CHAPTER 5 #2
But, I was nothing if not a professional.
I could deal with a presumptuous, charming, promiscuous asshole if he was the best asshole the Republic had to offer for this mission.
I was well aware of the fact that it wouldn’t have been wise to embark on such an operation alone.
Going into unknown territory surrounded by Kobrant soldiers who were wary of us at best and enemies at worst . . .
I needed someone watching my back. Even if that someone was Armand Bleuombre.
Besides, I’d at least get the satisfaction of knowing he’d been put under me for the duration of the mission. Because Armand might have been good at controlling his gifts, but I was just as good with mine.
The first ability I got had been inked in sap right under my collarbones.
I remember those first few days with stark clarity, where I would spend countless hours sitting on my cot, facing the mirror, watching the luminous white swirls glint under the candlelight.
The way they shifted slightly with each breath, alive in my skin.
A constant, shimmering reminder of what I’d been given.
And that had been before I’d even learned to control what that sap had granted me: intangibility. Also known as phasing.
Where Armand’s ability to shield lets him make his skin impenetrable, mine allows me to shift my body down to a molecular level.
It enables me to move through solid objects—and to have solid objects move harmlessly through me.
It’s considered one of the most complex abilities not only to master, but also to have in the first place.
It hadn’t taken long, back in those early days, to discover that sap was a fickle thing. Nothing like the ordinary inks once used to etch symbols or tell stories on skin. It wasn’t just a matter of threading it through tissue and muscle, it had to want to stay.
Or something like that, anyway.
In theory, anyone could have any pattern inked on their skin that would in turn grant them a certain, known ability. Only . . . that wasn’t the case.
When someone with the wrong constitution or incompatible blood was inked in a specific part of their body, the sap simply vanished—absorbed into the tissues beneath, disappearing from the skin entirely. And once gone, it was lost for good.
Considering the value sap had acquired, such loss could not be afforded. And so scientists, alchemists, and theorists from every continent were quickly set to work, set to find a way to determine, in advance, whether a person’s body would accept a particular skill.
Now, I was no scientist, and wouldn’t know the specific details, but they eventually figured it out. When a single drop of sap was mixed with the candidate’s blood, it would either bond to the intended design or reject it outright. It wasn’t foolproof, but it was reliable enough.
When they tested me, and the results said I could, in principle, wield intangibility, there had been no question about it. It hadn’t been my choice, exactly, but I also wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.
Most people, it’d been discovered, could not sustain more than one ability on their skin.
It was rare for someone to be able to have two abilities, and three was basically unheard of.
Those who, for whatever reason written in their genes, could have two abilities, tended to have higher roles within the Republic.
Most centurions I knew had two abilities.
Manners were also one of the most respected groups in society, given how critical they were for everyday logistics, and how rare it was for someone to be able to hold both psychokinesis and metallokinesis.
My second ability came years later. When I was tested for the second time and the results came out positive, I knew my fate would be sealed exactly like I’d always hoped it would.
Vibrokinesis was inked in thin, spiraling patterns over my fingertips like whorls of starlight caught mid-spin.
Also rare and hard to control, but for a different reason: it was one of the newest abilities found in the Republic.
While more established abilities like shielding or psychokinesis had been refined over decades, vibrokinesis was still a mystery.
One that had only been uncovered a few years after I was born.
By the time it was inked onto me, the knowledge surrounding it barely scratched the surface.
I wasn’t delusional. I knew how much of a disadvantage it was to wield a skill so little understood.
It had been hard to find instructors who could help me during my formative years, even with the Supreme Strategos behind me.
Harder still to push past the limits of what was known and figure things out on my own.
Do I think I know half of what could be done with an ability that allows me to generate and control vibrations? No.
Do I regret having it inked on me? Also no.
I liked the fact it was rare. That I was one of the few who could use it. One of the first who might help unlock its true potential. Maybe even define it for future wielders, one day.
Maybe that made me a little delusional, after all.
Now
Of course, of everything I said, that last part is the one Zephyr targets first.
“How were you even trained in an ability that had barely been known for a decade?” he asks, his squinted eyes wordlessly saying he does not appreciate me not giving every single detail once again.
In Kobra, I’d learnt on the first couple days, vibrokinesis hadn’t yet been discovered at all.
“I was trained by the third person ever to become a vibrokinetic”.
The corner of my mouth twitches at the memory.
I was so jealous of my instructor for the longest time, although it was jealousy moulded into admiration, mostly.
Patricia had been the best instructor I’ve ever worked with.
Kind, endlessly patient, and skilled beyond measure in both vibrokinesis and clairvoyance, her second ability.
I could never quite get over how striking the white spirals looked against her darker Southern skin, how they shimmered like pale fire across her knuckles.
On my own fingers, they’d always seemed duller.
Like snow on water instead of fire in the night.
I have to suppress the urge to let my lips bend into a sad smile when the nostalgia hits me like a tidal wave. Once again, I refuse to give them that much.
“She had nine years of practice by then,” I go on. “Nine years to understand the mechanics and the limitation. She taught me everything she knew.” I don’t speak of the one use we figured out together after that. It might have to come out later, but for now I’ve given enough.
Suspicion is ever-present in Zephyr’s eyes, cutting clean through the quiet, clawing at each layer of the practiced neutrality I wear like a second skin.
“And what of your other skill?”
The question hits like a stone to the chest. My breath hitches. I tense, scanning his companions for any flicker of surprise.
Because I am not supposed to have other skills. Because in the last century, the number of humans in Widesight able to control more than two abilities inked on their skin can be counted with the fingers of one hand.
And I am not supposed to be one of them.
“What of it?” I deflect, careful to sound unbothered. Let him think we’re still talking about intangibility, about what he already knows.
“When was it inked on you?”
“I told you,” I say, keeping my voice even. “Soon after I arrived at the Paragon. I was eleven—”
“Not that one, Lachlan,” he interjects in a clipped tone. “Your third ability.”
A current of unease snakes through my stomach.
Given the lack of shock in either of his companions, it’s safe to assume Zephyr already briefed them in.
Which means that, even if I make it through this interrogation, I will not be walking out of here free.
The King’s Army will not let an anomaly out of their sight, especially not one that can do what I have.
A fist curls around my heart and squeezes.
My eyes fall closed, because this is it. I have met my end, after all.
Young, I expected, but not this young. My fingers twitch with the pressure building inside me, a buzz just beneath the skin. I’ve lost. I’m lost—
Small gulps of air, Davina.
The words are a memory whispered in a voice that is not as pronounced as I’d want it to be, like it’s just blurring around the edges. It has been losing sharpness with every passing day, month and year. Its warmth.
It works just the same, like it always does. I draw a shallow breath, tasting dust and rust and gas.
That’s it, baby. Just like sipping whiskey.
When I lift my gaze, I’m startled to find no glee in Zephyr’s eyes. No satisfaction in the cracking of my mask and no celebration in seeing me fall apart. Instead, I find a tension I can’t comprehend.
Silence settles between us, thick and waiting as I gather myself, piece by piece. Sip by sip.
Even if I never leave this room, I’ve lived a life fuller than most. I’ve seen things people only dream of.
And isn’t that proof that it was a life that, albeit short, was well lived?
No one urges me to answer. No one rushes me. The statement posed as a question hangs in the air like a string of silk wrapping around my neck, readying to end me as soon as I utter the words.
Then again, I have nothing left to lose.
“When I was a child,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Five. Maybe six.”
It’s Zephyr’s turn to be surprised. His eyes flash before his head turns sharply toward the woman at his side.
“Truth.”
My captor’s attention returns to me, ever so slowly. A muscle in his jaw ticks as those eyes scan me from head to toe with a new glint in them. A terrifying one.
One that I have only seen once before.
One that marked the beginning of my downfall.