18. Max #2
A cadet with a sailor’s tattoo on his neck stood without waiting to be called on. “The detonation ripped open dimensional rifts and tore apart the Shimmer—the barrier between realms that once prevented humans from trespassing into the immortal realm.”
I felt the shift in Aelindor’s demeanor. A flicker of agony and wrath stirred behind those blue eyes. This wasn’t just history to him. He’d lived it. He’d watched his home die.
“Evermere,” the prince said quietly. “The Fae realm. My home.”
“The Shimmer’s collapse destroyed the immortal realm and forced its magic into the mortal world.
” The taller Fae aide supplied the words, allowing his prince a moment.
“Some of it flowed clean. Half of it went bad—encountered the dark magic released from the Q-bomb, mixed, corrupted. The land warped. The mutants emerged.”
The demon in me stirred, interest sharpening. He’s hiding something. They all are. Ask him what else bled through those rifts.
I ignored it. But the creature’s attention had fixed on something I couldn’t see, and that made my skin prickle, especially in the middle of a briefing.
“A percentage of humans absorbed the infected magic,” Aelindor continued. “They twisted into creatures trapped between human and animal. Their minds shattered. They know nothing but hunger for flesh.”
My throat tightened. I’d seen them up close. Watched one tear into Rogue with claws that had once been human hands. Heard their shrieks echo across the Scorched Wastes as they tracked me by the scent of my blood .
“I met those cannibals in the wastelands,” I said, the words leaving my mouth before I could stop them.
Every head in the room turned. A hundred pairs of eyes locked onto the nobody in the back corner who’d just spoken without being called on.
Aelindor nodded at me. “Go on, Max.”
“They hunt in packs.” I kept my voice flat, even though sorrow lodged in my throat like a stone. “They killed my friend. A miner named Rogue. Two others are still missing.”
The room went pin-drop silent. The cadets who’d called me a warlock spy were staring now—less hostile, but not with respect either. They still believed what they believed.
“Most soldiers don’t survive a mutant encounter in open terrain, without weapons or backup.” Aelindor’s voice carried weight. “Max did.”
Smoothly folding your survival into his lesson, the demon purred with approval. Now they see a survivor, not fresh meat.
“The Shimmer shattered. The White Witch got exactly what she wanted.” Aelindor steered the discussion forward. “So what did she build on the corpse of the old world?”
Bryn’s hand shot up again, like she’d appointed herself the resident expert. “The Rupture. She wanted dark magic to rule and every kingdom under her boot.”
Everyone chimed in, debating, arguing. But Aelindor’s gaze kept drifting back to me.
“We’re running out of time for the battle brief today.” Aelindor raised his voice slightly, reining them in .
Some cadets groaned, and more than a few turned to glare at Bryn.
“Instructors will open battle-brief sessions for first-years.” Aelindor raised a hand to cut off the cheer before it could start. “But before I dismiss you—a few words about last week’s attack.”
The room’s excitement compressed into razor focus.
“Despite the mutant wyvern assault, our casualties were minimal. We vanquished the enemy force.” Pride rippled through the cadets.
“But that flock was unlike anything we’ve encountered before.
They were cunning, strategic. They breached our wards for the first time since this fortress was built.
You’ve trained to fight mutants, but what our seasoned warriors faced last week was on an entirely different level. You need to train harder. All of you.”
The cadets hung on every word.
“That attack was a first wave, a test from the Pallid Court.” His words landed hard.
Thane and his group went still. “The White Witch sensed the same shift we did.” His gaze touched mine for a heartbeat, a flicker so brief anyone who blinked would’ve missed it, before sweeping onward.
“Her next move will be faster. We’ll stop her. We must win this war.”
“We’ll win the war!” The cadets’ chant reverberated off brick walls and rattled windows.
“Class dismissed.”
The cadets began to file out. I rose, hunching my shoulders to shave off an inch or two, and tried to merge into the stream of bodies heading for the door .
“Max.” Aelindor’s voice cut through the noise from the front of the room. “Stay, please.”
Shit.
This had to be about last night. The power I shouldn’t have. He’d want an explanation, and I didn’t have one that wouldn’t blow open doors I needed to keep sealed. Besides, he had a war to fight. At the very least I could repay his kindness by not adding to his problems.
Curious, envious, even hostile glances darted my way as the crowd thinned. A few tried to linger by the door, necks craning, wanting to overhear whatever the Fae prince had to say to me.
“Clear the room. Now!” the shorter Fae aide barked.
The stragglers scrambled. Both aides posted themselves outside the classroom and cleared the hallway, until nothing stood between Aelindor and me except empty desks and silence.