The sun rose cold over the World Tree.

  Derpy woke before the bells.

  Mk.1 was already there.

  “Friend awake.”

  Mk.2 stood near the window, flexing her repaired arm slowly.

  Mk.3 leaned against the far wall, watching.

  Mk.4 stood at the door like a quiet sentinel.

  Derpy stretched carefully.

  “You three don’t sleep, do you?”

  Mk.1 shook her head. “Observation cycle.”

  Mk.2 looked at him.

  “You expended excessive energy yesterday.”

  Mk.3 stepped forward, holding a small vial.

  “The queen requests you drink this.”

  Derpy eyed it.

  “What is it?”

  “Partial restoration draught. Not full capacity. Stabilization only.”

  He hesitated.

  Blight’s voice murmured.

  Low poison content. Trace enhancement. Nothing lethal.

  Celica added:

  It’s safe.

  Derpy drank.

  Warmth spread through his chest.

  His wings flexed once before settling.

  Before he could speak—

  The doors opened on a hard click, warding seals answering a higher authority.

  Lirael and Sylara entered.

  No courtesy.

  Lightning snapped along Lirael’s arm.

  The book in her hand pulsed unstable blue.

  Sylara’s earth tome hummed with a grinding undertone.

  Derpy felt it immediately.

  Not true calamity.

  But something wrong.

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  Synthetic.

  “Good morning, dragon,” Lirael said, voice too sweet to trust.

  Sylara’s voice was colder.

  “We’d like to test something.”

  Mk.4 stepped forward.

  “This is unauthorized.”

  Lirael’s lightning flared.

  “Stand aside, doll.”

  Derpy stepped past Mk.4.

  “It’s fine.”

  Celica hissed inside him.

  It’s not fine.

  Lirael opened the lightning book.

  Energy surged violently.

  Too much.

  Too unstable.

  She launched it.

  The bolt came crooked—overcharged.

  Derpy stepped.

  Magic circle.

  Magic Step flared clean this time.

  He vanished sideways.

  Lightning slammed into stone and exploded.

  The courtyard cracked.

  Sylara moved next.

  Earth ripped upward in jagged spires.

  Derpy landed mid-air.

  Wings spread.

  He didn’t retaliate.

  He studied.

  They weren’t trying to kill him.

  They were trying to make him show what he was.

  The lightning flickered unevenly.

  The earth magic trembled like it was being forced through something that didn’t belong.

  “These aren’t real calamity books,” Derpy said quietly.

  Sylara’s jaw tightened.

  “They function.”

  Derpy’s voice sharpened.

  “No. They’re feeding on something.”

  He landed.

  Lightning cracked again—

  But this time the backlash hit Lirael.

  She staggered.

  Blood trickled from her nose.

  The dolls all tensed.

  Mk.3’s voice cut through the tension.

  “Instability threshold reached.”

  Derpy’s eyes narrowed.

  “They’re forged.”

  Lightning surged again.

  Derpy finally raised his hand.

  Black ice spiraled upward and caught the bolt.

  It didn’t shatter.

  It absorbed.

  He crushed it in his palm.

  The courtyard went silent.

  Lirael stared at him.

  “You’re not supposed to do that.”

  Derpy’s voice went flat.

  “That book isn’t feeding on mana.”

  He took one step closer, gaze locked on the pulsing binding.

  “It’s feeding on a person.”

  That landed like a blade.

  Sylara froze.

  Lightning flickered weakly.

  The fake books hummed… then dimmed.

  Mk.4 stepped forward again.

  “Testing concluded.”

  The princesses left without another word.

  But fear lingered in the air.

  Vaeloria found him shortly after.

  Alone.

  In the upper balcony garden.

  “You saw it,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “They’re unstable.”

  “They’re cruel,” Derpy corrected.

  Vaeloria’s jaw tightened.

  “My husband believes expansion requires weapons.”

  “And you?”

  “I believe stability requires control.”

  She turned toward him fully.

  “There are factions inside this empire.”

  Her voice lowered.

  “Peace faction.”

  “Expansion faction.”

  “And my husband’s faction.”

  Derpy crossed his arms.

  “Power.”

  She didn’t deny it.

  “They are using human resonance to mimic calamity imprinting,” she continued. “It is inefficient. Dangerous. Disposable.”

  “Disposable to who?”

  Her silence was answer enough.

  Derpy’s voice went cold.

  “If they’re using people as catalysts—”

  “They are,” she cut in softly.

  “And if it collapses?”

  “It kills the host.”

  Silence.

  Wind moved through the leaves.

  Vaeloria looked at him carefully.

  “You are valuable to them.”

  “I noticed.”

  “You are valuable to me for a different reason.”

  Derpy glanced at her.

  “You break things cleanly.”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly.

  “And you expose lies without flinching.”

  Later.

  Mk.3 stood with him alone.

  “You know about Stitchborne,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “Then you should know the difference.”

  She extended her arm.

  Hidden seams shimmered faintly.

  “We are not copies.”

  “We are iterations.”

  “Mk.1 — prototype emotional retention.”

  “Mk.2 — combat reinforcement.”

  “Mk.3 — adaptive cognition.”

  “Mk.4 — command compliance with override protection.”

  Derpy frowned.

  “Override protection?”

  Mk.3’s eyes flickered.

  “We can refuse.”

  Silence.

  “You are changing them,” she said.

  “I’m not trying to.”

  “You treat us as human.”

  Derpy leaned back against the wall.

  “You are.”

  Mk.3’s gaze steadied.

  “Riven was first. Riven was failure.”

  “Why?”

  “She chose.”

  That word hung heavy.

  “She chose differently than intended.”

  “And that made her defect.”

  “Yes.”

  Mk.3 looked at him carefully.

  “If you stay… you will force choice again.”

  Derpy’s jaw tightened.

  “Good.”

  Mk.3 watched him.

  “Dangerous.”