I own nothing. Everything belongs to the Red Queen series by Victoria Aveyard.

Hey guys if you got another notification, I've added some new stuff and it will be the official Chapter 2 :D Sorry though for notifying you guys twice.

Note: there is some dialogue in King's Cage in this chapter, I hope you're aware of this.

Dahlia POV

The empty dream was what I wish I had. But since my mom left me, my desire has not been granted.

Every night is the same. It starts with my mother. She might be covered in blood, perhaps her own injuries or from others. Then she turns to face at me, worried, but also willing. Willing to do what has to be done. I've seen her wear it a thousand times. And every single time she does, it's never anything good.

Then I see why. Maven steps from shadows holding my mother's chains. That's when I notice the hidden collar.

I wish I could summon my lightning faster. But in my dreams, the lightning never works. Then I must watch. Watch as Maven pulls my mom's chains forcing her into the darkness. Then the endless screams ensue.

It doesn't matter if I run towards them or not. The invisible barrier will stop me from reaching her.

Then of course, I force myself awake. Into another day without sleep. Just like today.

It usually starts with a pounding headache or a sharp pain in my head. "Ouch," I say, my fingers rubbing my temple. Sometimes it subsides, but sometimes it gets words. But it's nothing my sixteen year old self can't handle. I've seen worse, done worse. All for my own survival.

Mom knew having me meant that my life would be full of danger. But she still chose to do so. It didn't matter if there was a tyrant king running after her. I was her own daughter, a child of her blood. And more importantly, I was also Cal's daughter. Yes, I was an important bargaining chip, but Maven wouldn't be so heartless as to kill me, even if I wasn't his.

But they can't protect me forever. Once I was able to walk, they started to prepare me. For what? For the big wide world filled with danger.

Mom was hard on me. She didn't want to even entertain the possibility that Maven will die before he knew of me. So she pushed me to the limit in all things. Reading, writing, physical training. Mom wouldn't' even let a single mistake slip. I always had to be precise in all things I did.

Cal would laugh at the fact. He always told Mom that I was turning more and more into a Silver lady with all the things I was doing to which she would vehemently deny. "My daughter is Red and proud," she'd say, glaring at him. "She will never become like the ladies in the Silver court."

That was sixteen years ago. If I do the math in my head, Mom was quite young when she had me ... seventeen exactly. It's scary knowing she was around my age when she was thrust into the role of a mother. I wonder what she first thought when she first saw me.

But enough of my childhood stories. It's time to read one of fiction.

My hands reach for my book. Any book actually. The headache has not subsided one bit.

My fingers randomly grasp a medium sized volume. It's leather bound, cracking at the edges. The name comes into focus: The Prophecy. A fairytale, or rather a collection of them. I'm not in the mood for fantasy or for silly tales, but as I move to put it back, the cracking leather stops me. It was my favourite when I was a child.

I open the book at a random page. The chapter reads, "Lady Margaret". I smile quietly to myself. This was my favourite story from The Prophecy. The story is about a young girl, maybe thirteen who gives birth to a son, and later with her unrivalled political intellect, and power, puts her son on the throne. I've always admired Margaret's character. A ruthless pragmatist, formidable, and intelligent.

But in the middle of the story, Margaret is locked up on orders of the tyrant king, unable to communicate with her son. And with his parents' lives on the line, the only thing he can do to save them is if he wins. And he does. Margaret's son overthrows the tyrant king and ushers the country into a new era of peace and prosperity.

But the person who finally rescues her and forms the new dynasty is her child. Someone like me. As much as I'm my mother's daughter, I'm also Cal's daughter. It's what everyone told me.

If that's true, my connection to the throne is also by blood. I have a stronger claim to it than even Maven will ever have.

Call me ridiculous for getting such notions from a story into my head. But this mission, if you can even call it that, isn't something I want to do mindlessly. I've thought about it for quite a while and I'm set on getting it done.

Margaret, the queen mother. And her son, on the throne, the king. But who will do it?

I could do it.

It's a stupid idea. It'll get rejected before I even open my mouth. But it doesn't mean that I can't dream about it or wake up thinking about it.

Speaking of waking up, I should anyway. At this hour breakfast should be served and I should not miss it. I could of course, snag a few snacks from the kitchen afterward, but it would seem a little too selfish of me to do so.

The hallways of our base are dark and gloomy, with a few light flickering in and out. I feel it wane slightly, tuning in to every spark around me. My ability, like my mother's, allows me to control and create electricity. A blessing in some ways, but it can some places a little bit uncomfortable.

By the time I get to the dining hall, it's packed. Everyone's chattering away without a care in the world, laughing over beer and breakfast. Not like they care about my mother, trapped in Whitefire. It angers me to know that they are disinterested, detached from it, like it doesn't affect them.

But I suppose, I must let them have their fun. They too are young soldiers who have given their lives up to fight for the rebellion.

I grab a plate from the side of the table and place it on the counter top. The dish is plastic, chipped on the sides. But it'll have to do for now. I can suffer this for a little bit longer for the Guard.

The lady at the counter nods her head and takes the plate from the counter top. She plops today's ration of food on it. Sausages, eggs, and buttered toast. Her hand motions to the tongs, preparing to add another piece of bread.

"Leave the bread," I say suddenly. "Please leave the bread ma'am."

The breakfast is not my favourite. But I only need to eat enough to keep myself full. And there's no need for her to add more food if I'm not going to finish it all anyways.

The lady merely rolls her eyes at me before putting the tongs back. Her lips move, cursing silently as she returns my plate. I bet she thinks I'm a stingy, picky eater.

"If she's not going to take the toast then I will."

I turn around to see my best friend Warren standing behind me. He sends me a smile before pushing his own plate filled with crumbs onto the table top. "You know I could use a second helping."

The cook stares at him, boredly. "No."

"Aw c'mon!" he exclaims, throwing hands. "I mean, if she doesn't want to eat it, you could give it to me."

"No," the cook repeats, clearly fed up with his antics.

"Pwetty pwease?"

"No."

My friend stares back at the cook, imitating her own bored expression. If she finds it funny, she doesn't show it. Instead, she just stares straight back at him without even blinking.

"Warren," I say, suppressing my own laughter at the scene. "Let's go back."

"Fine," he replies grumpily. "Why couldn't you just ... why?"

"You didn't ask me and I just got here Mr. Wares," I answer, using the little nickname. "Next time you'll get seconds if you ask me quickly enough."

"Promise?"

"Promise," I reply, ruffling his wavy brown hair. "And don't do that next time. Maybe she'll give you a second serving."

Warren opens his mouth to say something, but I move too quickly for me to listen. My focus is already on something else.

My family sits on the far corner, alone. My Dad included sits there, with a bottle of what looks like beer next to him. Ever since Mom got captured, he hasn't been holding up well and spends his days drowning in alcohol when he can.

Clara sits across from him staring blankly at the wall in front of her. Both the loss of her father and her aunt have drained her of her energy. I know the feeling. She probably feels just as guilty as much as I do.

Then comes Aunt Farley who enjoys a few beer bottles with my father. They drink in unison, muttering to each other quietly. My grandparents, my aunt Gisa, and the rest of my uncles sit together and watch, both huddled and quiet. They've just lost a son, a brother. And now, they might another.

The plate in my hand trembles. I don't think ... no. I don't feel like I'm going to sit there.

"Are you okay?" I turn my head to see Warren magically appear beside me. "Is something wrong?"

I just sigh and stare at my plate of food. "You don't have to follow me everywhere Warren."

"I'm useless compared to everyone," he states. "I'm Red. I'm not ... I'm not anyone Dahlia. I'm not you. You can't expect me to be all knowing and all that much helpful."

I remember it clearly. We found Warren on our quest to find newbloods. The day Mom brought him back to the base, he was trembling and refused to speak to anyone. Then he met me. He told me about how Maven set his village alight when his parents - who were Scarlet Guard rebels - refused to tell them where Mom went. They sent a final call to the base warning them of Maven's arrival before they died.

Warren saw it all. He saw as Maven lit the torch on fire. He watched was the flames licked the tops of roofs. And he was forced to watch as his village burned along with his parents in a raging, unstoppable fire.

I think that's why he holds a little grudge towards himself. Being Red to him meant being useless, people who are destined to watch on the sidelines. Why carry a bucket of water if you can just ask a nymph to carry the river for you?

"And I refuse to let you say that about yourself," I say. "And besides, I think ... I think I'll take some time alone. I'm not feeling the greatest."

It's true. Seeing my family like that has certainly sent a needle of guilt through my heart. Call me a coward, but I don't want to face that guilt right now. I'd rather bury it and stick my head into the sand.

"That's fine," he replies, gripping his sleeves. "I guess ... we could talk later?"

A moment of silence passes. "No," I answer. "I have places to be."

"Where else could you possibly be?"

"My room. Where I'll finish this quietly." We both glance down at the plate in my hand. "Until then, I don't want to be bothered."

"Ah - uh - ok," he says quietly. "Let me know when you're better?"

I don't respond. Instead, I just walk away, blankly.

My room remains as cluttered as it was when I left it. It isn't entirely bad though. Maybe if I shelve a few books and papers, I can make it look almost neat again.

Just like my life. Things are changing too quickly. It's just ... it's just too difficult to wrap my mind around everything. Even as I chow down on my food, it just feels so heavy, like my mind is swimming in heavy water. From when did it all start? How did it end up like this?

My childhood wasn't exactly as idyllic as everyone else's. My parents did try to give me as much of a peaceful upbringing in their makeshift home. But we could never settle in one place. We were constantly moving. And in our wake was a trail of burning flames from a blue eyed monster.

We tried to have pleasant memories. We really did. But Mare wasn't mature enough to raise me. Neither was Cal. Still, they had the courage to try.

Sometimes I wonder. What if I didn't have to fight? What if I had a normal childhood? What if ... what if Maven had never betrayed my mother?

Then I'd be his. A thought I would not like to entertain.

But if some of them came true, then it would be different. Maybe I could have had a more peaceful childhood. Maybe I would have met new people. Maybe I could have sprouted change without so much blood. And maybe ... maybe Shade would be alive.

Tears spring in my eyes. I could have saved so many people. I just made the wrong choices.

I was duelling Ptolemus that day in Corros. He was far stronger than I was, but for a while I was able to hold my own against him. For a while, we fought. But my concentration began to slip and I finally tripped over some rubble. The mask I so often wore also fell away, revealing my face for the world to know.

I thought he was going to kill me. But the blow I was waiting for never came. Instead, Shade took it for me.

He was trying to save us and passed through the blade's reach.

Then, I screamed.

Everything after that became a blur. I just remember lightning. Lots of it. Then the feeling of being compressed and my cousin Clara over me, her face also streaked with tears.

I blame myself a ton. If only I wasn't so weak, I would have been able to save my own uncle.

None of this would have happened though if only Maven hadn't existed. If there's anyone to blame for anything, it's him.

But, as one of my favourite books say, "it does not do good to dwell on dreams and forget to live". There's no point of thinking "what if" if it will never happen. The past and whatever possibilities they could have held don't matter. What matters now is the present and what could happen.

The seconds are ticking Dahlia. They're ticking away, faster than ever before.

The plate on my lap is empty, save for the few crumbs and tear stains. Again, another trip back to the cafeteria. Only this time, the room is much quieter, with less people. It doesn't look any less grimy than it was before.

My family still sits in that far, isolated corner, except this time, their plates are empty too and Cal seems to have added a few more bottles. He's wallowing in his grief too much. In fact, everyone is. You can tell that the aura is much dimmer than the light above which flickers ever so slightly.

I set the plate down on the counter, only to receive a dirty look from the lunch lady. It doesn't matter. What's more important is my family. I was too much of a coward to sit with them today at breakfast. It would only be better if I sat with them after when I'm feeling braver.

I approach them quietly. "Hey ... "

My cousin nods at my voice, yet her eyes still remain as blank as they once were. Cal continues to drink. The rest of my extended family merely mumbles their greetings. None of them can bear to look at me.

Only Aunt Farley has the heart to respond. "Hey Flower," she says in her slurred voice. "Whatcha doin'?"

"Oh please, both of you, stop drinking for once," I respond, attempting to snatch the bottle away from her. Farley pulls back, dangling it just out of reach. "Give me the bottle."

"I think I'm good." She blocks another attempt from me, switching the bottle from her right hand to her left. "I actually think I'll have another one."

Her hand reaches below to reveal another bottle for herself. It's much bigger and it smells much stronger than the previous ones. "Bottoms up," Aunt Farley says before taking another large swing.

"No!"

Beside me, my grandfather sighs. "Just leave them be, Daly."

"Leave them be?" I send him a glare. "I can't leave them be if I'm going to watch them destroy themselves like this! Do you know how bad that much alcohol is for the body?"

My grandparents just hang their heads. "You're too much like your mother. You care too much."

"Like that's a bad thing?" I turn to Farley again. "Give me the bottle."

Aunt Farley merely teases me, dangling it just out of reach again. "Come and get it, Flower."

"Oh yeah?" I say, raising an eyebrow. "You really want to try me?"

"Why not?"

A zap of lightning. A yelp of pain. The bottle in her hand falls and shatters onto the floor below us. Drops of liquid spill onto the ground, the red liquid pooling beneath us like blood.

"Seriously?" Aunt Farley yells, standing.

"I'm not going to let you ruin your health," I say. "And that goes for the rest of you," I add, gesturing to everyone on the table. "Stop lounging around."

"What's the point?" My aunt asks angrily.

"Maybe so you can live longer and do something with your life," I snap. "No more. Besides, Shade wouldn't have wanted you guys to waste your life like this."

The table falls silent. My uncle's memory is still a touchy subject among many, a festering wound that refuses to heal. Dad just hangs his head in what looks like shame, my grandparents stifle their cries, and Clara who was previously blank eyed finally looks up, her gaze awake and conscious.

But Aunt Farley …

Her grip over the bottle grows ever tighter. It's a surprise it hasn't broken yet.

"Don't say his name," Farley says quietly, her voice trembling out of rage. "You don't deserve to. Not after what you and your mother did."

Not after what you and your mother did.

Even if her words sting, she's right. If only I was able to save myself. If only I was strong enough to kill Ptolemus before he had the chance to kill my uncle. Then, maybe Uncle Shade would have been alive—

I turn my head to the doorway, only to notice the kid at the doorway watching us with fearful eyes. I don't know how long she's been here for, but she has definitely intruded on a private family matter.

"What," I say, glaring at the child.

She hides behind the doorway, content to avoid my wrathful gaze. "Lightning alert." I hear her say timidly. "Lightning alert."

Lightning alert. Mom.

"Thank you."

The girl scurries off like a little mouse, afraid of being caught. Tap, tap tap. Down the hallway and out of sight.

"Now," I begin, turning back to them, "you all better get ready. This is important and I want you to be clear-headed walking into that room."

"Got it little Missy," Aunt Farley snaps. "Go run along now, we'll be down in a minute since you've so unceremoniously interrupted my drinking session."

I throw her a dirty look. "Fine. See you all down there ... hopefully."

The last time I saw Mom, she was chained, blood dripping onto her white gown. Back, then she was glaring at every camera she could. That was it.

Now, I have the slimmest chance of seeing her again. But we all know who we'll definitely see. Black hair, high cheekbones and unmistakable blue eyes. Maven. How many crimes will he commit until we finally bring him down? How many of us will suffer until then?

I can't wait until I get my hands on him. If I ever do.

Until then, I better not set the electrical circuits on fire this time.

The screen room below is full of people. Some of them are regulars, but there are a few familiar faces I can pick out through the crowd. My Dad, my cousin, Aunt Farley. Kilorn. Aunt Gisa sticks right beside me, the both of us navigating through the thick crowd.

Everyone's eyes are on the screens in front of us, displaying the same image of the Burning Crown. It's the emblem of Norta, its flames coloured with red and black, etched with silver on the edges. The symbol usually means official broadcasts ... which means I'm about to see that bleeding king. Key word: might.

"We might see her," Gisa breathes, clutching my shoulder. Her voice is tinged with both longing and fear, her eyes sparkling with the slimmest hope. "Maybe ... even if it's just for a second."

Dad saunters over to my right without a bottle. It gladdens me to see him like that, but his eyes are empty, forlorn as they wait for the broadcast to begin. Farley too has taken her seat with a bowl of potato wedges. Both look as dead and sober as they'll ever get.

"So," says Dad, staring up at the screen, "when are we going to start?"

"As soon as you're sober," I reply, giving him an icy glare. "You've been out literally all day and finally you're doing something productive."

He smiles weakly. "Because I want to be."

"Good," I bite. Nothing more.

A few footsteps behind me, signal more people joining. "I'm here," Kilorn says, huffing. "Warren's here with me too."

Both Dad and Kilorn exchange weak smiles, similar to Warren and I. His messy brown hair and eyes spark hopefully as he opens his mouth to speak, but I turn away. I don't have the energy to even talk about anything else besides this broadcast. I think he knows. As quickly as his mouth opened, it closes, and he too turns away.

Good. I have enough people trying to make me feel guilty.

"Where's the Colonel," I ask Kilorn. "I thought he practically slept in here."

"Somewhere, I'm not sure," he replies. "The one time we need him, he's absent."

I roll my eyes. "Don't we all."

"Yes," Kilorn breathes, suppressing a laugh. "Yes we do Dahlia."

If I was anyone else, I would've suspected that this was a display of his Colonel's power. I might be a red with unusual powers, but in this place, it's the Colonel who gets to hold all the cards. Information is everything and only he has enough to keep us all under control.

Finally, he enters, flanked by my uncles. My grandparents aren't here, perhaps content to sit out this one broadcast. I'm not sure their weakened hearts could handle what we're about to see on screen.

What I'm about to see.

Another Silver enters the room. Julian Jacos, a Silver, a singer. A teacher. He's been with me, teaching me all I needed to know since I was a young girl. The grey streaks in his hair say enough about his age. He's older, far older than all of us. Today he stares at the screens, his posture stiff, practiced, apprehensive even. Just like Dad. Just like mine. Just like a true Silver.

Murmurs follow him wherever he goes. Understandable. His powers are similar to the late Queen Elara. I've had the pleasure of never having to meet her the same way Mom did, but if there's one thing about whispers that I should know, it's to never turn your back to them. Julian could probably sing us all off a cliff and walk away without a single scratch. Even if I know him well, I might never trust him completely.

"Let's see it," the Colonel barks, silencing the crowd. One click of a button and the screens begin to jitter into motion.

No one speaks. No one dares breathe, even as the sight of King Maven's face cuts through us all.

He beckons from that grey, hulking throne, eyes wide and inviting. If I didn't know better, I would think him to be kind and courteous to all. But I do know. Mom told me many stories about him, always calling him "that man" or "the fake king" or "the snake". She always refused to use his name unless it was absolutely necessary.

Mom might have refused to use his name, but Dad didn't. He always referred to him as a The way he killed my grandfather before setting the blame on Dad. The way he stole the throne like he did Mom's heart for a period of time.

Sometimes she didn't need to tell me. I saw him kill newbloods of all kind. Hanging their bodies for crows and vultures to feed on. I saw it all.

I can only hope the rest of Norta will see it.

Chances are, they won't. Maven has played his part well as a king. The great king, they call him, the boy who was called to power during a time of civil unrest. The one who's "kept" us safe, balancing this kingdom on his nose. All while committing horrendous acts from the shadows. From the shadows. So far, his public reputation is virtually spotless. Not to add his incredible skill of making people feel without feeling anything himself. He's an empty boy.

Mom told me many stories about who he was and how much of a snake he is. So I know not to believe his façade. But to the rest of Norta ... they won't be able to see past the mask. All they'll see is the king, the boy who was never meant to be king, who was called to duty at a young age during a time of civil unrest. An admirable feat and an even better legend to talk of.

Still, I have to admit, Maven is handsome. Time has certainly been kind to him. Age certainly has not diminished his good looks at all. It might have made him more attractive. He's not broad and muscly like Dad, but he has a fine figure himself. His face, is carefully sculpted with high cheekbones and glossy black hair. And his eyes ... pale blue, like mine, but his are filled with wisdom and cunning, far beyond my years. If I was anyone else, I might've fallen for it.

But I'm not so weak. I know who he is. And I won't forget.

Maven leans forward and extends a hand. "Come forward Mare."

Mare. Mom.

My knees go weak. This will be the first time since I see her, since the last broadcast.

The cameras turn, their lenses focusing in on the scene. Mom approaches the throne, stopping before him. I'd expect her to be wearing rags fitted for a prisoner, but instead, she wears an expensive bloodred gown. It's high collared and long sleeved, covered in gemstones and embroidered silk, probably to hide all the wounds she's suffered.

Not a dress. It's a costume. And one Maven will use to his advantage.

But it can't cover her hollow cheeks. The shadows in her dark eyes. The purse of her lips. The twitching fingers. A tightening jaw. I know Mom enough to read her like an open book. I can only pray that the rest of Norta can see it too. These signals aren't impossible to pick up on.

I'm not the only one to suck in a breath of fear when she reaches the king. He takes her hand in his, and she hesitates to close her fingers. Only for a fraction of a second, a detail I pick up on. This isn't her choice, I know that much.

Bastard, I think to myself, gritting my teeth.

I'm not alone. Dad thinks so too. A current of heat ripples through the air, mirroring his anger. A few Reds, including Kilorn, step away from him, some out of fear, but mostly just in case things go south.

Maven doesn't have to gesture. Mare knows him and his schemes well enough to understand what he wants from her. Just as I know.

The camera image pulls back as she moves to the right of his throne. The image before me is a display of ultimate power. United strength. Evangeline Samos on his left, His Majesty's betrothed, and the future queen while the lightning girl takes the king's right. Silver and Red side by side.

Other nobles, the greatest of the High Houses stand on dais too. Names, faces, some I recognize, some I don't. But the colours ... I know exactly who belongs in which House just by the colours. Generals, diplomats, warriors, advisors, officials of all kind. The list goes on, but each of them is hell-bent on our complete annihilation.

Maven takes his throne again, slowly, his eyes locked deep into the camera. Onto us. Every action is measured, practice.

"Before I say anything else, before I begin this speech"—he gestures, confident and almost charming—"I want to thank the fighting men and women, Silver and Red, who serve to protect our borders, who are currently defending us from enemies outside this nation, and the enemies within. To the soldiers of Corvium, the loyal warriors resisting the constant and deplorable terrorist attacks of the Scarlet Guard, I salute you, and I am with you."

"Liar," someone snarls in the room, but they're quickly hushed.

On-screen, Mom looks like she shares the sentiment. She does her best not to twitch or let her face betray her emotions. It almost works. Mom might be a great actress, but even she cannot rival Maven. Or even me for that matter. A flush creeps up her neck, partially hidden by her high collar. Not high enough.

Another detail. Another thing to analyze. Another thing I hope the rest of Norta can see.

"In recent days, after much deliberation with my council and the courts of Norta, Mare Barrow of the Stilts was sentenced for her crimes against this kingdom. She stood accused of murder and terrorism, and we believed her to be the worst of the rats gnawing at our roots." Maven glances up at her, face still and focused. Well practiced. "Her punishment was to face a lifetime in prison, after first being interrogated by my own cousins of House Merandus."

House Merandus. At the king's bidding, a man in dark blue steps forward, sidling up next to my mother. I notice her body stiffen, snapping every centimeter still to keep from flinching.

"I am Samson of House Merandus, and I performed the interrogation of Mare Barrow."

Samson. The Queen's relative. House Merandus.

Whispers. I've never been tortured or interrogated by one before, but I've heard enough stories about them. The way they can read your thoughts. The way they invade your mind. They'll pry through your mind, breaking and twisting every memory until there's nothing left. At that point, the person is just a shell of what they once were. They might even be begging for death.

"As a whisper, my ability allows me to bypass the usual lies and twists of speech that most prisoners rely on," continued Samson. "So when Mare Barrow told us the truth of the Scarlet Guard and its horrors, I confess I did not believe her. I testify here, on record, that I was wrong to doubt her. What I saw in her memories was painful and chilling."

Painful and chilling. I hope he didn't have to make Mom suffer as long as she did.

Another round of whispers sweeps through the room. The tension is palpable, but most of us are confused. Confused at Samson's words. This is certainly something Maven will twist to his advantage, but what is it?

Mom lifts her chin, looking like she might vomit on the king's boots. I bet she wants to. I would, etiquette be damned. But she doesn't have a choice and neither would I.

"I went to the Scarlet Guard willingly," she says. "They told me my brother had been executed while serving in the legions, for a crime he did not commit." Her voice cracks at the mention of Shade. My breath quickens as I struggle to remain upright. "They asked if I wanted vengeance for his death. I did. So I swore my allegiance to their cause, and I was placed as a servant inside the royal residence at the Hall of the Sun.

"I came to the palace as a Red spy, but even I did not know I was something else entirely. During the right of Queenstrial, I discovered I somehow possessed electrical ability. After consultation, the late King Tiberias and Queen Elara decided to take me in, to quietly study what I was and, hopefully, teach me what my ability could become. They disguised me as a Silver to protect me. They rightfully knew that a Red with an ability would be considered a freak at best, an abomination at worst, and they hid my identity to keep me safe from the prejudices of both Red and Silver. My blood status was known to a few, Maven included, as well as Ca—Prince Tiberias."

My head turns over to Dad. He's frozen in place, staring at the floor while listening to Mom speak.

"But the Scarlet Guard discovered what I was," Mom continues. "They threatened to expose me publicly, both to ruin the credibility of the king and to put me in danger. I was forced to serve them as a spy, to follow their orders, and to facilitate their infiltration of the king's court."

The next outcry from the room is louder, and not easily put down. I can see why.

"This is some impressive bullshit," Kilorn growls. The rest of the room nods in agreement.

"My ultimate mission was to gain Silver allies for the Scarlet Guard. I was instructed to target Prince Tiberias, a cunning warrior and the heir to the throne of Norta. He was ..." She hesitates, her eyes boring into ours. They shift back and forth, searching. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dad lower his head. "He was easily convinced. Once I figured out how to convince him, I also aided the Scarlet Guard in their plans for the Sun Shooting, which left eleven dead, and the bombing of the Bridge of Archeon.

"When Prince Tiberias killed his father, King Maven acted swiftly, making the only choice he thought he could," her voice warbles. Next to her, Maven does his best to look sad at the mention of his murdered father. "He was grieving, and we were sentenced to execution in the arena. We escaped with our lives only because of the Scarlet Guard. They took us both to an island stronghold off the Nortan coast.

"I was held prisoner there, as were Prince Tiberias and, I discovered, the brother I thought I'd lost. Like me, he had an ability, and like me, he was feared by the Scarlet Guard. They intended to kill us, the ones they call newbloods. When I discovered that others like me existed, and the Scarlet Guard was hunting them down to exterminate them, I managed to escape with my brother and a few others. Prince Tiberias came with us. I know now that he intended to build himself an army to challenge his brother. After a few months, the Scarlet Guard caught up with us all, and they killed the few abilitied Reds we were able to find. My brother was murdered in the conflict, but I escaped alone."

For once, the heat in the room isn't coming from Cal. Everyone boils with rage. This isn't Mom. This isn't the mother I grew up with. These aren't her words.

I'd rather die than have Maven force feed me lies. But what choice does Mom have? Does she even have a choice? Whatever the alternative was, it was probably worse.

"With nowhere else to go, I turned myself in to King Maven and whatever justice he saw to give me." Her resolve breaks piece by piece, until tears course down her cheeks. I'm ashamed to say they help her little speech more than anything else. "I stand here now a willing prisoner. I am sorry for what I've done, but I am ready to do whatever I can to stop the Scarlet Guard and their terrifying hope for the future. They stand for no one but themselves and the people they can control. They kill everyone else, everyone who stands in their way. Everyone who is different."

The last words stick, refusing to come out. On the throne, Maven sits still, waiting for her to finish. Mom raises her chin and glares forward. Her eyes are filled with rage. "We, the newbloods, are not fit for their dawn."

Shouts and protests erupt through the room, hurling obscenities at Maven, at the Merandus whisper, even at Mom.

"—vile beast of a king—"

"—would rather kill myself than say—"

"—barely a puppet—"

"—traitor, plain and simple—"

"—not her first time singing their song—"

Kilorn is the first to break, both hands curling into fists. "You think she wanted to do this?" he says, his voice loud enough to carry, but not harsh. His face reddens with frustration, and Cal puts a hand on his shoulder, standing with him. It silences more than a few, particularly the younger officers. They look embarrassed, apologetic, even, shamed by the reprimand of an eighteen- year-old boy.

"Quiet, all of you!" the Colonel rumbles. The room quiets in an instant. He turns once to glare with his mismatched eyes. "The brat is still speaking."

"Colonel ... ," Cal growls. His tone is a threat plain as day.

In reply, the Colonel points on-screen. At Maven, not at mom.

"... offer refuge to any fleeing the terror of the Scarlet Guard. And to the newbloods among you, hiding from what seems to be little more than genocide, my own doors are open. I have instructed the royal palaces of Archeon, Harbor Bay, Delphie, and Summerton, as well as the military forts of Norta, to protect your kind from slaughter. You will have food, shelter, and, if you wish it, training for your abilities. You are my subjects to protect, and I will do it with every resource I have to give. Mare Barrow is not the first of you to join us, and she will not be the last."

He has the smug audacity to lay a hand on her arm. If I could, I would have destroyed that screen by now.

Maven's plan ... it's brilliant. He's might be ruthless and remorseless, but he is smart. One speech of his was enough to cause enough problems for the Guard. As if we didn't have enough to deal with already. All the newbloods out there ... now there's even less. The Guard or the King. Both see us as weapons. Both will get us killed.

I glance down at the sparks on my hands. But only one will keep us in chains.

"To the Scarlet Guard, I say only this," Maven adds, standing up from his throne. "Your dawn is little more than darkness, and it will never take this country. We fight to the last. Strength and power."

On the dais, and across the rest of the throne room, the chant echoes from every mouth. Including Mom's. "Strength and power."

The image holds for a second, burning the sight into every brain. Red and Silver, the lightning girl and King Maven, united against the great evil they've made us out to be.

Mom, I think to myself, what have you done?

What was she thinking when she made that bargain? Didn't she realize he would use her if he didn't kill her?

She didn't think he would do it. Dad told me that before. Maven is plagued, obsessed with her and that sickness is what will poison and save her at the same time.

And it might be the same thing that saves me if I decide to enter Whitefire.

The screen cuts to black, signalling the end of the broadcast. A dozen voices begin to sound at once, some talking about what they just saw, other's more concerned about venting their rage to someone. Next to me, Dad's palm slams against the desk in front of him, and he turns, muttering to himself.

"I've seen enough," I say to no one, struggling to breathe.

The next minutes are a blur. All I know I'm out there as soon as I can.

"You can't tell me not to petition this."

The Colonel merely repeats his answer to me again. "No."

"Colonel," I say angrily, slamming the palms of my hands on his desk, "you saw what Maven is doing to her. We have to do something!"

"And we are," he replies, emphasizing the word. "You think running into Maven's court like an idiot is going to save her?

"I'm not petitioning for that!"

"Yes you are," the Colonel said flatly. "What you're proposing is suicide."

It's better than what you are doing. "I'm not going to stop."

"And I won't stop sending it back," he growls, giving me "the look". "I think you've forgotten, but this is a rebel organization, in charge of a revolution, not a 'let Dahlia do what she wants' place. We have customs, rules!"

Rules. That's why everything in the military is so slow. They have to pass up and down the chain of command. It's a waste of time. Time that could be used to formulate a good plan in getting our subject of interest out from where she is.

"And I get that!" I snap, clenching my fingers tightly as if mimicking my rage. "But this isn't something stupid I'm asking. I'm at least petitioning for a capable person to try and get Mom out of there."

"Nanny was capable-"

"I'm not-"

"-and she still lost her life trying to get your mom out of there!"

It takes a moment for my frustration to cool. "I. Am. Not. Nanny."

It was a foolish mistake from Dad. He wanted to get Mare back in a similar fashion; infiltrate court and free her. Give Mom a sliver of hope and a chance to escape. It was a brilliant plan- but only if it went right.

But the Colonel didn't approve. Nanny went on her own accord. Her death was televised, but edited to be used as propaganda against the Scarlet Guard. It painted us as murderers, people who were willing to send forth newbloods to die in front of the king. The way mom tightened in the recording made my stomach twist. She had to suffer watching Nanny die right in front of her.

I snatch a report in front of him, reading its contents. "A report for better rations ... my mother is currently locked up in Whitefire, wasting away while you're concerned with this? No wonder you're hiding out between the cracks of Norta, you don't have a plan at all moving forward!"

"And?" he questions angrily, snatching the report out of my hand. "And what? Do you have a plan?"

I flush a bright red, out of embarrassment. Even if I want to get Mom out of there safely, I don't have a solid plan. There were too many variables I'm missing to even create a good proposition. And even then, it would be a high risk, high reward operation that could win or lose us this revolution.

"Your silence says enough."

"If you'd allow me to go, I'd have a plan," I tell him angrily. "It always works that way."

"You'd have approval if you had a plan in the first place," the Colonel replies, equally angry. "But you don't even have an idea to begin with. Your mind is just clouded by and intent on getting revenge."

"It is not."

He sighs. "You're just like Cal. You will make stupid decisions just to save the people you love."

"Who doesn't?" A smirk rises to my lips, filled with derision. "You know what I mean Colonel. Don't tell you've never done it before."

"At least I'm much smarter than just blindly running into danger," he answers. "You could be seen-"

"You're afraid that I'll be revealed," I huff, completing his sentence. "Your scared that I can't handle myself and that you're precious bargaining piece will be taken-"

"It was the one thing I promised Shade!"

My uncle's name hangs in the air, invisible but present. His golden eyes, his smile, his warm hugs. I won't ever see him again nor will I ever experience the warmth he gave me. When he died, no one could look at Clara. Even she couldn't see herself. She began to cover the reflective surfaces with dull fabric or replace them entirely with plastic. It was almost similar to how Cal could not look at me when Mom got captured. I wonder if he sees too much of her in me or if it's the fear that I'll be discovered too.

That day, I lost an uncle. Aunt Farley lost her husband. Clara lost her father. And the Colonel lost ... his son-in-law.

He clenches his fist and stares at me with a hard look. "The answer is no. It will always be no Dahlia."

"I'm not taking no for an answer."

"Swallow it down Lightning Girl," the Colonel says, his eyes glassy. "One day you'll come to understand."

"And I'll rue that day if it ever does come," I reply. "Thank you for your time Colonel, though I hope you will regret your own decision one day too."

No one says a word.

"I'm leaving," I say. "Good luck trying to find another plan."

"Good," replies the Colonel, facing his screen again. "And close the door behind you. I've had enough unwanted people barging in here for a lifetime."

I don't close it. I slam it shut. I don't care if the wood splinters or not. It is a tiny thing compared to current events.

My footsteps echo loudly in the hall. If I was any stronger, I might've accidentally broken the floor in. Part of me wishes that would happen. To see the inner workings of the base aside from just its electrical currents might calm me down a little.

The door to my bedroom also slams shut with finality. The lock slips in. No one is to bother me for the rest of the day.

Night falls.

I feel the lights go out one by one. First the random rooms all around. Then Gisa's. Warren's. Clara's. Farley's. Cal's. And eventually the Colonel's. I'm the last one awake tonight.

It frustrates me. How can everyone sit around as Maven lures more and more newbloods into Whitefire with his manipulations? While he forces them into a life of servitude, no different from a common Red?

That's exactly it.

I won't infiltrate the court the way Nanny did it; I'll enter Whitefire as a newblood running to Maven for protection. I'll force myself into that life of servitude voluntarily.

It's the best way. If I can stay there for long enough, I myself can gather enough information to the base once I get Mom out of there. My time won't be useless at all. Plus, the risk of getting caught by acting like a scared newblood is minimal. I don't think Maven would deny having a talented electricon by his side, especially one that looks like the Lightning Girl.

There are not many similarities between me and my mother. But there are a few. Most notably the river brown hair we share. It's the only thing tying me to her. The rest of my face is built off of Cal. The porcelain skin, the high cheekbones. Sometimes I think I look more Silver than I do Red.

But Maven will not notice. If he does, he might even enjoy it.

The big question is not if I can get in. It's if I can get out. And more importantly, if I can get out successfully.

That depends on a lot of factors. But I can. I will. I have the tools I can to survive and thrive ... or at least I think I have them. Why would Mom put so much effort on my education if she wasn't going to teach me the tools to survive in the real world?

I don't have the approval from the Colonel. Farley will absolutely not allow it. Cal even more so. They've all lost so much, but Cal will never let his own flesh and bone step into Whitefire. Not when the court is as dangerous as a pit of hungry snakes.

But that doesn't make me scared. It only strengthens my resolve.

I'm going to get in there whether they like it or not. I'm the only one who can make this work. Maven won't kill me; I'm Mare's child. I'm guaranteed survival at court, and I will rise to a place of prominence there.

So I'll run. I'll run far away from the base to Whitefire. Alone.

I'm willing to do it. It's a daring move but like Margaret, I'm willing to bet on the possibility that it will work.

The knapsack with all my belongings is already packed. I throw the travelling cloak onto my shoulders. Then, I take one last look at my room. I won't be coming back here for a long time.

But I'll come back, I promise. For now, I'll need to focus on the task ahead.

Hello guys!

I'm glad I finally remastered this chapter! It took quite some work actually, and during the process, I was thinking of dropping this completely and turning this story into nothing more than just a past memory. But this chapter is here so that is obviously NOT what happened.

There were a few errors I read when I was reading the original. It left a lot of questions unanswered like "What was Cal doing or feeling after Mare's capture" and "What about Clara? How do you think she'll react to Shade's death?" etc. I wanted to answer these questions somehow and that meant redoing this entire chapter.

The original motive for Dahlia going after Mare was super shallow. She was just angry and had a bunch of nightmares and thought it was a great idea to go after her Mom in Whitefire. Seeing Mare asking for newbloods to join Maven was one of them. Reading "The Prophecy" (a book of history actually, but its "predictions" written by seers who've seen the past, present, future: I'll expand on this future) also planted the idea of going after her mother in her mind. The Colonel's rejection gave her the nerve to go after Mare in Whitefire.

I also wanted to add, in the original first chapter, the Colonel actually approves of this mission. I sincerely think, that he wouldn't let a child go to a dangerous place on her own when people older and wiser than her have died. So I changed things up a little bit and made Dahlia run away rather than actually get approval of her mission because that also just seems to make more sense to me. She's daring, and brave, and is willing to put her life on the line for her family.

As you can see, Clara is also not the same person she was in the original first chapter. She's still holding on to the memory of Shade and doesn't really talk to much, unlike before where she originally confronted Dahlia about going to Whitefire. Dahlia also doesn't share her plans with Clara (as her character would), and Clara doesn't talk to Dahlia out of grief.

Farley's drinking and so is Cal, so the two adults of the two girls are in a way, incapacitated. Both of them are doing it for the same reason regarding different people. But I can imagine this happening for a little while.

This are only the flaws I found within the first chapter. I might come back from time to time and add things and or rewrite sentences, but overall, I think I'm pleased with how it turned out! It was hard! I didn't have a lot of inspiration to write anyways, but here it is! I finally managed to get something cohesive in for you guys.

I hope you guys enjoyed it though! Let me know in the reviews and see you in the next one :D