Chapter 34
CHAPTER 34
Aefre
I’ve adjusted the obstacle course, raising the difficulty to simulate what they’ll face in the Grand Championships, which is only two weeks away.
I tap a sequence of commands on the console. The floor shifts, revealing contoured platforms, metal beams, and a steep vertical climb that dominates the far corner. The overhead lights dim and then refocus on the newly exposed obstacles.
“Begin,” I say.
Ash and Ember exchange a glance, silently deciding who will go first. Ember nods, taking the lead. He’s an expert at this. Ash, on the other hand, struggles, still uncertain how to anticipate the obstacles or Ember’s intentions. My instructions have been explicit, You must function as one mind, or you will fail. The challenges are too fast even for a moment’s hesitation.
The first few obstacles go smoothly. A timed sprint over moving platforms, a tandem swing where they must grab onto a hanging bar in unison, and a coordinated dodge through low-level drones that fire at regular intervals. They stumble only slightly, with Ember offering a hand or a whispered Imperial cue each time Ash’s hesitation threatens to slow them down.
I can’t help but feel a small, private satisfaction. They’re good. Almost good enough to be champions. If I can push them just a little bit more... they’ll have it.
They arrive at the Tandem Wall Climb—a harsh, vertical structure with built-in grips that rotate unpredictably. Ember scales it quickly. He times each grip’s rotation perfectly, seizing the best angles. Ash follows, but her eyes dart back and forth, and I notice the slight tremor in her leg. Her attention is split between the rotating grips and Ember’s position above her. She’s overthinking it.
“Just move, Ash,” I instruct. “Ember is almost at the top. Don’t lag behind. You’re losing points.”
She shoots a brief glance up at Ember again.
Foolish , I think.
In a blink of an eye, she misses a grip’s rotation and is now hanging by one hand from the obstacle. She’s panicking. Her hold is slipping.
Ember notices immediately and shimmies back down, leaning over to grab her hand. He pulls her upward, but the climb sequence is thrown off. The automated system registers this misalignment and ramps up the difficulty—a quirk of Kaelin’s programming I left in place.
“Now!” I call out. “Both of you, jump to the ledge! Now!”
Ember, recognizing the tone of my voice, executes the maneuver quickly and flawlessly, hooking a hand on the top edge. Ash hesitates as she tries to mimic him, and her foot misses the rotating grip. Ember reaches down and barely catches her wrist. Now she’s swinging in his grip. He attempts to anchor them both, but the sudden shift in weight triggers a mechanical fail-safe in the platform. It drops a fraction, then a fraction more, until the entire mechanism is tilted forward.
“Help me, Gabriel!”
“Pull her up,” I say in a tone sharper than usual.
Ember braces, pulling with everything he’s got, but Ash’s fingers slip from his grasp. He tries again, lunging downward, but it’s too late. She’s lost her footing completely.
I leave my console as she tumbles down, hitting one of the lower outcroppings with a sickening thud before landing on a partial safety net. Her momentum bounces her off, and she slams into the side rail, rolling onto the floor. The net saved her from a lethal fall, but not from serious injury.
Ember yells something in his human tongue, an anguished sound that echoes in the gymnasium.
I grit my teeth. Kaelin or I would have shocked him for such an outburst under normal circumstances, but I have bigger concerns now. Quickly, I use my IC to summon the medical drones and direct them to the accident site while I hurry to Ash.
I’m worried as I see her crumpled on the floor, barely conscious.
Before I can reach her, Ember leaps down the structure without a thought for his own safety, dropping the last ten feet. He rushes to her side, gathering her limp body in his arms.
Ember glares at me with a rage I’ve not seen in him in years. “You pushed her too far. She’s not ready!” he says.
I meet his eyes. “Put her down and let the medical drones attend to her.”
Ember does as I say.
Then I say to him, “Ash fell because you two still haven’t synchronized. You tried to save her, yes, but your bond is not strong enough. If you can’t act as one, accidents will happen.”
He looks like he’s ready to lunge at me, but his attention turns to Ash when the drones finish stabilizing her and begin transferring her onto a hovering stretcher.
Ember and I both go to her side as she’s elevated. I become concerned when I notice that her skin has gone pale, I check her collar’s diagnostic display, and the numbers cascade in alarming red across the holographic screen:
Heart Rate: 192 bpm (critical)
Blood Pressure: 90/58 (borderline hypotension)
Cortisol: 600% above baseline
Adrenaline: nearing maximum tolerance
Shock Index: borderline, verging on collapse
A grim realization settles over me as I take in these readings.
The medical drones whisk her away and Ember dashes after them.
I follow as my mind races through contingency plans. If she can’t pull through, if she’s too injured to compete—No, that’s not going to happen. Ash doesn’t give up and she’s strong.
When I arrive in the medical center, Ash is surrounded by the doctor and his assistants. Her readouts show erratic vitals.
Ember stands in the periphery watching everything, his own collar flashing red, but not from injury. When our eyes meet, I half expect him to charge. But he doesn’t. Instead, he glares in silence, barely holding back tears.
It’s not his connection to Ash that’s the problem. It’s hers to him. I realize as I watch the scene before me.
The doctor mutters something about “internal bleeding” and “hairline fractures.” Another medic injects a coagulant, while a third stabilizes her spine. For a brief moment, I fear this might slip beyond their ability to repair, but then the monitor shows a stabilizing heartbeat.
I put my hand on Ember’s shoulder. “I need to see you succeed,” I say softly. “Both of you.” My voice is calm, but each word carries undeniable seriousness that I know reaches him. “Her failing to keep up, your failing to protect her… all of it stems from a lack of true partnership. Blame me if you want, but unless you two become one, accidents like this will only continue as the obstacle course becomes more difficult.”
The doctor interrupts us, “She’s stable and will make a full recovery, but we’ll need to keep her sedated for at least a day.”
I tilt my head in acknowledgment, then shift my focus back to Ember. “When she’s recovered, you’ll return to training. She must learn to trust you.”
He doesn’t reply, simply turning his back on me to stand vigil at Ash’s bedside. The medical attendants begin to move her to a recovery pod, and then the hum of machinery encompasses the room. The faint beeping of her heart rate monitor mirrors the tension in the room.
I linger for a few minutes and look at Ash through the window of the medical pod. I could have lost her.
Kaelin comes up behind me taking in the scene. The medics have dimmed the lights around her, creating a faint halo against her pale skin.
“Should I take Ember away? I don’t know if it’s good for him to see this,” Kaelin says.
“Let him stay a little longer.”
“I watched the video of what happened. Once she missed that first time, they would have had to move very fast to not have had the whole platform turn.”
I nod. Replaying the whole thing in my mind. Am I pushing her too hard?
As if reading my mind, Kaelin says, “You’ve grown very attached to Wild One.” He uses her old name when he wants to point out that she’s just a pet. A human I bought. This isn’t the first time he’s noticed that I look at Ash differently.
“She is a pet, no more.”
Kaelin arches an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You treat her even better than you do Mags.”
I glare at him until he looks away, acknowledging my unspoken command to drop the subject. But his question refuses to be silenced. Do I treat Ash like she’s more than my pet?
I exhale, forcing my expression into composure. Whether Kaelin is correct or not, I can’t allow sentiment to derail our goal.
Yes, the course was difficult, but nothing beyond what they’ll face in the Championship. If Ash can’t manage this level, perhaps Ember needs to learn how to guide her more effectively.