Chapter 5 #3
At the insistence of Interion's king, Elitium I, his nation would serve as the alliance's commercial center, becoming the main trade route as well as the hub for storing and distributing materials.
However, this wasn't the only condition the king imposed in the Cooperation Treaty.
To seal the agreement, he demanded that allied nations hand over some of their elemental students—those with power levels above 300—to serve in Interian military academies.
The children would be sent to Interion at ten years old, when their powers began to manifest. They would then spend the next twelve years training and specializing.
After graduation, they could choose to work for Interion or return home.
The Treaty ushered Jupiter into the Modern Era.
Technology took root across the continent, bringing innovation to construction, communication, and transportation.
An era of peace was established, strictly governed by rigid rules and limits.
The only problem was a distant nation to the west, protected by its dense forest.
Drutes was pure chaos, spreading its rot to the four winds.
Δ
As I walked through the hospital doors, I came face to face with a man sporting a contagious smile. He was mixed race—the son of an Amperian and an Interian. His eyes and hair were brown, and his light olive skin gleamed under the archemic globes.
“Good morning, Kyller!”
“Good morning, Dr. Lorenzo!” Besides being the second senior-level elmedic, Lorenzo had been my favorite professor during my theory classes in college. He held the title of the nation's greatest cardiologist and, to top it off, was Ambrose's husband.
“See you in the surgical room in an hour, okay?” He winked at me and hurried off toward the locker room.
Today was the surgical skills test. I'd be evaluated by three senior-level elmedics and three human specialists in the field. The test wasn't about magic use—it was to assess my scalpel skills and medical knowledge. It was terrifying.
I'd been preparing for this exam for two years, and today's surgery would be challenging even for a final-year resident.
It involved removing a benign tumor from the superficial part of the cerebral cortex.
A bit complicated, but I'd traveled an exhausting road to get here and be the best. Even if something went wrong, Ambrose would be waiting outside, ready to step in and help.
That would tank my grade, but a low score was better than a dead patient.
Ambrose always taught that the best professional wasn't the one who could do everything, but the one who knew when not to act.
I swore to keep that in mind no matter what.
Lost in thought, I entered the sterilization room and started gathering kits of surgical gear. A few seconds later, the sharp smell of mint cigarettes mixed with black orchid perfume flooded my nostrils.
“So, weirdo, ready to kill someone today?”
I rolled my eyes without even looking. Adele's shrill voice and that scent were unmistakable.
“Hi, Adele,” I muttered, pretending to be busy stacking surgical supplies.
“The nurses and I made a bet. Want to hear?” she asked with a smirk. She was also a healing elemental, the only one in my class. She was specializing in obstetrics and gynecology, but I was convinced her real gift was making people roll their eyes.
“No.”
Betting was the hospital staff's favorite pastime—an annoying and often morbid vice. Once, I saw nurses betting on how long a patient would take to die after half his head was destroyed in a work accident.
“Too bad, because I'm telling you anyway.” She set her surgical gear on one of the tables.
“I bet you'll botch it with the scalpel.
Giuseppe bet you'll panic and beg for help to finish.
Nayra bet you won't finish in time.” Adele circled around me, leaning close to my ear before adding, “How sad—no one bet in your favor.”
I glanced over my shoulder and nearly ended up face-to-face with her. She flashed a mocking smile, stroking her straight, sleek hair tied in a high ponytail.
“What's the wager?” I asked, hiding behind a mask of indifference.
“Two dinners at Lemon's,” she replied, examining her hot-pink nails.
Adele was an exchange student from Yonser, a nation with a predominantly albino population.
Her long hair was white, as were her eyebrows, eyelashes, and skin.
She had the tips dyed pink, as if she'd dipped them in a pot of paint.
She could have been the greatest beauty Yonser genetics had to offer, but her personality was too rotten to deserve the title.
“Great! I'll bet against all of you. I'll finish on time, without help, and the surgery will be perfect.” I extended my hand to seal the deal.
She looked at me with her usual contempt.
“I don't shake hands with losers. But the bet's on.” She twirled a lock of hair around her fingers. “Good luck!” She gathered her things and turned to leave, but not before adding with a sharp wink, “Or not.”
Eighty percent of the time I encountered Adele, I wanted to drown her in a tank of acid. The other twenty percent, I spent scolding myself for wanting that. The gods taught us to love our neighbor, but sometimes, to love your neighbor, they need to be far, far away.