I barely slept that night. The mini-Rell's warning kept looping through my mind like a broken record.

  What the hell did that mean? Dad had always been our rock—the one constant in the chaos of Freetown. Sure, he had secrets. Everyone did. But planning what exactly?

  By the next evening, I still hadn't found the courage to confront either of them about it.

  Dad had spent the day cooking up a feast to celebrate Rell's return.

  The apartment was filled with smells that punched through even the stench that clung to everything in Freetown—roasted meat, spices from the market, and something sweet that made my stomach growl like a territorial Troll.

  Rell sat cross-legged on the couch, looking better than she had any right to after what she'd been through. The white streaks in her deep red hair caught the apartment's dim light, giving her an ethereal glow. Her skin had that strange ghostly quality now.

  "You're staring again," she said without looking up from the small silver mist swirling between her palms.

  "Can you blame me? My sister went into her bedroom looking normal and came back looking like she got a makeover from banshee."

  Rell snorted. "Thanks. Just what every girl wants to hear."

  "You know what I mean." I flopped down beside her. "So what are you doing now? More tiny yous?"

  The silver mist between her palms coalesced, taking shape—not a mini-Rell this time, but a perfect replica of our neighbor's yappy little dog. The tiny dog pranced in midair, then did a backflip that the real version definitely couldn't manage.

  "Holy shit," I laughed. "You can do animals too?"

  "Anything I've touched." Rell's face scrunched in concentration, and the misty dog transformed into a perfect miniature of Inspector Hoffman, wagging a finger disapprovingly.

  Dad emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. His eyes fixed on the tiny Hoffman floating between Rell's palms.

  "They're not just puppets," Rell said. "They're extensions of me. I can see through them, hear through them."

  "And they can act independently?" Dad's voice was casual, but I noticed the intensity in his eyes.

  "To an extent. I set rules, and they operate within them." Rell flicked her wrist, and mini-Hoffman dissolved back into silver mist. "It's like... they're fragments of myself. The more I make, the thinner I'm spread."

  Dad nodded, looking thoughtful. "And the transformation aspect? When you took Fischer's form yesterday?"

  "That's different. It’s more complete." She closed her hands, and the mist vanished. "I don't just look like the person—I become them."

  "The perfect infiltration ability," Dad mused, then quickly added, "Not that you'd use it that way, of course."

  "Oh really?" Rell's eyes gleamed mischievously. "Because I was thinking of all the possibilities..."

  I grinned. "Like sneaking into House Azul's private treasury? Or maybe the SDC armory?"

  "I was thinking more along the lines of getting into concerts for free, but sure, let's jump straight to major felonies." Rell rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

  Dad laughed, but there was something off about it. "Dinner's almost ready. Why don't you show us more while we eat?"

  The table was loaded with food. Dad must have spent a small fortune at the market. There was roasted quillboar—a beast technically, but one of the few that tasted good—fresh vegetables, and even a bottle of wine.

  "Is that from the House vineyards?" I asked, eyeing the dark bottle.

  Dad nodded.

  My eyebrows shot up. That was at least a week's wages at the docks.

  "Special occasion," Dad said simply, pouring three glasses. "It's not every day your daughter returns from her Trial with a Legendary Origin."

  Rell blushed, the color strange against her new complexion. "You're making it sound like I did something amazing. I just... survived."

  "Survival is the first skill of any Sacred," Dad said, raising his glass. "To survival, and to family."

  We clinked glasses. The wine tasted expensive—rich and complex.

  "So," Dad said casually, cutting into his quillboar, "tell me more about the Trial itself. What was it like?"

  Rell's face darkened. "It was... I don't know if I can explain it right."

  "Try," Dad encouraged. "Details matter with Origins."

  Rell pushed food around her plate. "It was like being trapped in a maze of mirrors. Except every reflection showed a different version of me—lives I could have lived, choices I could have made."

  "And you had to choose one?" I asked.

  She shook her head. "Not exactly. I had to... understand them all. Accept that they were all me, in some way. And then..." She shivered. "Then I had to break the mirrors."

  Dad leaned forward slightly. "Break them?"

  "Shatter them. Absorb the fragments. It hurt—like glass cutting me from the inside out." Rell's voice had gone distant. "With each broken mirror, I could feel myself changing. Becoming... more fluid."

  "And ability to create those independent duplicates?"

  "There was this moment," Rell continued, "when I understood that identity isn't... solid. It's permeable. Transferable." She looked up, her copper-crimson eyes intense. "I can split pieces of myself off, Dad. Send them out. They can latch onto other people, see through their eyes, hear their thoughts."

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Dad's fork paused halfway to his mouth. "You can read minds?"

  "Not exactly, emotions. And only if I've implanted a piece of my consciousness in them." She bit her lip. "That sounds awful, doesn't it?"

  "Sounds useful as hell," I said. "Imagine what you could do with that."

  "That's what scares me." Rell set down her fork. "In the Trial, I saw versions of myself who used this power to control people. To manipulate them. To build networks of puppets."

  "But you wouldn't do that," I said firmly.

  "Not intentionally. But power changes people, Fish."

  Dad cleared his throat. "How many of these... puppets can you maintain simultaneously?"

  "Right now? Three, maybe four. But it feels like something I could improve with practice."

  "And they're undetectable?"

  Rell nodded. "As far as I can tell. They're fragments of consciousness, not physical things."

  Dad's eyes gleamed with an emotion I couldn't quite place. "Remarkable. Truly remarkable."

  "Enough Origin talk," Rell said suddenly. "Tell me what I missed. It felt like months in there for me."

  "It was less than a day here," I said. "Not much to report except Dad's old friend from the SDC showing up."

  Dad's expression tightened briefly. "Inspector Hoffman is hardly a friend."

  "Speaking of," I ventured, "you never did explain how you went from SDC scientist to research consultant."

  Dad took a long sip of wine. "Another time, perhaps."

  "Come on," I pressed. "You've been dodging these questions our entire lives. Don't you think we deserve to know who you really are?"

  For a moment, something cold flashed in Dad's eyes—so brief I might have imagined it.

  "Fischer," he said gently, "there are parts of my past that wouldn't help you to know. Some things are better left behind."

  "Like Mom?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.

  Rell tensed beside me. Dad's face didn't change, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

  "Your mother made her choices," he said finally. "As I made mine."

  "Which were what, exactly?"

  Dad set down his wine glass with deliberate care. "To give you both the best life I could. To protect you from the things that would harm you. To prepare you for the world as it is, not as we wish it were."

  I was about to push further when Rell suddenly clapped her hands.

  "Enough serious talk!" She grinned, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Want to see something cool?"

  Without waiting for an answer, she flicked her wrist. Silver mist poured from her fingertips, coalescing into a dozen tiny duplicates of herself. They scattered across the table, dancing between plates and glasses.

  "Watch this," she said, and the mini-Rells began to transform—one became a tiny version of me, another took Dad's form, others shifted into people from the neighborhood.

  The mini-duplicates began an elaborate performance—a parody of our daily lives. Mini-me dropped things and cursed. Mini-Dad lectured with exaggerated gestures. Mini-Rell wove invisible flowers into her hair.

  Despite the tension of moments before, I found myself laughing. Dad relaxed, chuckling as mini-him wagged a finger at mini-me.

  "But wait," Rell said, eyes twinkling, "there's more."

  She closed her eyes in concentration, and her features began to shift. It wasn't the silver mist transformation of yesterday—this was more fluid, more complete. Her hair darkened, her face reshaped, her entire body shifted until...

  Inspector Hoffman sat across from us, perfectly mimicking her stern expression.

  "Sacred Origins are not toys, Marrell," she said in her exact voice. "The SDC monitors all registered abilities for potential misuse."

  Dad burst out laughing—a genuine laugh this time, warm and rich. "That's uncanny."

  Hoffman's face melted away, replaced by mine. "I'm Fish and I think I'm so tough because I unload crates at the Harbor," Rell said in my voice, flexing nonexistent muscles.

  "I do not sound like that!" I protested, though I was laughing too.

  Rell shifted again, becoming Dad. The resemblance was perfect—from his slightly silver-streaked red hair to the way he held himself.

  "Children," she said in Dad's gentle voice, "let me tell you about the complex nature of Sacred Origins while deliberately avoiding any questions about my mysterious past."

  Dad's laughter faltered slightly, but he recovered quickly. "Is that really how I sound?"

  "Pretty much," I confirmed.

  "I've been thinking about how my Origin works on a fundamental level." She gestured, and silver mist swirled into a small translucent sphere hovering above the table.

  "The way I understand it," she continued, "Masquerade operates on three principles."

  The sphere divided into three interconnected sections.

  "First, identity theft—taking someone else's form completely." One section glowed brighter. "Second, infiltration—implanting fragments of my consciousness in others." The second section brightened. "And third, autonomous duplication—creating independent extensions of myself." The third section lit up.

  Dad was watching with undisguised fascination. "And you learned all this from your Trial experience?"

  Rell nodded. "It's like the Trial showed me the blueprint of what I can become. I just need to fill in the details through practice."

  "Legendary tier Origins are extraordinary," Dad said softly. "The potential for growth is... remarkable."

  "So she could get even more powerful?" I asked.

  "With proper evolution, yes." Dad's eyes never left Rell's floating diagram. "Origins evolve through combining traits of broken down Regalia."

  "Like the difference between a wild beast and a genetically modified one," Rell said.

  Dad smiled. "Precisely. In nature, beasts develop according to environmental pressures. But with evolution—with careful guidance—they can transcend their natural limitations."

  "Is that what you did at the SDC?" I asked.

  A shadow passed over Dad's face. "In a manner of speaking."

  The conversation drifted to lighter topics after that. Rell told stories about her Trial experiences that hadn't seemed funny at the time but made us laugh now. Dad shared old tales from before we were born—carefully edited, I noticed, to exclude anything too specific about his past.

  I watched them both, trying to reconcile the warning from mini-Rell with the warm family moment unfolding before me. Dad seemed genuinely proud, genuinely happy. Whatever secrets he kept, whatever planning he'd been doing, could it really be that bad?

  As the night wore on, Dad brought some kind of herb-infused tea. The rich aroma filled our small apartment as he brewed it on the ancient stove.

  "To think," Rell said, accepting a steaming cup, "a week ago I was terrified of what was happening to me. Now look." She gestured, and three mini-duplicates appeared, each taking a theatrical bow.

  "You've adapted remarkably well," Dad observed. "Most newly Awakened struggle for months to control their Origins."

  "I had good preparation," Rell said, smiling at him. "All those lessons about Sacred mechanics over breakfast? They helped more than you know."

  Dad's eyes softened. "I always hoped they would."

  Rell yawned widely.

  "Sorry," she said. "Still recovering, I guess."

  Dad nodded. "You should rest. Your Sacred Soul is still stabilizing. Sleep will help."

  "I suppose that's my cue." Rell stood, stretching. "Thank you both. For everything. For being here when I came back."

  She hugged me tightly, and I felt something small press into my palm—another mini-Rell, invisible to Dad from his angle. It climbed up my sleeve, disappearing under my collar.

  "Goodnight, Dad," she said, hugging him next.

  I watched them carefully. Was it my imagination, or did she stiffen slightly in his embrace?

  "Sleep well, Rell," Dad said, patting her back. "I'm so proud of you."

  After she left, Dad and I sat in comfortable silence for a while, finishing our coffee. The mini-Rell remained hidden against my neck, its presence a constant reminder of her warning.

  "She's extraordinary," Dad said finally. "Even among Legendary tier Origins, Masquerade is... exceptional."

  "You sound like you've seen a lot of Origins."

  Dad smiled faintly. "I've studied them extensively, yes."

  "At the SDC?"

  "Among other places." He stood, collecting our cups. "It's getting late. We should both get some rest."

  I nodded, not pushing further. Whatever secrets Dad was keeping, tonight wasn't the night to uncover them. Not when everything felt so fragile, so precious.

  "Goodnight, Dad."

  "Goodnight, Fischer." He paused at the kitchen doorway. "Whatever comes next, remember that everything I've done has been for our family. Everything."

  Something in his tone sent a chill down my spine.

  "What do you mean, 'whatever comes next'?"

  Dad's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Just a figure of speech. Sleep well, son."

  I watched him disappear into the kitchen, then headed to my room, the mini-Rell still hidden against my neck. Once inside with the door closed, I cupped my hand, and the tiny duplicate of my sister crawled onto my palm.

  "What did you mean yesterday?" I whispered. "About not trusting him?"

  The mini-Rell looked up at me with miniature versions of those copper-crimson eyes. Its voice was barely audible:

  "He's watching us even now. His eyes and ears are everywhere. Be careful what you say, even when you think you're alone."