20. Seren
SEREN
A gentle murmur fills the air—hundreds of bees drawn to purple sprouting blossoms stretching into the horizon. The scent of lavender overwhelms me, a faint perfume tickling my nose.
The ground beneath me hums with life—roots and burrowing things moving unseen.
I wiggle my toes, enjoying the cool grains of earth wedging between them.
Dry stalks whisper in the wind, and evergreen leaves stroke my arms. I reach for one, rubbing the petals to release their oils, breathing in the trace they leave behind.
Giggles float on the breeze, though I can’t see their source.
“Nyxie!” someone shouts.
I squint through the sun’s blanket of gold, twirling as I listen for that squeaky voice again.
“Oh…Nyxie!” A trail of lilting laughter follows. I’ve found her. No—not her. Them.
Black hair, flecked with red, shimmers in the light. A small head bounces to my right, while another snigger erupts from the left. A girl with a mop of long, mousy-brown hair sways as she runs. Their faces are obscured, as if peering through a smudged window, but their joy sings in my ears.
A serene feeling settles in my soul—something I haven’t felt for a very long time. The skin at the corners of my eyes crinkles; I beam like a giddy child in a sweet shop.
A deep sense of knowing consumes me.
My sisters.
My feet press into the damp earth as I bolt to join them.
* * *
The clinking sound of metal wakes me.
I force my heavy eyelids apart, chasing the warmth of the meadow and the lingering scent of lavender. What’s happening?
A shadow crosses the bed as the rattling grows louder. Kael stands there, chains in hand, while first light needles through the slit in the curtains. A beam refracts through one of his lenses, casting a thin ribbon of rainbow across the room. My shadows hiss and recoil at the sight of him.
His eyes are ablaze, his lip curled in contempt—the look of a man reduced to a warden.
“Up,” he says, his voice gravelly with disuse.
A thump lands on the edge of the mattress as he drops today’s attire. Cursing the manacles biting into my skin, I push myself up and edge out of bed, nearly slipping on the silken sheets. A firm hand catches my elbow—quick, impersonal—and is gone as soon as I’ve found my footing.
I don’t offer any thanks. “Will you at least give me some privacy to get ready?”
Ignoring me, he turns and throws the curtains wide. The room drinks in the light as he stares out at his beloved city below.
Squinting through the brightness, I stumble toward the bathroom, the cold marble waking me with every step. The door closes with a soft click. I lean over the sink, finally letting the weight of the day sink in.
By the Mother’s Veil—what’s going to happen? What does being ‘examined’ even mean?
I splash water over my face, sweeping away the grogginess of the dream. It didn’t feel like a dream; it felt like a memory of a life lived. But how could it be?
Peeling off the grey nightdress, I wash and change into the robe Kael left on the bed, making sure to tuck my pendant away before heading back out.
He’s still staring out the window, the muscles of his broad back shifting visibly under his thin tunic. He peers over his shoulder, his gaze slowly exploring me from head to toe. I refuse to look away, though the way my fingers pick at the edge of the manacles betrays me.
“Good.”
He strides over and stops, towering over me. The gold rim of his spectacles frame eyes the colour of moonlight, but it’s the flecks of grey and blue glistening in the sun that keep me staring. Heat flashes up my neck as the silence between us thickens.
I clear my throat, forcing my gaze away anywhere but him.
“Let’s go.” His expression turns as flat and emotionless as his voice.
The chains rattle as he fixes them to the loop on my manacles, the firm click heavy with the weight of my confinement.
* * *
Each step echoes across marble, the air heavy with oil and stone. We walk in silence, Kael in front, dragging me along—just as he did on our journey here.
As we descend toward the lower levels of the Guild Hall, high ceilings give way to narrow corridors.
White marble bleeds into pale limestone, then brick, then something older: rock veined with dull metal, like a spine running through the building’s heart.
Ornate lamps are replaced by iron brackets; windows vanish into walls.
Even the people change, turning into guards with faces as cold as the stone.
Pressure builds. The scent of stale, damp earth and dust coats my nostrils as I try to breathe through the confinement. It’s no use, the knot in my throat only tightens, and my lungs burn for air.
My feet ground to the spot, causing Kael to jerk back. I hunch forward, grabbing my shaking knees and fighting to steady my nerves. His eyes are the last place I want to see my own terror reflected.
“What are you doing?” he demands, derision lacing his words.
“I need a minute—”
“Get a grip.” He pulls the chain taut, the force dragging me to the floor. “The High Commander is waiting.”
The skin on my knees feels tender from the impact; I know they’ll be mottled with black and purple bruises by tonight. A small whimper escapes me as my shadows curl tighter against my spine.
“Got any advice?” I rasp.
“If you scream,” he says quietly, “don’t fight it.”
A dry, splintered laugh hacks from my throat. “That’s your advice?”
His voice drops, barely a whisper. “It’s survival.”
I meet his gaze, cold and unwavering. “Then survive watching.”
His lip curls as he offers his hand. “I always do.”
I knock it aside and spit at his feet, a curse hissing through my teeth.
Instinct takes over; he raises the hand intended for my cheek but freezes mid-strike. His jaw tightens before he regains his grip on the chains.
“Fine. Get up yourself.”
I stumble upright, wincing as pain shoots through my joints. I set my shoulders and lift my chin high. He huffs, rolling his eyes as he continues leading me down the corridor.
We reach a circular door etched with runes that hum and glow at our approach. Kael places his palm against the wood, and the symbols ignite one by one in a perfect, golden circle.
Cold air spills out, smelling of incense and something sharper—bitter. We pass two guards stationed inside the threshold.
The room—like the door—is circular, with high vaulted ceilings. It’s disorientating to be so deep beneath the Guild Hall, yet standing in such a wide, open space.
Mirrors of polished silver line the walls, their edges lined with light-script. A lone table sits in the centre—not a bed, not a slab, but something in between. Runes web its surface, dim as sleeping embers.
A man with amber eyes waits beside it, his blonde hair combed to perfection. Chainmail covers his broad frame—an outfit fit for a battlefield, surely not for whatever is about to happen here. He stands with thumbs spinning idly in his crossed hands.
“Seren,” he says, smiling like it costs him nothing. “I am High Commander Riven. I’ll be conducting your testing today.”
I remain silent, hoping he can hear the thousand unspoken words my face speaks. He chuckles at the lack of response.
“Unclip her,” he commands.
Kael’s jaw tightens as he faces me, avoiding my gaze. The chain between my wrists tugs free with a reluctant scrape—metal murmuring against metal. Riven’s gaze slides over us both, then lands on me like a frost.
“Place her there.” He points to the table in the centre. Kael’s chest rises, his face hardening as he guides me forward and I sit, perching on the edge.
“Is she clean?”
“Yes,” Kael says through gritted teeth.
The table is colder than it looks. I perch on the edge, manacles anchored in my lap. Tendrils of shadow wrap around my legs, poised to strike.
“Good.” Riven claps his hands in delight, the sudden noise making me twitch. “Let us begin.”
As he approaches I turn my head. A keen, tangy smell escapes his parted lips, sending a surge of bile to my throat.
“Stand,” he commands.
I don’t obey. I sit there, chin raised high, bracing for the impact that will no doubt land. But it doesn’t.
“I said…stand.”
His words thunder through me. With reluctant legs, I stand.
“Remove the robe.”
I glance at Kael, desperate for a reaction, but his gaze is fixed on the floor, his jaw feathering.
My fingers fail at first. I hate it—hate that my trembling is as obvious as my loathing. I shrug the fabric from my shoulders, letting it drape at the crooks of my elbows. The air bites. The silver mirrors return me to myself a dozen times over: too thin, too pale. Shackled.
Riven circles. An idle finger traces my collarbone like a collector admiring a rare shell. He doesn’t rush. He lingers, deliberate, as if he’s cataloguing me. My skin crawls, hairs raising all over my body as his nail scratches.
“The rest of it,” he says, nodding to the fabric pooled in my lap.
My lips thin, my teeth clench, as I unwillingly do as he asks. The robe drops until I’m standing in a puddle of grey. The cold seeps into every inch of my exposed skin.
The corner of his mouth lifts, baring red-stained teeth as his finger returns. He traces the hollow of my throat before dropping lower, pausing as if searching for something beneath the flesh. He lets his hand hang there, waiting for a reaction. I don’t bite.
A wave of sickly-sweet, pungent air hits me as he chuckles at my facade. His finger slides to my chin, his nail cutting into the skin as he forces me to look at him. A true, blazing fire rages in his eyes—a forge burning with terrifying purpose.
“Lie down.”
There’s no point resisting, not when the resonance thrums like static. Ever the obedient pet, I do as he says.
He touches the rod to my wrist, just beyond the glow of the manacles.
Light-forged metal meets my skin, and heat blooms. A needle-thin pain blazes at the contact, like raw exposure to the sun.
My shadows surge toward the rod by instinct, only to be met by an invisible force.
An ear-splitting scream rips through my skull—not mine, but someone else’s.