Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
EMMA
A hundred years and six months into the future
As we stepped through to the other side, the world around us shifted once more. Before me loomed a gate, its iron bars cold and imposing. Above it, the words 'Sapere Aude' were boldly emblazoned, challenging and ominous.
This had to be the mixed school of humans and magi, Stephen had spoken of.
A little further down, James and Caden stood in tense silence, their expressions grim, as if they already knew the horrors we were about to face and were dreading every moment of it.
Stephen gave a brief nod, urging us forward. We obeyed, then walked in wordless tension for what seemed like an eternity, though it was only ten minutes. Our footsteps echoed in the emptiness until we finally arrived at a desolate stretch of road, waiting for something—or someone.
The sky was a deepening shade of twilight, the sun having dipped below the horizon but leaving behind a haunting, muted glow that bathed our surroundings in an eerie light. The shadows grew long and sinister, stretching across the buildings and empty sidewalks.
I shivered as the cool, damp air of the abandoned street seeped through my clothes. James noticed and, without a word, gave me his jacket. The fabric was warm and comforting against the chill, and I accepted it with a grateful nod.
An elderly couple emerged from one of the apartment buildings, walking toward us with a gentle grace. The woman had her arm hooked through her husband’s, and their smiles spoke of years of shared joy.
As they strolled, the woman reached into her purse and pulled out some money. The man leaned in and kissed her cheek in a tender gesture that radiated warmth. But the sweet moment made the woman stumble in surprise, causing her to drop the money.
It clattered into a nearby sewer grate with an audible clink. Her gaze widened in distress, and she gasped at the loss.
The man’s grin widened, and with a flick of his hand, an orange haze shot out. The haze shimmered, and in an instant, the money reappeared back in the woman’s hand. She looked at him, amusement in her eyes. “You think that’s sanitary?” she asked with a hint of skepticism.
He chuckled, his laughter warm and reassuring. I couldn’t help but smile at their interaction.
The couple continued on, turning a corner as we followed behind them.
Out of nowhere, at least ten figures emerged from the shadows, each clad in dark blue tactical armor with pale accents, their movements precise and mechanical.
The armor was sleek but reinforced, clearly molded for speed and force, with high collars and matte plating over their chests, shoulders, and thighs. A subtle emblem—a stylized crown fused with crosshairs—was stamped on their shoulders, catching the light like a silent warning.
Their helmets were off, clipped to their belts, revealing cold, disciplined faces.
Not a flicker of uncertainty between them.
Their features were cut harsh and merciless: sharp cheekbones, sunken eyes that gleamed like glass, mouths set in hard, humorless lines.
Even the younger ones wore an air of practiced cruelty—a kind of dead-eyed patience reserved for those who knew how to break a person, and how fast.
Only one bore the deep lines of age, but none needed wrinkles to telegraph the truth: they were predators, bred for violence and blind obedience.
James hissed under his breath, "Trackers."
Stephen's disposition hardened, his expression flashing with anger and disdain as he took in the sight of the approaching people.
“What are they?” I mumbled, my voice barely audible over the growing tension. But the others ignored me, their focus solely on the newcomers, who moved with a cold precision to the elderly couple.
“Well, well, well,” the leader of the group addressed the couple with a smirk, his tone dripping with mockery. “What do we have here?”
He paused for clear dramatic effect.
“Our sensors indicated,” the leader continued, his gaze narrowing with suspicion, “there’s been some unauthorized translation activity.”
“Nothing out of the ordinary, sir,” the man replied, his tone far more polite than the Tracker’s harsh demeanor warranted.
“Really?” The leader rolled his shoulders. “Because my sensor detected money materializing out of thin air. Aren’t you familiar with the Magi’s Code of Conduct? Rule 27.a. is very clear—no translating money to prevent our society from collapsing due to inflation.”
“I am familiar with this rule, sir, and with its reasoning,” the man said, trying to remain calm, “but the money that appeared here—”
“Aha! So you admit you made money appear?” The leader interrupted, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
“Sir, you don’t understand,” the woman pleaded desperately. “It was my money. I dropped it into the sewer by accident, and my husband only retrieved it. We didn’t create it.”
“You don’t really believe we’re that stupid?” The leader sneered. “It’s obvious you didn’t think there were any Trackers nearby and tried to get away with a little banned translation, the consequences be damned.”
“That is not what happened!” The woman cried out, as her voice broke with frustration.
“Enough!” The leader’s command was sharp and final.
In a swift, merciless motion, the Tracker reached into his coat, drawing out his gun with a speed that left no room for hesitation.
Before anyone could react, he fired point-blank at the man’s head.
The shot was deafening, and the man fell to the ground instantly, his lifeless body collapsing with a sickening thud.
I clutched my hand over my mouth as the piercing scream of the woman echoed through the night, a raw, visceral cry that seemed to reverberate through every nerve in my body.
Her anguished wails filled the empty street, merging with my own scream of horror and disbelief.
The leader’s cold gaze shifted to the trembling woman, his voice dripping with menace. “Now, as for you,” he said, sliding his gun back in his coat, “I’d think carefully before trying anything foolish. We wouldn’t want to have to make another example.”
The woman, paralyzed with fear, could only nod, her eyes wide with terror.
Then, as if to seal her fate, he pulled out a small, discreet device. With a flick of his wrist, the device emitted a faint pink haze, mimicking the telltale signs of translation. The haze curled around the woman, casting an illusion as if she were the one responsible for the forbidden magic.
One of the younger Trackers, visibly uncomfortable with the deception, hesitated and spoke up. “Captain, this isn’t right. We’re fabricating evidence—”
The captain cut him off with a dismissive snarl. “It would only be a matter of time before this filth used her translation unlawfully. We’re only being proactive.” His tone left no room for argument, and the Tracker fell silent, his objections swallowed by his leader’s ruthless authority.
“Don’t worry, I’ll only take her to the Cave. She’ll live.”
I watched in stunned silence, every fiber of my being urging me to run up to them, to interfere, to protect the woman with my life. The sickening helplessness churned in my stomach, knowing I couldn’t do anything—no matter how desperately I wanted to.
The captain’s expression twisted with cruel satisfaction as he stepped forward and kicked the woman hard in the stomach. She gasped in agony, doubling over as the force of the blow knocked her off balance.
With a pained cry, she fell backward, landing hard on the ground.
The impact left her crumpled and gasping for breath, her hands clutching at her abdomen as she struggled to recover.
The brutality of the act sent a fresh wave of horror through me, my hands trembling as I watched, powerless to intervene.
“Can’t we do anything?” I asked, almost whimpering. I glanced at Stephen, James, and even Caden, noticing how none of them could mask the emotions twisting their faces. They were as sickened and helpless as I was, which only deepened the ache in my chest.
“Wait for it,” Stephen whispered, the agony in his voice unmistakable, mirroring the torment I felt.
Just then, behind the Trackers, a green portal flickered to life. My heart leaped as five figures stepped through at once, each dressed in black Offensive attire. Relief flooded me, nearly bringing me to tears—knowing in my bones they were there to save the poor woman.
Homing in on them, my breath caught in my throat as I recognized Alek, Mila, Silvia, Pierre, and Travis.
It had only been six months since the last flash forward, but still I could see the maturity they’d gained in that short amount of time.
Their bodies now honed. Their features hardened.
They were no longer the same youthful kids I’d seen in the ruins of Cyclos.
My heart pounded, a chaotic mix of hope and confusion flooding through me. They were students—perhaps only a little younger than me, but still, only students. How could they possibly stand a chance against these men, who were armed to the teeth and merciless?
And yet, as I watched them step through the portal, their presence charged with fierce determination, a flicker of hope stirred deep within me. There was a formidable strength in the way they carried themselves—one that defied logic, but that I wanted, more than anything, to believe in.
“Help me,” the woman begged; her plea laced with despair. The five ran up to her and Mila was the first to reach the woman, kneeling down to support her as she helped her back to her feet.
The woman’s features were drawn with pain and dread, but a glimmer of relief surfaced as Mila steadied her.
The captain, seeing Mila’s movement, lunged forward with a snarl, but Alek was faster.
In a heartbeat, he was there, seizing the assailant by the throat and lifting him off the ground.
“You touch her, you die,” Alek growled, his voice low and lethal—now protecting the same girl he’d threatened, then healed, only six months ago.