Eight #2
I don’t know what happens next. I don’t remember moving or how the light emerged from me. All I know is my vision goes white, then gold, then black.
When I come back to myself, the room vibrates, and Kael is sprawled on the floor across the space. His eyes are squeezed shut, as though blinded by the flash of light. I fear his reprisal, but when he finally recovers, he only blinks up at me with a look of astounded delight.
An arc of golden cracks, bright and terrible, spreads outwards from my feet, further scarring the stone floor.
Kael sits up, brushes himself off and lets out a single burst of incredulous laughter.
“So,” he says, “you’re not so useless after all.”
There is no malice there, but the admiration in his voice is somehow worse.
I wander the Embrace for hours, afraid to return to my room in case Kael is somehow still in there, waiting for me. I fled so quickly, I’m surprised my soles didn’t catch fire.
The corridors are disorienting. Always too bright. Always whispering my secrets back at me.
I keep my eyes down, trying not to think about Kael. He knows. This makes everything so much harder.
I don’t want to think about the heat of his body pressed against mine, the look in his eyes, or even the way he says my name.
I shake it off as I round a corner and nearly collide with two Air Dominion Offerings. They move together but not in unison—one of them trails a half step behind, brimming with nervous energy.
The first boy is slender, almost willowy, with hair cut short to his scalp, so grey it looks almost blue. His eyes are sharp and silver, like frosted glass. He walks as though he is determined to make no sound at all.
The second is nothing like him: sandy-brown hair, unevenly cut with restless hands and eyes that dart everywhere. He looks to be in battle with a thousand thoughts and he is not winning.
They freeze when they see me, their eyes flicking from my uniform to my face. The grey-haired boy recovers first, giving me a small smile. “Luceris, right? From the Light Dominion.”
I nod, a little wary. “And you are…?”
“Alaris. Alaris Jen.” He gestures to the boy behind him. “And this is Fenwyn.”
“Fen is fine,” the sandy-haired boy corrects. His voice barely rises above a whisper.
Silence settles between us. I want to keep walking, but I don’t move. Fen’s hands are shaking, but he pockets them to disguise it.
“What are you up to?” Alaris asks, his eyes wrinkling.
“Just taking a walk,” I reply. “I needed air.”
Alaris’ lips twist. “There’s not much air in here,” he says. “None of this is real.”
“It feels real enough,” I retort.
Fen snorts, and for a second the worry seems to leave his face. “Everything here is fake,” he says. “The Mother Shard must be channelling constantly to keep us suspended in this place.”
He looks at me, then away, then back again. “What a waste of Mana.”
He starts drawing invisible patterns across his palm. "Is it true what they say? That the Light Dominion forces people to come here?”
My eyes widen. “What do you mean?”
Fen glances at Alaris, but his expression is schooled. “Air Offerings volunteer.”
My mouth opens before I can stop it, and Fen rushes to explain.
“Well—our families kind of make us. Not directly, I mean, but—”
He laughs nervously. “If you volunteer at the Choosing, your family gets looked after. If you don’t, then... you get to stay poor. So, what I mean is: our families choose for us.”
He cracks his fingers, determined to look unbothered. “Seems like a fair trade, no?”
That question isn’t for me, I don’t think, but I flinch all the same. “You... chose to come here?”
I have no family to save. Still, I can see why someone would do it.
Fen shrugs, but the casualness of the gesture is lost. “I have three sisters. One needs medicine we can’t—couldn’t—afford.”
I cringe at his shift to past tense.
“My father is gone," he says. "So it’s just me and my mother looking after the girls. When the call for volunteers came at the Choosing, I was first in line.”
He can barely look at me. “Doesn't matter though. Someone had to. Better my family gets looked after than someone else’s.”
Alaris cuts in, his tone lighter than the narrow squint of his eyes should allow. “Don’t listen to his sob story. Fen makes it sound like heroism, but it’s just a numbers game to the Blessed. You die all the same.”
The words come too easily, like something rehearsed and smoothly delivered. I wonder how many times he has looked death in the face to wear that calm so easily.
“Does it help?” I ask, surprising myself. “Knowing that you chose your own fate?”
Alaris looks away, teeth clenched.
Fen answers. “At least my family will get to eat, and my sister will get the help she needs.”
He crosses his arms, taming his nerves, eyes finally meeting mine. “Doesn't mean I want to die, though.”
I nod. “Do any of us?”
We stand in silence, breathing false air while the Embrace hums around us.
Alaris breaks the quiet. “You looked good out there. In the Dome, I mean. We saw you fighting that Shadowborn. I thought you put up a good fight.”
It sounds like a compliment, but his eyes linger a little too long.
“I’ve had practice,” I say, my cheeks warming. “But, obviously not enough.”
“The way he pinned you was crazy,” Fen says. “I thought he was going to end you when you headbutted him. The look in his eyes—”
He circles a finger at his temple. “That guy seems crazy. We’ll be avoiding the Shadowborn and the Fireborn. They’re all cracked.”
Alaris chokes and Fen keeps talking. “The Fireborn, the older one, Atheron... he's done this before, hasn't he?” I ask. “Why would someone do this more than once?”
Fen nods like it makes perfect sense. “Fire always wins, apparently. They’re a tight-lipped Dominion, but the Visconti triplets are well-known.”
I'd heard people complain that the Fire Dominion always seemed to win, but nobody had ever explained why.
Fen continues to draw circles on his palms, his eyes downcast. “The Visconti triplets have won for decades. They each enter the rites in sequence, alongside a couple of compensated Offerings. That’s what the brand on their arm means.
They’re not much different from us. But it seems to carry more shame in the Fire Dominion.
They’re expected to defend the heir with their lives. ”
“I certainly wouldn’t be laying my life down for them,” Alaris interrupts.
Fen huffs. “But what if the heir goes on to win and your family faces the consequences,” he says, his voice higher now. “The Visconti triplets are old and powerful; they don't age as fast because of their time as the Crown.”
“Well,” Alaris stutters, “I hadn’t really thought about that.”
His posture softens slightly as he looks at me. “Sorry, we’re not trying to spook you or anything. It’s just the way it is. The Blessed really keep you all in the dark in the Light Dominion.”
I almost laugh at that. How ironic, when the sun never sets.
The moment is broken by a sudden echoing crash down the hall. Raised voices—shouting, then a heavy, breaking sound like shattering stone.
“Time for us to go,” Alaris says.
Fen nods in agreement, but something about the shouting pulls me down the corridor.
The noise brings me to the communal hall near the Dome. The Embrace feels endless at times, but right now its corridors are conspiring to lead me straight into trouble.
When I turn the final corner, I see the third Water Offering first: a slight girl with thick blonde hair in twin braids, usually wrapped neatly around her head, now half-undone and sticking to her tear-streaked face.
She is huddled against the wall, arms raised to protect her face, her thin wrists flinching at every movement.
Callen stands between her and her attacker, shoulders squared, every muscle taut.
A mountain of a man from the Earth Dominion, judging by the dark-green uniform, looms over Callen with a relaxed, almost casual brutality.
His fists are like boulders, streaked with blood and what looks like dust. He doesn’t bother with threats.
He simply stands there, waiting for Callen to act.
The Water girl—Morwen, I’m sure—weeps, her body shuddering.
There are more people here than I expected, none of them likely to help.
Marissa is noticeably absent, and that fills me with dread. I hope she’s somewhere safe.
Atheron is perched on a marble bench, legs outstretched lazily before him, arms folded in measured disinterest. His Fireborn flank him, their faces schooled into boredom, but their alert eyes tell a different story.
The other Earth Offerings are also here, lingering on the outskirts, both of them keeping a protective eye on their kin.
Callen tries reasoning with the man first.
“Leave her alone,” he says, but the difference between these two men is stark.
“Who are you talking to?” the man growls, his voice a landslide. “I’ll crush your fucking head into a pulp and then I’ll have my way with her afterwards.”
He laughs, and I feel the filth of it crawl across my skin. “She didn't say no.”
“She can’t speak, you disgusting pig,” Callen spits.
Morwen hiccups a sob, hands clawing at her throat.
“She doesn’t need to speak for what I have in mind. I just want to have some fun with her while I can.” He grins so wide my stomach turns. “She won’t live long once the trials begin.”
“Look at her—” Callen says, but the words lack any real bite. “Can't you see what you've done to her already?”
He raises his hands, ready for what comes next. I want to step in, but my fear roots my feet to the floor.
Atheron stands, one eye casually tracking me. “Do you two really intend to fight the six of us?"
His voice is lazy, but there is something sharp beneath it. “You may heal, but I promise you the pain will be quite dreadful.”
He levels a glare at both me and Callen. “What do you think Rask?”
He smirks at the Earthborn man. “Are these Lightborn rats so virtuous that they’ll suffer for the sake of one pathetic Waterborn?”
Rask laughs—a low, mean growl as his lips curl in amusement.