like a vast web. So many circuits. So many lights. So many possibilities.
My hands still crackled with unused power, lightning dancing between my fingers.
This was going to be fun.
The citadel's electrical grid spread before me like a map drawn in lightning. Every circuit. Every junction box. Every light fixture and lock and powered device humming with current I could feel and potentially control.
I'd made the nursery lights dance. What else could I do?
I reached out carefully, following the main power conduits through the citadel's framework.
My awareness traveled through steel and glass, tracking electricity as it branched and split.
The sensations were overwhelming—not painful, just intense.
Like learning a new language where every word was a frequency, every sentence a circuit path.
There. A corridor three floors down. Small lights embedded in the ceiling for nighttime illumination. They ran off a separate circuit from the main lighting, designed for efficiency.
I sent a pulse of power through that circuit. Just a tiny push.
The lights flickered.
The sensation of my power traveling through the building was intoxicating.
I could feel it move—electrical current racing through copper wire at nearly the speed of light, responding to my will across hundreds of feet of distance.
The lights flickered again, and I imagined someone walking through that corridor wondering what had just happened.
I tried another corridor. Made those lights pulse once. Then another. And another.
I created a pattern—sending my power rippling through the citadel's peripheral lighting circuits one after another in sequence. Anyone watching from outside would see small lights flickering in a wave pattern across the tower's exterior.
My enhanced hearing caught voices from distant rooms. Through the bond, my senses had sharpened enough that I could make out words if I focused.
"Did you see that? The corridor lights just—"
"Probably a surge. We should report it."
"Report what? They're working fine now."
I pressed my hand over my mouth to stifle giggles. This was harmless. Completely harmless. Just making staff briefly wonder about minor electrical anomalies. But the bratty pleasure in causing tiny chaos—in knowing I was responsible for their confusion—felt delicious.
Then I found something better.
The grand hall two floors below the nursery held Zephyron's decorative lightning sculptures.
I'd seen them during my brief tour of the public spaces—massive crystalline formations that captured and displayed static electrical patterns.
They were art pieces, meant to showcase the beauty of controlled lightning.
Normally they just glowed with preset patterns, powered by their connection to the citadel's grid.
I pushed my awareness into their circuits. Felt the current flowing through the crystalline structures, saw how the energy distributed itself according to the sculptures' internal architecture.
What if I gave them more power? Not enough to damage them—I could feel their tolerances clearly. Just enough to make the static displays actually move.
I channeled current through the first sculpture. The lightning pattern that had been frozen in static pose suddenly writhed and danced. Arcs jumped between crystal branches. The blue-white glow intensified, throwing moving shadows across the hall.
Then the second sculpture. Then the third.
I made them respond to each other—when one flared bright, the others dimmed, then reversed. Created a rhythm. A conversation in lightning between three pieces of art that were never meant to move.
The effect was probably beautiful. Dramatic. Possibly alarming to anyone who happened to be in the grand hall right now.
"Are the sculptures malfunctioning?" A woman's voice, distant but clear through my enhanced senses.
"I don't know. They've never done that before. Should we contact Lord Zephyron?"
"He's in an emergency meeting. Let's monitor it for now."
I eased back on the power, letting the sculptures return to their normal static displays. But my grin was wide enough to hurt. I'd just made art move. Had created a light show in a public space. Had probably given the household staff something to discuss over lunch.
And I wasn't done.
My awareness found the communication relays next. The ones I'd helped redesign. The breakthrough I'd been so proud of—multiple crystals in parallel configuration, each transmitting at complementary frequencies to extend range.
These were sophisticated. Delicate. Currently in standby mode, their crystalline matrices humming softly as they maintained baseline connection with Zephyron's other installations across Tempest Reach.
I shouldn't touch these. They were critical infrastructure. Breaking them would mean losing instant communication across the territory.
But I wasn't going to break them. Just examine them. Test how my electrical signature interacted with the embedded frequencies Zephyron had programmed.
I sent the lightest possible pulse through the first relay. Felt how the crystal accepted the power, channeled it, amplified it according to its harmonic frequency. The mathematical elegance of the design made my brain light up with appreciation. This was beautiful engineering.
I tried harmonizing with it. Matched my electrical output to the crystal's natural frequency. The relay hummed, louder than its standby tone, and began to glow.
The second crystal responded when I shifted my frequency to match its complement. The third required another adjustment. But I could do it. Could make all three sing in harmony, their combined output creating the clean signal that would carry messages across the territory.
I wasn't transmitting anything. Just making them hum. Testing the resonance. Watching how the frequencies interlocked and amplified each other exactly the way I'd predicted in my calculations.
The relays glowed brighter. Their hum became audible even without enhanced hearing—a three-part chord in crystalline tones that made the glass walls vibrate sympathetically.
"Now the communications array is acting up. What is going on today?"
"Should we shut it down? Run diagnostics?"
"Let's wait. If there's an actual problem, the monitoring crystals will alert—oh, it stopped."