Chapter 11
The next day, I find myself once more pulled aside by Elysand.
His eyes sweep over me, taking in my injuries—the deep purple bruising around my eye and cheek. He shakes his head silently.
“Is there something you want to tell me, Nykander?” he asks softly.
“No.” I shake my head. “No.”
“Did anyone in the department do this?”
I shake my head again, more urgently. “No—no, please don’t think that.
It was my fault. I was walking home yesterday and saw some people arguing.
After one of the males was pushed to the ground, I went over and asked if he was alright, if he needed help.
But he went completely crazy and started punching me.
I’m not exactly sure what happened. His eyes were this strange mix of black and red—”
He raises a hand, stopping me.
“Black and red?” he asks.
“Yes. And there were small black veins creeping into his skin. I don’t know if he was deranged or suffering from some illness, but he easily overpowered me.” I finish explaining, reluctantly but honestly. There’s no point in feeling ashamed. Everyone knows about my lack of strength after all…
“I see. Was this in the mortal district, by any chance?”
I stare at him, wide-eyed. “How did you know?”
His lips press together. “Do you know what Zantrax is, Nykander?”
“Zantrax?” I repeat. The word is unfamiliar. “No. I’ve never heard of it.”
“Zantrax is a synthetic drug made from the essence of an immortal. There are dealers on the black market who hunt immortals, and harvest their essence to create it. Mortals use it to temporarily gain immortal abilities. It gives the user increased speed, strength, sometimes other abilities as well. But it doesn’t last long.
Because of its synthetic nature, and the way immortal essence is processed into a potion, it’s highly unstable.
The user becomes addicted very quickly.”
He looks at me knowingly. “You most likely encountered one such addict. You don’t need to feel guilty. But next time, learn to avoid them.”
I keep staring at him. “That’s possible?” I whisper. “Someone can harvest the essence of an immortal?”
He nods. “This isn’t only happening here in Tartareia. I’ve heard reports of similar cases in Aperion. Some even say the drug originated there.”
“It originated in Aperion…” I trail off.
“Yes,” he interrupts. “It is as you think. Aperites have far more stable cores than we do. If an immortal Aperite’s essence is harvested, the drug is still dangerous, but it doesn’t cause the same madness.”
He continues, “In Tartareia, our cores are unstable. When a Tartarian immortal’s essence is harvested, that instability is extracted as well. Over time, it drives the user further into madness.”
I frown. That isn’t what I was thinking about at all—but I don’t say that. I don’t want him to realize just how little I know about my own kind, or about Aperion.
I spent most of my formative years in seclusion, afraid to go outside at all. I had a library to occupy myself, but there were few chronicles on Aperion matters—and even fewer on the instability of Tartarian souls.
“When you say our cores are unstable,” I ask carefully, “what exactly do you mean?”
He looks at me strangely, then exhales. “Given your stats, I’m not entirely sure how this applies to you specifically.
But once a Tartarian immortal reaches one thousand five hundred years—or achieves the third level—their core destabilizes.
The only way to stabilize the soul is through the consumption of other energy sources—souls,” he adds. “I’m sure you’ve heard of that.”
Consumption of souls.
“Yes,” I say quickly. “Yes, I know about soul consumption.”
“You’ve never consumed one, have you?”
I shake my head immediately.
“You may not need to,” he says. “If you haven’t felt the urge yet, I doubt you will in the future. You’ve reached your majority too… But I do wonder how that will affect your immortality.”
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“Hasn’t your family said anything?”
I shake my head.
“They should have,” he replies. “It’s their responsibility to teach you these things. Consuming souls to stabilize your own is fundamental knowledge for a young Tartarian immortal.”
“My parents died when I was little,” I say quietly. “I mostly raised myself.”
He exhales. “That explains a lot. No one was there to teach you.”
“Yes,” I answer, only half-truthfully.
I haven’t had anyone to teach me—but I’ve also been forbidden from learning. He doesn’t need to know that. No one does.
For every exam, every form, I used a different surname. Anything to avoid being tied to the Jubal family—the renowned House of Jubal, famed for its powerful warriors.
Not only because I’m not worthy of being mentioned in the same sentence, but also to keep my identity a secret in case my mother finds me; in case anyone finds out about the circumstances of my birth…
“Here,” Elysand says after a moment. He materializes a small vial out of nowhere and hands it to me. “This should help with your injuries and your cold. But be careful from now on.”
“I—Thank you, thank you,” I mumble sincerely, accepting the gift.
With a nod, he allows me to get back to my work station.
The moment I drink the potion, everything changes. My breathing gets easier and my cough disappears. The bruises too, they’re instantly gone—I note as I catch my reflection in a mirror.
Wow… So that’s what it means to have powers in this world.
Then my small bubble of joy bursts as I return to reality—I’ll never have those capabilities.
Back to my fully functioning capacity, I return to my work station for a few hours before being summoned for the bi-weekly conference.
Gathering all of my files, I go to the conference room and take a seat.
Since this is my first time participating in this kind of conference, I pay close attention to the etiquette surrounding it.
Elysand, as chief, speaks first. He goes over the general developments and offers a brief introduction for the rookies in the department.
Everyone nods in our direction, after which we take turns discussing our assigned Houses and anything we’ve observed over the past two weeks.
When my turn comes, I try not to stumble over my words. It’s difficult, with so many eyes on me and so little experience speaking before an audience, but I proceed slowly and methodically. I go through every warrior in the House of Memnon assigned to me, explaining everything I’ve noticed.
When I finish, I let out a quiet breath and sit down. I sneak a glance at Elysand. He nods at me, and I can’t help but smile. That means I did well… right?
The next person to speak is another rookie. His name is Abram. He’s the only one I haven’t really interacted with—though that isn’t saying much since all of them ignore me more or less, especially after finding out I’m a rare level zero.
Abram begins his report, and he’s the first to raise an alarm about one of the warriors under his supervision.
As he details the situation, I find myself frowning.
He projects a map showing the power indicators assigned to each warrior in his House and points out a flicker correlated with one individual.
“There’s an irregularity,” he says. “I believe it’s an indication of advancement.”
Elysand immediately frowns. He asks why Abram didn’t report this earlier. The rules are clear: while the course of action is determined during the conference, any irregularity must be announced the moment it’s noticed. Naturally, Elysand wants to know why this is the first he’s hearing of it.
Abram straightens, visibly flustered. He explains that he hasn’t detected the abnormality for very long.
I can’t help wondering why he didn’t go directly to Elysand instead of waiting for the conference—but then another thought crosses my mind.
Maybe he wanted the attention. The praise of presenting something significant in front of everyone.
I shake my head. Surely he wouldn’t risk protocol for that.
Elysand looks annoyed, but he tells Abram to continue. Abram lists the warrior’s stats, repeatedly pointing at a dot on the map that’s flickering slightly redder than the others.
I lean forward to get a better look, and before I can stop myself, I speak.
“May I see that more closely?”
Abram looks annoyed, but he can’t refuse. This is a conference—collaboration is mandatory. He slides the map toward me, and I study it carefully.
Yes, the dot is reddish and flickering. Under normal circumstances, it might indicate advancement. But something is off. The flicker alternates—one second blue, one second red. It isn’t the steady red we’re trained to monitor.
I examine the location more closely. It’s the House of Estus. I’m not particularly familiar with it, but its layout is strikingly similar to that of the House of Jubal. I place my finger over the flickering dot.
“What is this location?” I ask.
Abram looks at me again, his voice condescending.
“The armory. That’s exactly why I brought this up today. He’s in the armory. He could be armed and dangerous. We should act immediately.”
Elysand narrows his eyes. That isn’t protocol. Protocol dictates that a color-changing dot must be observed over time before any conclusions are drawn.
“How long has he been in the armory?” I ask. My questions are genuine. I don’t understand why Abram seems so agitated.
“Since this morning,” he says. “I believe this constitutes an act of war.”
Something still doesn’t sit right with me.
“An armory houses a House’s most valuable possessions—many of them mystical, immensely powerful. Could proximity alone be affecting the warrior’s energy signature?” I ask.
Abram’s eyes widen. Then anger flashes across his face.
“Are you implying I’m wrong?” he snaps.
“No-no,” I say quickly. “I was just considering the possibility that maybe—well, the color isn’t fully red and—” I trail off, regretting opening my mouth at all. I should have stayed quiet.
Then Elysand slams his hand on the table.