Chapter 43
CHAPTER 43
MICHAEL
I wasn’t sure how much time had passed since my last trial, but unlike after my first encounter with the Fixer, I’d been kept awake this entire time.
A few minutes after I’d completed the pericardiocentesis on the stranger, said Fixer had appeared with a black hood that had been placed over my head before he’d ushered me down to wherever this cell was.
I’d been kept prisoner in this cold, cramped space of concrete with no windows and a single steel door, shrouded in endless darkness most of the time. Except when someone sporadically pushed water and a piece of bread through the small slot on the door, but not consistently enough for me to figure out a timeline.
My stomach grumbled at the thought. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d had a proper meal. Although the shallow cuts and the bruises on my abdomen were slowly healing—which suggested I’d been here for nearly a week—my body was exhausted, sore and sleeping on a glacial, unforgiving floor certainly wasn’t helping matters.
And to top it all off, I was still wearing the same soiled scrubs from the procedure, the bloodstains and lingering stench a reminder that I had no idea whether either patients had made it through.
But that hadn’t been the only thing on my mind.
With all this time spent in the dark, with nothing but my own thoughts for company, I couldn’t stop replaying the events of the last year and how wildly different things had turned out from what I’d mapped them to be.
I couldn’t stop thinking of what I’d imagined being an Atlas would be like and how the reality was nothing like the vision I’d built in my mind.
But more than anything, I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
About the last time I’d been able to hold her in my arms before everything came crashing down.
About what would happen after all of this was over.
The sound of the door unlocking dragged me out of my ruminating thoughts. A sliver of dim light filtered through the gap and I stiffened, waiting for someone to come in and drag me to whatever final grim task awaited me.
But nothing came.
I frowned, and pushed myself up, confusion settling in. I waited a moment longer, my pulse drumming to life, before I cautiously reached for the door and eased it open further.
When I peered outside, there were no signs of life or the distant echoes of retreating footsteps which only heightened my unease. My eyes strained to adjust to the faint lighting as I stepped into the dimly lit corridor to investigate why they’d let me out now.
Squinting down the long, narrow corridor, I found that it stretched in both directions, but only one end was bathed in light. I opted to go down that way but it wasn’t until I closed the door behind me that I spotted the garment bag hanging on the other side.
I unzipped it, the sound cutting through the stillness around me, and inside was a three-piece black suit that was perfectly tailored to my size, alongside a pair of dress shoes. There weren't any notes or instructions, but it was clear that I was expected to change into it.
So, I did.
I undressed and swapped the dirty scrubs for the designer suit, though given I hadn’t showered since being taken from Ziani’s front steps, it hardly mattered. I probably still smelled dreadful.
But then again, I knew this was only for the sake of appearances.
I placed the dirty scrubs inside the bag and closed it, assuming they’d dispose of it. Then, after adjusting the black tie, I ventured down the tunnel, the sound of my breathing echoing against the stone walls.
Anticipation crackled against my skin like a live-wire, my chest growing tighter with every step I took toward the unknown that awaited me. As I neared the end, the scent of smoke filled the air. I followed it for a few more moments until the corridor spilled into a room I’d seen before.
The same one where I’d received my Order last year.
It was as though everything had been frozen in time, except now, I was walking into it, willingly—or so to speak.
My gaze traveled to where the Elders stood in a semi-circle behind the raised circular altar at the far end of the pool, just like they’d been last year. They were cloaked in their long black robes, their faces obscured by an Elder's mask, moonlight spilling over them from the tall, arched windows behind them.
Although I’d seen this room once before, it didn’t make its grandeur any less overwhelming. The atmosphere carried more weight this time around, but I reminded myself that I couldn’t show them any weakness or hesitation.
So I focused my mind on the one thing I knew could keep me grounded.
I had no idea what would unfold tonight, but at the end of it, I’d ensure Azara could be mine. So, with that sole focus in mind, I casually slipped my hands behind my back and stepped down onto the main floor. I moved toward them, until I stopped at the edge of the pool, opposite to them.
“Young Seungwon,” my father, who stood in the middle, said, his voice deep and commanding. “You have been summoned by the House to fulfill your Ascension.” He gestured for me to come forward with a nod. “Please present yourself to your Elders.”
I raised a brow, unsure if I was expected to step into the pool wearing this suit that was worth more than what I made in a year. Before I could question it, a soft mechanical whirring filled the room. The surface of the water rippled and, in an instant, it was replaced by a sleek, solid floor.
I stepped forward, and the tension in the room grew more palpable with each step I took toward them. I closed the distance between them and I and halted less than five feet away from them, the flames of the raging fire from the altar licking my skin.
Only then did I spot the imposing, weathered cover resting in the middle of the altar.
The Book of Aman.
I’d heard about it all my life, even studied parts of it. But I’d always wondered what it looked like, since none of us were allowed to see or touch the original until our Ascensions. But there were more important things at play and I didn’t have time to dwell in awe at the century-old relic that contained every secret the House held from the origins to our Code, along with records the generations before us collected on the most powerful figures this world came across.
And people have gone to unspeakable lengths to get their hands on it.
“As an Atlas,” my father continued, his voice low and measured, “you will vow to wield the power granted to you with unwavering loyalty, honor the legacy of those who came before you, and protect the secrets of our bloodlines. Do you wish to proceed?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, I answered, “Yes, sir.”
I couldn’t see my father’s expression, but there was a subtle shift in his posture, his squared shoulders sagging ever so slightly with relief. I wouldn’t be so confident if I were him, but I’d wait until I broke the news to him.
I knew better than to make demands yet.
He gave me an imperceptible nod before declaring, “Welcome to your final trial.”
His words brought a noticeable shift in the air and my heart drummed louder against my ribcage. The last time I stood in this position, I’d been engulfed by the floor so I braced myself for what was to come.
The sharp sound of a door creaked open on my left, followed by the distinct squeal of wheels turning sliced through the heavy silence. I fought the urge to look at what was being rolled into the room, knowing it would betray the mounting anxiety in my chest.
When no scent of blood or stench of a decaying body filled the air, a small wave of relief washed over me. But it wasn’t enough to ease the tension fraying at the edges of my nerves.
Eventually, the Fixer came into view, pushing a stainless-steel stretcher with something lying upon it. But it wasn’t a something.
It was a someone .
From my periphery, I watched him halt by the raised platform, carefully lifting the body from the stretcher and placing the woman’s unconscious body onto it.
The older man then stepped back, bowing slightly in the direction of the Elders, before turning to leave with a quiet precision. The door thudded shut behind him and I briefly glanced at the woman lying at my feet.
A hood was drawn over her head, obscuring her identity, while her arms and legs were respectively bound with rope. Her tawny skin glistened under the dim light, and dark hair cascaded past her shoulder, long enough to partially cover her bare breasts which were exposed beneath the sheer fabric of her ivory dress—one that looked eerily like a wedding gown.
What on earth is going on?
Her chest rose and fell with slow, steady breaths and she didn’t appear to be injured so I couldn’t make sense of why she’d be here or what this trial was meant to be.
Women weren’t allowed inside the House. Ever. The only exception had been my grandmother when she was brought here to take her oath.
Confusion swarmed over me, but I forced my expression to remain unreadable. Instead, I kept my composure, remained quiet, and focused my attention back on them.
I wrung my fingers behind my back, waiting with bated breath for whatever was to come next, when one by one, each Elder shed themselves of their anonymity, their masks and robes now at their feet.
My father, Belkacem and Ouali all stood in front of me, all dressed in matching suits—identical to mine—except for the deep red ties they wore. Each folded their hands in front of them and my father’s gaze bore into mine as he spoke his next words.
“All members of the House must remain virgins until their Ascension is complete,” he said solemnly, reciting rule number IV from the Book.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. There was no way he knew I wasn’t a virgin anymore, but the underlying implication in his words sent dread pooling down my spine.
“Once he becomes an Atlas,” my father continued, “the Ascended must marry a suitable and approved suitor by his Elders.”
I stilled, the gravity of his implication settled on my chest like a boulder, suffocating me and squeezing the breath from my lungs.
“Young Seungwon, and Simone Peters are to be wedded tonight, as decreed by the House, and the union must be consummated with the Elders as witness. She will be?—”
His words became distant, drowned out by the erratic pouding of my own heartbeat, the sound rushing in my ears.
Married? Tonight?
The heavy wooden door, the same one the Fixer had disappeared through, opened again, and in walked a blindfolded priest being carried inside by our fathers’s handyman.
Realization that this wasn’t a bloody joke hit me like a ton of bricks. My earlier anxiety quickly transformed into something much more potent and visceral.
Oh, fuck no .
I knew it was within my duty to marry someone the Elders approved of, but that wasn’t meant to happen until next year and I had a plan tonight to remedy that.
Why the sudden urgency?
But most importantly, I wasn’t marrying anyone who wasn’t Azara.
The trembling priest was brought to stand beside me, the black hood still drawn over his head. His hands were shaking as they gripped the worn leather of a sacred book.
My eyes flickered back to my father, and I realized I must have cursed the words out loud judging by the lethal glare he pinned me with. Normally, I’d go out of my way to steer clear of his disapproval, but the surge of revolt I felt spilled over and incinerated any trace of caution.
“I am not marrying her,” I said, my voice unwavering.
“Do not mistake your final trial for an option,” my father said, his voice as cold as a blade. “Do you need to be reminded of the consequences of going against the House's wishes?”
I heard the threat in his words. He would have to kill me if I defied orders, but I refused to bend. Especially not on this.
“I am not marrying her,” I repeated, more resolute this time.
The room fell into an uneasy silence, but my father’s eyes only hardened. I could feel the other Elders' disapproving stares, but I kept my gaze locked on my father’s.
I didn’t particularly want to die, but the very thought of being with anyone else sent pain shooting through me.
My father’s jaw tightened at my opposition, but beneath the hard exterior, I saw the faintest flicker of fear in his expression. It was subtle and only there for a brief second, but I planned on using it to my advantage. I’d planned to wait until I took my oath to bring it up, but if I didn’t act now, I wouldn’t put it past them to have their beloved Fixer drug me and I’d wake up tomorrow as this Simone Peters’ husband.
I’d thought I’d have a bit more time to gather enough information to corner them into meeting my terms before I Ascended, but the sudden kidnapping and being imprisoned in a dark cell for a week had thrown a wrench in those plans.
Now, I could only hope that the name would be enough.
I took a step forward, and met each of their eyes with a brief but deliberate look before I said the name that had been lingering in the back of my mind since I’d confronted Simmons: “Sabiri.”
Immediately, every Elder in the room stiffened. They tried to recover quickly, but it wasn’t fast enough for me to miss it. The name hung in the air like a curse, and for the first time tonight, the uncertainty emanated from their side.
I knew I had their attention, and I’d use it to get exactly what I wanted.
I was playing with fire, but like I’d said before, I didn’t care.
I’d rather die than not be with her.
“Michael,” my father warned, but I still didn’t relent.
“I will complete my Ascension, but I won’t abide by this marital union. I will also be granted my choice of bride, and she’s to be briefed about the House.”
I was pushing my luck, but I needed to be able to tell Azara everything. I’d already kept too many secrets from her and if I wanted a real chance at being with her, she had to know about the House—about all of it.
Our relationship had been built on lies, but I didn’t want our second chance to be tainted by the same deceit.
That was if she even spoke to me after I told her everything.
But that would be a problem for later, and I’d do anything in my power to get her back. No matter how long I had to work for her forgiveness.
She’d be mine in the end. I’d make sure of it.
“Absolutely not,” my father growled, his typically composed demeanor finally cracking under the weight of his indignation.
“You will grant it to me,” I replied. “Unless of course, you’d like the boys and I to dig into why you were so adamant about me not asking questions about whoever this Sabiri is.”
My bluff was reckless, since the name alone should be enough to get me the leverage I needed. It was clear they didn’t want us uncovering whatever it was that this Sabiri represented, but I had no intention in digging further into this Sabiri—not yet, anyway.
I only wanted one thing.
And the sooner I got this over with, the faster I could get to her.
Belkacem and Ouali exchanged looks with my father, their expressions full of barely concealed outrage. Their masks had slipped and it was obvious my father hadn’t shared with them my visit from a few weeks ago.
My father’s sharp gaze flicked between them and me, his lips pinching together tightly, his frustration mounting. I hadn’t defied my father in a very long time, and he hadn’t expected me to push back like this. He eyed me, intently, searching for any sign of weakness to use against me.
But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“You realize what you’re asking?”
I nodded once. “I do.”
There was a long, drawn-out pause. The air between us thickened, my heart hammering in my chest, but I didn’t look away.
“Very well,” he said, his tone bitter, barely concealing his fury. “Step forward.”
“I need to hear you say it,” I insisted. An Atlas never went back on his word and I wasn’t willing to lose the upper-hand on a technicality.
My father exhaled sharply, his anger flaring up with each passing second. “This union is officially dismantled and you will be granted the choice of your bride. But we still will require to vet her before she’s sworn into the House.”
“That won’t be a problem,” I said. “Azara Ziani is my choice and I would like clearance to read her in.”
The silence that followed was deafening and every minute my father didn’t respond stretched even longer. I could tell he wasn’t surprised by my choice, but his irritation toward me hadn’t eased.
“You have our blessing,” he finally said and I exhaled a deep breath, one I felt like was overdue for weeks.
“Come forward and kneel,” my father ordered as whoever this Simone Peters was and the priest were ushered away by the Fixer. Once they were out of sight, I took a single step forward, and knelt before the altar as instructed.
The fire surrounding the altar flickered out as my father reached for the Book of Aman. “Atlas, you’ve officially completed your trials. You must now take your vow to the House,” he said before handing it to me.
I carefully took it from him, and I could almost feel the weight of its power in my hands. Bound in brown leather, the exterior was cracked and adorned with dark, intricate symbols.
A shiver ran down my spine as I opened the Book, my eyes roaming over the pages yellowed with age. I flipped to the last page where every Young had binded his oath. A page right before seemed to have been ripped, but I brushed it off to the book being weathered and focused on the task at hand.
Although this was my first time seeing it, we’d been taught the steps to complete our Ascension so many times, they were ingrained in our brains. So I grabbed the dagger that was attached to the back of it and layed the Book in front of me.
I met my dad’s gaze. I knew he wasn’t happy with what had just transpired, but surprisingly, there was still some pride in the way he held himself.
This wasn’t how I’d ever expected my Ascension to be, but I wouldn’t change a thing if it meant getting Azara in the end.
At least, I hoped I would.
I pushed the thought away for a moment, took a deep breath and began what I’d waited thirty-three years to do. “I, Young Seungwon, will my life to the House,” I proclaimed as I held the dagger against my right palm.
Gritting my teeth, I dragged the blade down, just deep enough to draw blood. The sting was barely noticeable as the blood welled from the wound. I placed the used knife to the side and removed my ring from my left hand.
I held my right hand over it and watched my blood drip onto my ring, the fluid filling the divot of the engraved symbol. Then I impressed it under my name in our legacy tree.
“Young Seungwon,” I heard my father say through gritted teeth. “Welcome to the House of Atlas.”