(AFK WORM) CHAPTER EIGHT

The spirit orb became utterly still, as though it had finished sharing all it needed to share and now waited for her next move. Shemira could feel the thrum of its expectation, a subtle pull that reminded her of standing on a precipice, wind at her back, urging her forward.

Yet for all that the orb seemed eager now to bind itself to her, she did not reach for it.

Two halves of herselves stood in conflict.

The part of her that was Annette almost seemed to recoil from the idea of granting a stranger’s dying wish, especially one steeped in so much bitterness, blood, and vengeance. That half carried the responsibilities of a mother and a wife who had almost seen her family torn apart because of her. 

Annette understood the danger of involving herself in Brockton Bay’s cape scene. She knew that even if she hid her face, or acted only at night, or with the greatest of intentions, each action could spiral into consequences that spread far beyond intention. That could be anything from retaliation to the attention of the gangs or the PRT, and once any of those eyes were turned toward her, they would not easily look away.

She could not bear the thought of Danny coming home to police tape and strangers waiting with clipped voices and grave expressions, or Taylor staring at an empty chair at the dinner table. The idea that she could bring danger to those she loved, that she might be the cause of their grief again, was unbearable. 

Annette’s memories whispered caution, urging her to reconsider, to stay unnoticed, and above all, to stay safe for the sake of her family. 

But the other part of her, the part that had once been Shemira, did not see things the same way.

Shemira understood death intimately, and more importantly, she understood that death often demanded an answer. The story carried within the orb resonated with her in a way that felt almost physical, as if some invisible chain linked her magic to the dying plea of the man who had breathed his last in her arms.

Shemira felt the pull of retribution in her bones. It was not rage and it was not cruelty. It was simply, purpose. She was a Graveborn, a wielder of magic that brought peace to the dying and guidance to the dead. In her world, spirits entrusted their final desires to those capable of granting them. It was a sacred duty, as natural and necessary as drawing breath.

As such, to refuse this dying wish felt like forcing herself to go without air. Her entire being urged her to act, because this was who she was, and perhaps even why she had been reborn.

The two halves clashed inside her body; Annette feared the risk, begging her to think of her family, while Shemira feared dishonoring the dead. But neither side was strong enough to fully overwhelm the other because she was no longer solely one or the other. She was something in between, and so, she sought a compromise.

She drew a deep breath.

She would not rush headlong into vengeance, announcing herself to the world as a new cape. She would not give the ABB, or any other group, the slightest clue that Annette Hebert was anything other than a recovering teacher slowly trying to rebuild her life. She would move slowly, cautiously, and with a degree of care that Brockton Bay rarely rewarded but always required. After all,  Annette’s fear of endangering her loved ones was valid, and Shemira could not ignore it.

But neither could she abandon the man whose final breath she had witnessed away, nor could she pretend she had not heard him. She could not walk away now as if she had not felt the depth of his despair.

So she decided upon a middle path.

She would act, but only after she had taken time to understand her magic in this foreign world, to know her limits and just how capable her abilities were. Only when she was certain that no one would ever trace her actions back to her name, her home, or her family. Secrecy would be her shield until she was powerful enough to enter the light, and until then, Annette’s family would remain untouched by her new purpose. 

For that, she would need a separate identity. One that belonged neither to Annette Hebert nor to the woman she had been before death, but to the woman she had become in this strange new world. A mask for the mage who answered the dead.

The name itself could come later.

Tonight, it was enough that she had chosen a path at all.

The orb drifted to her side, its sickly green flames dimming to a softer glow. She felt its presence settle just above her shoulder, a silent yet loyal companion, as she pushed herself back to her feet, her hands trembling slightly as she brushed off her skirt. 

Casting one last look at the lifeless man as she stepped away, she offered a silent promise.

She would honor his story. She would respect the danger she was stepping into. And she would prepare thoroughly, so that when the time came, she would act with full confidence.

Shouldering the weight of that vow, Shemira waited until the paramedics and police came, gave her statement to the latter, and turned toward home, the spirit orb gliding behind her invisible to everyone but her.