Chapter 29
CHAPTER 29
Aefre
Ash and Ember stand at the starting line—fully aware that I’ve changed today’s parameters. They always sense when I do, and they know exactly why. Time is ticking away and we don’t have much time before the Grand Championships.
I watch from my elevated control pedestal. The first few obstacles are familiar: physical endurance tests designed to force them into cooperation.
Despite their little incident in the cleansing room, they work together better than I anticipated. Ember’s recent insolence has tempered under the prospect of winning the Grand Championship—and the expectation of breeding with Ash. In the meantime, I tolerate his awkward human affections to reinforce their partnership. And Ash, in turn, clings to him for human connection, but looks to me for sexual gratification. It serves us all. But it’s a precarious balance.
At the halfway point, I shift the program. The atmosphere changes noticeably, and I see Ash and Ember realize something’s off. She backs away worriedly and he hesitates, scanning the altered course.
Good.
A towering spider materializes in Ash’s path, its legs covered in bristling hairs, its mandibles glinting with simulated venom. She freezes instantly.
“Move forward,” I say, my voice deliberately calm.
She doesn’t budge. Her heart rate spikes on the collar readout.
Ember steps in front of her, shielding her from the hologram.
“Briar,” he says—an immediate transgression. I send a minor shock through his collar for using her human name. “It’s not real,” he tells her in pristine Imperial. “You can handle this.”
She wavers, but ultimately takes a shaky breath and steps closer to the spider. It mirrors her movements, forcing her to pass directly under its form. She hesitates again, uttering something in her human language. Another spider appears behind her, and she screams.
“I can’t! It’s too scary!” she shouts in accented Imperial.
My fingers hover over the console, prepared to cut the simulation short, but I’ll give Ember one more chance to calm her.
“It can’t hurt us,” he insists, voice gentler than I expected. “I promise. I won’t let anything hurt you, Briar.” Another jolt for him—for repeating her human name.
Amazingly, Ash pushes forward, taking halting steps until she crosses the edge of the hologram. The spider dissolves into light, leaving her trembling, but triumphant. That’s progress.
Ember faces his own trial next, in an instant, the holographic arena shifts into a savage battleground. Towering spires of rock jut skyward, and the floor beneath him rumbles with hidden machinery. Emerging from the darkness is a massive, four-legged beast—snarling, muscled, and bristling with bony spines. An artifact is tucked behind the creature, perched on a ledge. It’s clear that retrieving it will be Ember’s task.
“Retrieve the artifact,” I command. “Prove your strength.”
I watch the readings on his collar—initial spikes of adrenaline, surging cortisol, and traces of fear despite him knowing it’s not real. But it can still kill him, hologram or not, if he loses and I choose not to stop the program.
The beast roars, pounding the ground with its forelimbs.
Ember hesitates, scanning for weak points as his breath tightens. He tells Ash to stay safe in a corner and she obeys him.
Then lunges forward for the beast.
The creature swipes with razor-sharp claws, but Ember dodges them effortlessly, rolling to the side. He counters with a sharp kick at its hind leg. Pain flares in his collar readout—he’s gotten too close and taken a hit.
Driven by the urgency of my command, he feints left, then scrambles behind the beast toward the artifact’s ledge. The creature roars again, furious, but Ember ducks and with another burst of speed, he jumps, snatching the artifact before the beast can react.
As soon as the prize is in his hands, the holographic beast dissolves.
Ember collapses to his knees with the object clutched tightly to his chest.
Ash and Ember regroup near the final obstacle, both breathing hard, their coordination still intact, and they manage to finish together—just as required.
It’s adequate, but far from flawless. The Grand Championships will present far harsher challenges and exploit much deeper vulnerabilities. These were elementary.
I watch them from my elevated platform. I sense complacency lurking beneath their exhaustion.
“Ash, Ember. Today was acceptable,” I say, voice echoing through the gymnasium, “but hardly worthy of Grand Champions. You’re capable of more—far more. And I expect it. Tomorrow we will train harder.”
I let those words settle before motioning for the attendants to take them to the cleansing room.