Chapter 25
“Sentries take no spouses.
Your attention belongs to your kingdom and your gods.
Bearing children is dishonorable.”
Iwas being watched.
I opened my eyes and saw a young girl sitting on the bed next to mine. She didn’t make a move to hurt me, so that was good.
Dressed in only my underthings, I pulled the blanket up a little higher before I spoke.
“Who are you?”
“I’m your roommate.”
My shoulders relaxed. Not a threat.
“What’s your name?” I asked the girl. She sat with her legs crossed on her bed, twiddling her fingers on the end of one of her tight, brassy braids.
The girl hesitated before speaking barely above a whisper. “Talia.”
“How old are you, Talia?”
“Thirteen.”
My throat constricted. I knew she was young. It was evident from her innocent appearance. But hearing it still made my chest squeeze. She was too young to be here.
“Well, Talia, I’m Mavis. It’s nice to meet you.”
She tilted her head, examining me. “You’re the one they call a traitor.”
“Well, don’t believe everything you hear,” I said, sitting up a little straighter.
“I don’t,” she said firmly but sweetly.
Talia gave me a tentative smile before standing and heading for the door.
My stomach rumbled. “Is it time for breakfast?”
Something I couldn’t name quickly flashed in her eyes. I waited for her to explain, to say what she was thinking, but she only nodded and walked away.
The interaction had been slightly awkward, but at least she didn’t seem to harbor any resentment toward me like the other culled. That was promising.
Rowan had told me to “make it to breakfast,” whatever that meant.
While he was still a Veiler, meaning I implicitly couldn’t trust him, I could begrudgingly admit that he cared to some extent about what happened to me. I wasn’t sure what his motives were, but it didn’t entirely matter. If he was interested in keeping me alive, that was enough for now.
I made my way to the dining hall, got my breakfast, and seated myself toward the back of the room. I ate in silence, impatiently waiting for the man from the night before to reappear and explain exactly what was going on.
I tapped my foot so fast that the table slightly shook from the force of it, earning me a few side glances from the culled around me. Dread was slowly eating at me as I tried to piece together Rowan’s warning.
Something was going to happen. I just didn’t know what.
Marcum Marwood finally made his appearance half an hour later, a wide grin plastered on his face. It was a facade.
Marcum took the stage and tapped what I heard others refer to as a microphone.
“Good morning, participants. I hope you all slept well. It is with a heavy heart that I announce the death of two program participants: Mina Summers and Dorian McFinney. They attempted to flee in the night, and as previously stated, the doors to the outside are not locked. Their frozen bodies were recovered this morning and returned to the Ground as Anam demands it.” There was a long moment of silence before Marcum continued.
“Anyway, I have a few notes from our head chef here concerning dietary needs…”
His voice trailed off, the room lurched, and it felt as though the walls were closing in on me. I could no longer hear anything other than the alarm ringing in my ears. Just two people who had tried to escape, two lives lost, now reduced to nothing more than a cautionary tale.
Realization dawned on me, and my breath hitched. That was what Rowan meant by needing to “make it to breakfast.” He wanted me to hear the death roll.
He wanted me to understand just how much danger I was in.
I searched the crowd of Veiled Ones for Rowan’s face. They had all stopped wearing masks, probably figuring that their identities were now safe. If we tried to run, we were as dead as Mina and Dorian.
Eventually, I spotted Rowan. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes locked on me. When he tilted his head toward the dais, I understood. Look at Marcum.
“I would like to speak briefly about the creation of The Ascension Program…”
Here it came.
“One hundred fifteen years ago, the Ravarie King, Acaelar Bloodborne, had a prophetic dream the night before his coronation…”
I felt the beginnings of a headache blooming behind my eyes.
“He dreamt of salvation—of a mortal ascending into everlasting life. In his vision, the act of ascension was both disintegration and formation… the becoming of pure energy.”
A beat of silence passed before he added, “He also foresaw the Stone Plague. The Great Prairie Fire.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd. I wasn’t the only one trying to make sense of this.
Someone shouted, “It’s unnatural!” and several voices agreed in hushed affirmation.
Marcum held up a hand, unbothered. “This building was erected with materials sourced from natural land. This building is not naturally occurring, but does that mean it is unnatural? You are currently being warmed by an artificial heating source. Is your comfort and safety so unnatural?” he asked coolly.
“I challenge you to question any preconceived notions you may have traveled here with. Learn for yourself what the truth is.”
When I looked back at Rowan, he was staring at Marcum with a strange, almost wounded expression. Not quite anger. Not quite fear. Something quieter and more personal.
“I’m sure many of you have heard the prophecy,” Marcum continued, “but for those unfamiliar, I’ll read it aloud now.”
He didn’t need to. I already knew it. We all did.
“Death is not the only end. Ascend from ruin and rejoice in being made anew. One must both choose and be chosen. For hidden in flesh and accessed through spirit, a pure soul may find its light at last.”
The words felt heavier. Less like hope. More like a threat.
Marcum’s voice grew smoother, almost reverent. “From Acaelar’s vision, we discovered the path to ascension is simple: purification of body, blood, and spirit. That is why this program exists.”
I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. If it were so simple, how come they had yet to achieve it?
“As participants, you’ll undergo regular blood draws, immunizations, and spiritual evaluations. We have two types of sessions: truth and faith sessions. Truth sessions will target trauma and promote acceptance, cleansing the soul. While faith sessions aim to bring you closer to the divine.”
No one moved. No one breathed.
“You are part of something greater than just yourself. You should feel honored.”
Then, as if the sermon hadn’t ended in the shadow of two dead bodies, “Please report to the infirmary for your initial screenings. After that, the day is yours. I’ll see you all tomorrow morning.”
Marcum stepped down. The room shifted in eerie unison—chairs scraped, feet shuffled. No one spoke. No one looked at one another.
Not even the Veilers. They stood as if nothing had happened.
Only one stayed still.
Rowan.
His eyes found mine again—steady, unreadable. Arms still crossed. But tension coiled beneath his stillness like a snake in waiting.
I tore my gaze away, heart thudding. My stomach churned. Whether from fear, nausea, or the knowledge that I’d be next on the chopping block—I couldn’t tell.
I pushed my tray forward, appetite gone.
And then a hand grabbed my wrist.
I stiffened, my body tensing on instinct, but when I turned, I was met with a pair of wide, anxious brown eyes. Talia. She hadn’t said a word to me since we had met that morning, but now her small fingers trembled against my skin.
“We must leave,” she whispered. “They’re watching.”
I looked around. She was right.
The ones stationed at the doors started herding the culled toward the hallway, directing us like livestock. I didn’t hesitate. I pried my hand from Talia’s grasp and stood, walking with measured steps toward the corridor. There was no reason to resist. There was nowhere to run.
The walk to the infirmary felt longer than it should have, the hallways stretching endlessly under the harsh glow of the overhead lights. I let my feet move forward, step after step, but my mind remained stuck on the prophecy, on the so-called purification process, on the uncertainty of the future.
We waited in a long line for our turn to enter the infirmary. I attempted to enter with Talia, but I was stopped by a Veiler—or sentry—posted at the door. It was a one-at-a-time situation. I gave Talia a reassuring smile and a brief nod before she went in first.
I waited for about five minutes before it was my turn.
Once I entered, I was immediately hit with the suffocating stench of bleach. The sterile room was too pristine, too barren. It had fancy equipment that I had never seen in the Oak Hollow infirmary. There were two physicians in white lab coats gesturing for me to sit in a reclined chair.
The male physician stood holding a chart, while the woman sat in a chair opposite mine and smiled at me.
“What’s your full name?” She asked while putting on gloves.
“Mavis Emmaline Ashbone.”
The man scribbled the information down on his chart. The woman picked up a thin needle and tube from a tray on top of the side table.
“It is nice to meet you, Mavis. My name is Dr. Sinters, and this is Dr. Holcrum. Today, we will just be taking a few blood samples to analyze. We want to see how healthy you are right now and what we might need to work on.” She cleaned my arm with a wet wipe that smelled of alcohol.
“We will also give you a vitamin booster shot today,” she said as I felt the sting of the needle going in, “because we know participants arrive rather malnourished.”
Dizziness threatened to overwhelm me. I had never been good with needles.
A few more seconds, which felt like minutes, passed by before the needle was finally removed and a bandage placed over the entry site. Dr. Sinters placed the four vials of blood she had taken on the side table and grabbed another, much larger, needle.
“You may notice a heavier appetite. That is one effect of the booster. We need you to gain more weight to strengthen your body’s resilience.”
Without warning, she stabbed into the same arm with the new needle.
I flinched back, but she had already administered the dose.
She stuck another bandage over the fresh wound, which was truly a wound since it bled.
Dr. Holcrum then walked over to a device and used his fingers to input information onto its surface.
A few moments later, there was a beeping noise, and he returned holding a bracelet, which he then handed to Dr. Sinters.
“This is your identification bracelet. Your name and information have been recorded in our database. Now, each time you visit, we can scan your bracelet, and all your previous results will appear for us to view. Please do not remove it.”
“Do you keep a log of all past participants?” Hope fluttered in my chest.
“Not here in the infirmary, but there should be a record in the facility’s library. You are free to go, Ms. Ashbone. I will see you in exactly one week. If you forget, someone will remind you.”
That last line was phrased in a neutral tone, but I understood it for the threat it was. If I didn’t show up, then I would get dragged back.
I made my way back to my room and stopped in the doorway. On my bed were new articles of clothing. Tunics and pants. I sorted through the new clothing, wondering who knew I hated wearing dresses.
That was an odd coincidence. Or was it? Did they look into my past?
I got undressed until all I wore was my underthings, and then I slipped under the bed’s warm blanket.
Tomorrow, I planned to go to the library. But tonight? Tonight I’d sleep knowing they already had a piece of me—and wondering what parts they’d take next.