"In the days when our lines were not yet united under one Order, it was the greatest cause of wars. Architects hunted one another like beasts of prey, just to acquire more shards of power and multiply their influence. It was a cruel, bloody period."

  She turned back to Ema, a warning spark burning in her eyes. "But paradoxically, this process also became the greatest deterrent against us fighting each other. It is so enormously terrifying that it became our own method of mutual deterrence. The fear of what extraction entails ultimately forced us into peace. No one wanted to risk that absolute end."

  "What is so terrifying about it?" Ema whispered, even though she subconsciously felt the answer in the chill under her skin.

  "Before death, in that last fraction of a second, an Architect can freely pass their power to someone else. Like a gift, like a final legacy of their blood. But the price is absolute, Ema. In any case—whether it is this voluntary transfer or that raw, violent extraction—the donor's existence definitively ends. There is no 'after.' No heaven, no afterlife, not even an imprint in the fabric of reality. That person is simply erased. Forever."

  Ema froze. "Forever..." Ema repeated motionless.

  "Yes," Hanna nodded gravely. "That is why it is so sacred and simultaneously so strictly regulated. The Father of the Family must approve every such transfer. Because losing one of us means the world has become a little poorer... and that person will never, in any form, exist again."

  Hanna paused for a moment, and her gaze darkened for a fraction of a second. "And then... sometimes it carries certain risks. Negative side effects where the energy rebels, or shards of consciousness refuse to yield. But we won't worry about that now; those are just old ghost stories." She quickly waved her hand as if to banish the thought.

  The memory of the girl in the brown robe burst forth in Ema's mind with new intensity. That moment she grabbed her hand firmly. The feeling of something alive and hot pouring into her while the other's life was extinguished. If what Hanna said was true, then that woman hadn't just made a gesture. She had sacrificed eternity itself for Ema.

  This awakened caution and a desire to ask more questions within Ema. She needed to know more about the man she had just signed herself over to. "Hanna... tell me honestly. What do you think of Friedrich? What is he like?"

  Hanna stopped and looked thoughtfully out the window at the manicured gardens. "Friedrich?" she repeated, as if weighing the question on an apothecary's scales. "He is an Architect through and through. He is immensely ambitious, hard on himself, and unyielding. He has dedicated his entire life to building influence; he honors the Order and the Family above all else. He never had time for trivialities like dating or searching for love. His mistress has always been only power and duty."

  She turned back to Ema, surprise sparking in her eyes. "That's why I was shocked myself by what he did. Friedrich didn't wait for an order. He himself went to the Father of the Family with the proposal that he would take charge of you. That he would marry you and merge his power with yours."

  Hanna lowered her voice, as if revealing a state secret. "The Father eventually consented, although he set certain... harsh conditions. But the fact that Friedrich stood up for you like this and risked his reputation? That doesn't happen. Usually, he only follows orders, he doesn't create them. You must mean more to him than he shows."

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  " The Father of the Family?" Ema repeated, confused. "You spoke of God, but this sounds... more specific."

  Hanna took a breath to explain, her voice taking on gravity and reverence. "Father is not a biological title, Ema. It is the head of our hierarchy. The oldest and most powerful among us, the one who holds a protective hand over all branches of the lineage. He represents us at the Summit of Architects. His word is absolute law, and all of us in the Family honor him unconditionally. He decides our fates and our safety."

  Seeing Ema falter at the mention of such power, she stepped closer and stroked her arm maternally.

  "But you have nothing to fear, little girl. The Father knows what he is doing, and Friedrich fought for you with him. That is a good sign." Hanna smiled warmly. "I believe you suit each other more than you think now. He needs your spark, and you need his stability. Everything will turn out well."

  Hanna finally left, wishing Ema goodnight, saying that if she needed anything, the guards would call her immediately.

  Ema drew a hot bath. Lying in the steam, looking at her palms under the surface, she felt it. A constant tingling under her skin. It wasn't unpleasant, rather refreshing, as if new, restless blood were circulating within her. The dead woman's power lived on inside her.

  Doubts bit into her mind like hungry dogs. Everything Hanna said sounded incredibly convincing. Hanna was kind, caring, speaking to her like a friend. But Ema couldn't forget the surrender in the rebel's eyes. sacrificing existence isn't taken lightly, she told herself. You don't do that for a lie.

  When she lay in bed, the darkness of the room seemed thicker than usual. Every creak of the old lock, every movement of a branch outside the window sounded like the footsteps of guards coming to watch her. She felt like she was in a trap lined with the most expensive velvet. Hanna sounded logical, but that feeling under her skin—that stolen or gifted power—told her the truth was much more terrifying.

  The weight of these thoughts eventually exhausted her more than the alarm itself. Her heart pounded, but her eyelids grew heavy until she finally fell into a restless sleep where Friedrich's smile mixed with blood on the dining room floor.

  In the morning, three maids moved through her room like silent shadows. They brought the wedding dress—a masterpiece of white silk and delicate lace that looked like morning frost on a window. As they tightened the dress on her, Ema felt they weren't dressing her, but rather wrapping her like a precious gift for someone who cared less about the contents than the ownership.

  She looked into the tall gilded mirror. For a second, her head spun. Her own reflection rippled, and instead of her face, she saw that brown-haired rebel. The girl in the mirror had her throat covered in blood, but there was no pain in her brown eyes, only an urgent warning. She moved her lips as if wanting to say again: "Run."

  Ema gasped and took a step back. "Is something wrong, ma'am?" a maid asked, solicitously adjusting her train. "No... I just felt dizzy. The dress is... heavy," Ema lied, her heart pounding against her ribs. The power the woman had passed to her pulsed noticeably under her skin again.

  "You must get used to it, ma'am," the older maid smiled, carefully adjusting a lace sleeve. "It fits you perfectly, accentuating your figure exactly as Master Friedrich wished. But if it scratches anywhere or you want the train adjusted, we still have time until the wedding. Just say the word, and the seamstresses will work all night. We want you to feel like a queen."

  Ema only forced a smile. For a moment, the shadow of the dead girl flickered in the mirror again, but she blinked quickly, and the image vanished. She felt more like an exhibit in a museum that had just received a new, expensive frame.

  "But something else awaits you today," the younger maid said, pulling a beautiful outdoor costume in a dark moss green from the dresser. It was practical, sturdy clothing made of quality wool and leather, yet losing none of its elegance. "Master Friedrich said you would need freedom of movement today. For the trip, this is much more suitable than silk."