Chapter 27
Ren escorts me to Lord Evander’s quarters in the Saturn residential wing.
The corridors here are lined with dark grey stone veined with silver, lit by panels that emit cool white light at mathematically precise intervals.
Everything here is ordered and deliberate.
Small archival alcoves punctuate the walls, each one holding a mounted datapad displaying real-time information: atmospheric readings, arena structural integrity reports, resource allocation charts.
Saturn scholars pass us in the corridor, moving with quiet purpose.
They wear simple dark purple robes marked only by thin silver bands at the collar indicating their specializations.
No one speaks. A young archivist carrying a stack of bound reports nods to us but doesn’t break stride.
Another scholar sits in one of the alcoves, absorbed in a datapad, a cup of what looks like black tea cooling beside her elbow.
The wing reminds me of Mars in a way – both built for efficiency rather than comfort. But where Mars channels everything toward defence and military readiness, Saturn’s design serves pure intellect.
Lord Evander opens the door before Ren can announce me.
He’s changed out of his formal robes into simpler black clothing – a high-collared tunic and fitted trousers that look well-worn but impeccably maintained.
His chestnut and grey-streaked hair is still perfectly neat, swept back from his angular face, his glasses perched at the tip of his nose.
“I have been expecting you, Lady Cyra,” he says. “Come in.”
His quarters match the hallway, minimal and ordered.
The walls are lined floor-to-ceiling with built-in shelves, and unlike the sparse functionality everywhere else, these shelves are full.
Books. Hundreds of them, arranged by size and subject but clearly read, their spines creased and worn.
Technical manuals sit beside philosophy texts.
Historical accounts stack next to mathematical treatises.
In one corner, I spot what looks like fiction – actual novels, their covers faded from handling.
A desk holds a single datapad displaying architectural schematics, but beside it sits a half-empty cup of tea, long cold, and a small plate with untouched bread.
The bed is made without a single wrinkle, indigo linens pulled taut, but a book lies open on the pillow – he was reading before I arrived.
The viewport shows the arena’s interior, but unlike Zevran’s display of Mars in real-time, Lord Evander’s shows a grid overlay measuring distances and angles, breaking the structure down into comprehensible data.
He gestures to a chair near the viewport with a thin blanket draped over one arm, as if he sometimes needs warmth the regulation temperature doesn’t provide.
“Tea?” he offers, moving to a small preparation station.
“I hope you like Titan black tea, it is Saturn’s primary export aside from scholarly services.
We grow it in underground hydroponic farms.” He doesn’t wait for my answer, already preparing a second cup with the same methodical precision he applies to everything else.
“The Cardinals commission our research. The other Houses send their brightest scholars to our academies. Mostly we are left alone, which suits us.”
He hands me the cup – plain ceramic, warm to the touch. The tea is bitter, sharp, meant to keep scholars alert during long research sessions.
“I am sure you are here because you need a final assessment,” he says, settling into the chair across from me with his own cup. “Not about the maze. About our team.”
Straight to the point, not surprising.
“I believe our team is stronger than Lord Zevran’s.” He states this as simple fact.
The bluntness surprises me. “How?”
“Lord Zevran’s group is cohesive. Predictable.
Balanced in a traditional sense – they complement each other well, with many overlapping skills.
” He pauses, taking a measured sip of tea.
“But that balance and similar skillset limits them. When the Mirror shifts beyond expected patterns, they will struggle to adapt as they realize where their abilities fall short.”
He sets his cup down on the armrest. “You have Lord Castor, who gives you decisive action. Lady Nerida, who gives you perception and emotional awareness. And I contribute logic and structure. These qualities don’t overlap – but that is what makes it work.
We have the skills and knowledge to tackle anything.
We are not lacking in any way – we form a team that can adapt faster than a limited skill set team can. ”
“Then why does it feel like our team is so disconnected?”
“Because you are looking at the pieces, not the structure.” His eyes meet mine directly, which he rarely does. “And because the structure is held together by you.”
I wait.
“Adaptability is the trait that integrates all others. Lord Castor follows movement. Lady Nerida follows intuition. I follow order. You are the only one who can hold all three together.” He glances at the shelves around us, at the hundreds of books that fill this otherwise austere space.
“I have been doing this my entire life – holding systems together through pure logic. My parents died when I was fifteen. No siblings. No heirs. Just me and Saturn’s council of scholars who taught me that knowledge could replace everything else. ”
He picks up his tea again but doesn’t drink, just holds it. “Books were easier than people. They made sense. They had rules. They do not change and they stay reliable.”
The admission surprises me, uncharacteristic in its vulnerability.
“But books cannot hold a kingdom together,” he continues.
“Not really. That requires people. It requires trusting that others will fulfill their function even when the variables shift.” He meets my eyes again.
“You already do that instinctively. You adapted to Lord Castor’s aggression, to Lady Nerida’s unpredictability, to my rigidity.
You have not tried to change us – you are working with what we are. ”
I nod slowly and take another sip of tea.
“Think of the Mirror as a system,” he continues, his voice returning to its usual measured tone.
“Systems often fail when there is no flexibility, no adaptability.” He gestures to the grid overlay on the viewport.
“That is what you provide. Not because you know everything, but because you can integrate what others know.”
“So I have to be the glue holding the team together, in a way?”
“Exactly.” He nods once, a ghost of approval in his expression. “You do not need every answer. You only need to keep the system aligned – be the guiding hand of our skills and knowledge.”
My chest loosens. Not euphoria or terror. Certainty.
Lord Evander sees it. “Good. That is the correct response.”
He stands, indicating the conversation is complete, but his movements are less rigid than usual. He glances at the book on his pillow, then back to me.
“Lord Evander,” I say as he moves toward the door to escort me out.
He pauses, turning his head just enough to indicate attention.
“Thank you. For telling me about your parents. About the books.”
Surprise flickers across his face, turning quickly into a look of gratitude that someone acknowledged the personal admission buried in his analysis.
“You’re welcome,” he says quietly. Then, more characteristically: “Rest well. The Mirror won’t accommodate exhaustion.”
Astrid is waiting by the door when Ren and I return to our residential wing. Ren stops just outside the door, taking up her usual position.
“How did it go?” Astrid asks as she ushers me in.
I let out an anxious breath. “Lord Evander thinks I’m ready.”
She studies me for a heartbeat, large eyes noticing the tension still visible in my shoulders, the exhaustion pulling at my features, the way my hands shake slightly at my sides. Then she nods toward a bench against the wall. “Sit before you fall over.”
“I’m fine, Astrid.”
“Cyra, please. You look exhausted. Sit.”
I sit, and she hands me a water flask from the dining hall. As I drink, the cold steadies me more than I expect, cutting through the fog of exhaustion and residual fear.
Astrid watches my face carefully as she takes a seat beside me. “So. What happened with Lord Evander?”
“He said the team works because we don’t match. That we all bring such different skills to the table, and it makes us able to adapt to anything.”
Astrid gives me a small smile. “You’re ready, Cyra. You can do this.”
I look down at my hands. They’re still shaking slightly, withdrawal and stress combining into a constant tremor. “I’m still scared.”
“Good. Fear means you care about the outcome.” She nudges my knee with hers, grounding me in the present moment. “And if the maze tries anything, remember something very important.”
“What?”
“You’re not walking in alone.”
The words hit deeper than she knows. Deeper than she probably intended. For so long, I’ve felt alone. Hiding my power, hiding my heritage, hiding the addiction. Now, there are people who know everything … and still want to be in my life. The realization makes a lump form in my throat.
Astrid stands and offers me her hand. I take it, her grip firm and warm and completely steady.
“Come on,” she says. “Let’s get you fed before you pass out in front of the Cardinals. I imagine that would not be a good look for a potential sovereign.”
I chuckle softly. This is my sister. My anchor. The person who knows me best and loves me no matter what.
Together, we start down the hall, Ren close behind. The corridor stretches before us, lit by the soft amber of night-cycle lighting. Our footsteps echo in rhythm, synced without trying.
Tomorrow, I lead my team into the Fractured Mirror.
Tonight, I walk beside the one person who’s never doubted I could.