Chapter 40 #3
I turned, even more perplexed and embarrassed. How did he know that? There was no way he could know—there had been no understanding in his eyes that day. Then I remembered Kiara, and the laugh that echoed behind me only confirmed my suspicions.
Shameless little traitor.
“Do the material’s properties have anything to do with the barrier’s resistance?” I asked, changing the subject before I dissolved from embarrassment.
“No. The barrier’s resistance comes from your elemental and mental strength. You could materialize clouds and they’d still be a strong barrier, but only if you trained.”
I concentrated on the film and imagined something like metal.
No effect. It stayed as thin as paper. Next, I imagined wood, then bricks, plastic, stone...
even clouds. I strained so hard to visualize the barrier that sweat ran down my face.
I imagined every type of metal from the periodic table, then various types of stone and wood, because maybe I needed to be more specific, just like Zion when he imagined onyx.
Nothing happened—the gelatin remained fragile.
“Try imagining something you know, something familiar,” Zion said behind me, reminding me he was still there.
“When I imagined onyx, it was because my mother had a ring like that. She left it to me, and I touched it so often that I already knew how it would feel. There’s also an onyx statue in my memories, something I apparently liked to touch, which made the material familiar to me. ”
I thought about what he said—something I knew so well I could feel it.
It was like a light switched on in my mind.
Something I knew without even needing to remember what it was like, something I already knew how to build.
I touched the barrier and closed my eyes to concentrate even harder.
I was one of the highest-level elmedics on Jupiter, and there was a material I knew, something branded into my memory like hot iron.
I let the power leak from my fingers, let it flow at full force and fill everything.
The power and I were one, so my barrier could only be made of this material.
I felt warmth against my fingers as the barrier materialized, and I opened my eyes to behold my masterpiece.
I heard Zion whistle approvingly behind me.
I stepped back and took in its full extent.
Before me rose a gigantic barrier of bone, smooth and hard as a skull.
From where I stood, I could feel its heartbeat.
“Not even in my wildest dreams would I have imagined a barrier like this!” Zion said, approaching it and running his fingers across it. I felt as if he had just caressed my back, and a shiver ran up my neck. “It’s truly the work of a surgeon.”
I approached too, touching the barrier beside him. It felt hard, but it was thin—I could tell it didn’t have the same thickness as Zion’s.
“That’s normal—thickness comes with years of practice. Train and strengthen it every night. In a month, it’ll be a considerable barrier,” he advised with a smile, then simply disappeared.
I returned to reality and opened my eyes. I was still sitting in the middle of the arena, and Zion was watching me with amusement.
“Now that’s what I call a prodigy,” he said proudly, standing up and extending a hand to help me. I felt dizzy when I stood, my body heavy in the material world.
“Prodigy? My barrier is as fragile as an eggshell.”
His eyes were shining, and I couldn’t ignore the emotion that shone through them.
“You discovered your barrier’s material in just a few hours and then created it from nothing. I’d say that’s a lot of progress for a first time. Now you just have to improve the thickness and keep it from collapsing.”
He grabbed the mats and held out his hand to me. Minutes later, we were home.
“I’ll do this every night,” I exclaimed excitedly.
I was determined to build a bone barrier as strong as his.
I would strengthen myself for Zion, so I’d never be a weak point in his shields again—so that when we united, I would be a pillar, not a weakness.
I carried the mats to the reading room, then returned to the living room.
I was ready to thank him for the lesson when I spotted him in front of the sideboard, looking at the photo that lay face down.
He reached out and picked up the portrait, then stared at the image.
“Hey?” I called out after a few seconds of him just standing there. Zion blinked and looked at me. There was no emotion in his eyes.
“He liked the Dornéu,” he murmured, absorbed in some old memory. “He probably would have liked the idea of helping me train you, just to spend more time there.”
I moved closer and studied the old photo, worn by time. Akira’s innocent smile was one of the things that stood out most in the image. Gently, I laced my fingers through Zion’s.
“What was he like?”
“Light. Akira was the most carefree boy I ever met, despite always being at Kaori’s side like a bodyguard.
He laughed when he shouldn’t have, told jokes where the only funny thing was how ridiculous they were, and he was always singing during training, which drove Serguei crazy. Akira was the best version of us.”
For a moment, we just stood there, observing. A hard knot formed in my throat as I felt the depth of Zion’s grief for his friend. I couldn’t say anything. I just stayed beside him, imagining the kind of boy he’d described.
“It was our fault. Mine and Serguei’s.”
Hearing the confession hurt more than I’d imagined. In his hands, the three children smiled in the photo, as if they couldn’t see fate lurking cruelly just ahead, ready to steal their happiness. I took a deep breath, composing myself, and asked:
“What happened to Akira?” Then I added, “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay. I’ll understand. But I think it would do you good to talk about it, Zion.”
He looked at the photo again, focusing on his friend’s face.
“There was a Drute attack on one of our most advanced bases,” he began.
His voice was so low it was barely above a whisper.
“Back then, we hadn’t taken much of their territory, and the Drute army was larger than ours.
The squad we were in was called to battle, but Kaori, Akira, and I received orders to stay behind.
Akira was busy creating some kind of blocking technology at the Vinturian army installation, so he didn’t mind the orders, but Kaori and I were eager to join our first battle.
It had been six months since we’d graduated, and we wanted to impress the general.
So when the army left, the two of us followed. ”
Silence filled the room, and I gently rested a hand on his back, encouraging him to continue.
“When we arrived at the battle site, our squad had already lost and we were surrounded. We fought, but without proper command and with no experience, Kaori and I got cornered. All seemed lost when Akira showed up—he’d probably been following us to make sure everything went okay, since he always had a gift for knowing when we were in trouble. His presence gave us a fighting chance.
“He was a high-level blocker, and the three of us had trained to fight together. Akira was our defense, I was the offense, and Kaori was always the strategist. But during the fight, we got separated, and somehow Akira was captured and dragged into their territory. Kaori and I were injured, but we followed his trail—we knew he was still alive. Then somehow Serguei learned what had happened and came after us. He managed to find my mind in the forest and ordered us to return. I ignored him. I kept following the trail of the soldiers who’d taken Akira—we were close enough to hear him screaming for help.
We’d worked out an emergency plan and were ready to put it into action...
That’s when Serguei took control of my mind.
He made me knock out Kaori and drag her back to Interion. We abandoned him.”
My heart sank. I covered my mouth with my hand and stared at the portrait, just as Zion was doing. I hadn’t been wrong in my deduction—Serguei had played a part in this.
“If he hadn’t done that, would you have been able to save him?” I asked, considering it from a different angle.
“Back then I thought so, but now I’m not sure.”
“Did they kill Akira?”
“Probably,” Zion said with a sigh. “They kill our soldiers and leave the blood as an offering to the lamias. We searched the forest for his body but never found it, and Serguei couldn’t do anything because blockers have an unbreakable barrier against psychics.
Even if Akira wanted to be found, he wouldn’t have been able to remove the barrier—just like with your father. ”
“So there’s a chance he’s alive?”
“Kaori believes so. She’s been searching for information ever since, but she’s never found anything.”
“And what do you think?” I asked, watching him for any reaction.
“Slaves don’t last more than two years in the Drute armies.” Zion set the photo on the sideboard and studied it for a few more seconds. “He wouldn’t have survived that long.”
Then he snapped the photo down on the sideboard and left me alone, staring at the portrait.
Δ
Hours later, I shifted position in bed for the tenth time, but the darkness filled me with fear and terror climbed up my throat as if it would suffocate me.
Tired of this, I turned on the bedroom and bathroom lights, but even then, when I closed my eyes, the darkness seemed to take shape and I snapped them open in desperation.
I couldn’t forget the sensation of cold fingers on my ankle, let alone stop hearing that dying breath.
I curled into a ball, trying to keep all my limbs tucked together and away from the edge of the bed, but even Kiara’s snoring on the other side of the glass wall seemed frightening.
Finally, I wrapped myself in the blanket and dragged myself to Zion’s bedroom door.
I paced back and forth at his threshold, keeping the lights on.