IN HER MEMORIES, CAMDEN LAHEY IS GOLDEN. He is beautiful like a hero from Greek mythology or maybe a prince of an old empire; Tall and strong, golden curls resembling a sun god like Apollo with his smile, someone born to be only admired, unreachable unless you're worthy.

For some reason, he thought Remington was worth his attention.

He would carry her on his shoulders and allow her to see heights she could never imagine, he would make her laugh and throw her in the air to make her feel like a hummingbird flying, never failing to catch her afterward with a teasing remark. He played the role of a best friend, caretaker and older brother perfectly, creating the illusion of a guardian angel to someone as hopeless as Remington.

More than anything else in the world, she wanted to be like Camden.

She remembers being six and peering over the staircase leading to the Lahey's basement, clutching Isaac's hand tightly as they looked at his brother. "At least it was my choice," he had laughed through a split lip and a cut above his eyebrow, staring at his father with a challenge in his blazing hazel eyes.

Even now, she can recall the way Mr. Lahey called him a bastard, nearly deranged in his anger after finding out his oldest son had gotten into a fight over something fucking stupid, or so said Mr. Lahey, but Camden looked happy because it had been his decision to throw the first punch. He wanted to do it, so he did it.

Remington couldn't remember the last time she had done something out of her volition.

She couldn't help Scott in any way because it's dangerous for her.

She couldn't sit with Stiles at lunch because he said it's dangerous for her.

She couldn't see Isaac anymore, either, because everything is too dangerous for her.

Secretly, Remington wishes she would die faster. She tries to be the girl her mother sees—innocence personified, all virtue with no vice. For fifteen years, she has disciplined herself to be docile when there's a part of her roaring for freedom. She tries so hard to be practically a saint with a heavenly title, but Remington just can't.

All she wanted to kick her feet and cry and complain, wanted to be the witch she's meant to be, be someone like Camden—the sheltered life planned out for her would kill her before anything else.

But she has to follow the rules. She isn't inpatient enough to act when she's finally stabled enough to be given slight autonomy, her mother no longer ghosting around her in fear of her collapsing.

Fo now, Remington sat idly in her bedroom whilst Stiles risked his life to protect Beacon Hills, tracing the signature on the grimoire opened in front of her.

Soon, she comforted herself.

If she is not physically strong, then she will read until her eyes bleed and best the monsters her family tries to defend her from with her intelligence.

So, she started with a grimoire.

Josephine, it said. A small piece in the mysteries of her life. Remington knew Josephine, her namesake, was her mother's mentor back in New Orleans—back when she belonged to a coven and had a husband, expecting a child of her own, a whole different life. Remington doesn't have anyone else other than Eva and her friends; she wondered if Josephine would've been her mentor or something even more like a grandmother. If in another universe, Vincent would've behaved like her father.

She wondered if they missed her mom and if they would take care of her if Eva ever returned. She shouldn't be alone once Remington dies.

A knock on the door made her look up, her mom opening the door a second later. "Darling?" She asked quietly, peering inside the room. At Remington's welcoming smile, she stepped inside. "Stiles called. They have a plan to stop the Kanima tonight at a rave. He'll stop by afterward if it isn't too late."

Remington nodded quietly, having seen his message earlier, refocusing on the spell outlined by Josephine's shaky penmanship. Imitantor Pupulus—A simple spell that causes the target to mimic the actions of the casting witch. "That's good," she said simply. At the sight of the grimoire, Eva sat down next to her.

"Learned anything new?" She asked, picking up on her daughter's feeble mood, flipping through the worn-down pages of the leather-bound book.

Remington nodded, already distracted by the question. "Of course. Josephine knows a lot about magic! I just finished the section on Ancestral magic."

Eva looked amused at her daughter's earnest words. "No other form of magic will rival the power of our witch ancestors." She paused, an indulgent smile appearing. "You would've loved it there. Our coven was the strongest in all of New Orleans. Our knowledge of sacrificial magic is matchless throughout the world; that's why I traveled to America in the first place. The Tremés are a lot tougher than the French Quarter witches,"

Remington felt scared to ask, especially since her mother didn't share much of her life before her adoption, but the want to know outweighed any possible repercussions. "Mom," she began carefully. "Why did you leave the coven? If they're so strong, why did you leave?"

Eva didn't answer for a while, anger slowly overtaking her expression. Regret bubbling up inside, Remington opened her mouth to apologize.

"Marcel," Eva spat out before Remington could take back her words. "So-called king of New Orleans. Vampires crawled every inch of our land, slaughtering witches as they pleased. I tried telling Vincent to leave, but he kept ignoring my words. I had enough of living in fear."

"So, you left?" Remington asked.

Her mother shook her head. "No, I fought back."

There are two mysteries plaguing Remington's life—her biological family and Eva Sinclair. She wouldn't understand the first without deciphering the second, and so, she pries. Her mother is a world-weary person and to describe her as paranoid is to phrase it lightly.

Getting to know Eva as a person rather than her mother is a slow process Remington has spent her life doing, gradually, almost unnoticeably. Harmless questions, asking advice for certain things like crushes and dating—things like that.

Remington knows enough to deem her mother's life a tragedy, but not enough to say that's all it will ever be.

"The Regent of the Nine Covens of New Orleans had a plan to take down Marcel," Evan began, staring off into space. "Josephine never shared it with me, only said it would bring Marcel's biggest nightmare—but it would take several months. Then it all went to Hell; our children began going missing, the covens panicked and turned against each other, the werewolves got involved."

Eva stood up, expression growing dark. "Change was necessary—unity was necessary. So, I dabbled in a darker form of Sacrificial Magic. Every vampire I sacrificed, I gained more power. I had enough power to get rid of Marcel, once and for all. I lured him into the Lafayette Cemetery..." She stopped speaking, swallowing. She approached her daughter, cradling her face carefully.

"Then I found you, darling."

At Remington's baffled expression, Eva laughed lightly. "My little miracle, wailing like a banshee. Barely an hour old yet powerful enough to protect yourself."

"I was abandoned. At a cemetery?" Remington asked, the deep hurt she tried to keep buried resurfacing at the truth of her adoption. "I knew they uh, they didn't want me—My biological parents—but to be left at a cemetery..."

"I don't know, baby." Eva brushed her bangs away, staring at her lovingly. "But I wanted to you, darling. I did not think twice—I took you and ran, as fast as I could. My baby, my life. I'm your mother, yes? And I love you more than anything."

Remington laughed as Eva tickled her chin. "Yes, mom!" She nodded, hugging her tightly. "And I love you, so much. I didn't ask to make it seem like—like I did not want you, not at all! I just thought... I just thought my biological family would know what's wrong with me."

Eva looked at her daughter, considering her words. She looked troubled. Remington explained, "I've been thinking. My illness isn't normal, right? We've focused so much on that idea, but humans can't explain it. If it isn't supernatural, like a curse, and it isn't a disease that I naturally developed or caught, then maybe it is—"

"Hereditary. You were born with it," Eva sounded horrified like she had never considered that before. She stood up sharply and Remington could see her thinking. "Darling, I..." Eva looked like she didn't know what to say. "This could be it," she gasped, a hand rising to cover her mouth. A fire began burning in her once more. "I swore to never return to New Orleans. But if... If there's a possibility to cure you, then it must be there. I've got a few calls to make then,"

Remington smiled happily, glad to see the hope in her mother's eyes again. "Thank you, mom." She whispered. Eva looked at her with love, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"Thank you, Remington." She whispered back.

Remington had fallen asleep, or so she thought. She couldn't see if she opened her eye, and she couldn't speak despite her efforts. Panic choked her, the need to yell for her mom or Isaac or Stiles, anyone, overwhelming—but the whispered wouldn't let her think. Brittle voices echoed in her mind, emotionless as if they were dead and croaky as if they had a sore throat.

Remington had never met the Spirits before.

She couldn't make out what they said but it was constant, a buzzing sound full of urgency unlike the monotone voice whispering the words. Maybe she wasn't meant to understand the words; the spirits of the Other Side will only make themselves clear when they wish to, or so her mother said, but just as she thought, a single word struck out to her;

The Genesis, the Spirits whispered. A memory filled her mind then; staying in Stiles' room as kids, buried underneath thick blankets as they watched an animated show together.

Remington had been too young to understand most of the plot or the words used by the characters, but Scott is a loser who doesn't like anime, Stiles had said, so she had to watch it with him despite their rocky relationship at the time. In the show, some of the characters had special powers that intrigued Remington. Stiles explained them an anomaly of the DNA, passed down between generations of a clan—but he mentioned some of them had been considered 'genesises' because they were the first of their blood to unlock those special powers.

A genesis. Like the first-born witch, Remington quickly associated—like the start of a new family line of witchcraft.

The Spirits' voices intensified, then fell silent. When she opened her eyes, a ray of moonlight shone through her window; she thought of Scott first, then Isaac. Like always, she thought of Stiles.

Heart pounding, tired and body aching, Remington tried to make sense of what she had seen. Her mom doesn't practice magic that draws energy from the Spirits; it makes no sense for the deceased witches to seek her out—and for a genesis, much less. How would Remington help them when she can't control her own magic? Conflicted, she moved to step out of her bed to search for her mother when suddenly, the latch of her window unlocked.

Help him, she heard the whisper window brought.

Swallowing, Remington tried to remain calm. "Uh," she cleared her throat, trying to sound strong like her mother but failing at the presence of a spirit in her bedroom. "I can't go out r—right now. It's past my curfew."

"I would really like to," she continued meekly. "But mom will be disappointed."

Help him, a cold presence filled her room. Help the genesis. Scared, Remington closed her eyes, willing herself to not cry. She thought of Camden—he was brave until the very last second of his life. Why couldn't she do the same?

She may be sickly, but she can run, dodge and scream for help if she needs to—she can outsmart anyone who crosses her. She is a witch, Eva Sinclair's daughter. Camden was just human but lived like an immortal without restrictions or fear. Why can't she do the same?

She wanted to be like Camden.

Help him, the Spirits pleaded.

With trembling hands, she reached to the necklace tied around her neck. It's supposed to lessen the pain of her body deteriorating, but it disturbed the flow of her magic as well. Feeling like her heart was going to explode, Remington decided.

"I will," she said to the spirits, removing the necklace, closing her eyes as the rush of magic surged through her body. "I'll help everyone,"

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ! ! !
She just wants to be like Camden and save people o(╥﹏╥)o the anime i was referring to is actually Naruto and how kekkei genkai are passed down between generations of a clan, but some individuals may develop new ones. I saw Minato being referred to as a genesis but I can't remember where. 

Next chapter will be Stiles!

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Until next time!