Chapter 19 #2
“Champion Caelith, wait here. Four-Three-Seven, come with me.” She gestures to a small door set into the wall beside the main chamber.
Zeriel stiffens slightly. “As her guardian, I have the right—”
“You have the rights we allow you,” Selen cuts him off. “This will only take a moment.”
I glance at Zeriel, whose jaw has tightened almost imperceptibly. He gives me a small nod—a command to comply. Does his command even mean anything now? I follow Selen through the door into what appears to be a small supply room, shelves of crystal lenses gleaming back at me.
The moment the door closes behind us, Selen's cold mask cracks. Her eyes widen with something I recognize immediately: fear.
“You’re to be rescanned for magical traces,” she hisses, her voice barely above a whisper. “Orders directly from Marrek.”
My heart slams against my ribs. “I don’t—”
“Don't play ignorant with me,” she snaps. “The entire chamber is buzzing about it: some kind of magical surge in the dragon pens.”
Before I can respond, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small glass vial filled with black liquid.
“Drink this,” she orders. “Now.”
I recoil. “What—”
She catches my jaw in a painful vise-grip. “Just drink it if you value your life.”
The raw intensity in her eyes—it's enough to make me reach for the vial with trembling fingers. I uncork it and raise it to my lips.
The liquid burns like fire as it slides down my throat, tasting of ash and metal. I choke, fighting the urge to spit it out. Is this poison? Some kind of execution method that leaves no trace?
But as the burning sensation spreads through my chest and into my limbs, I don't feel weaker. Just different… in a way that I don’t have time to fully process.
Selen snatches the vial from me the moment I’m finished drinking and stows it in her pocket.
Then she grabs a lens from one of the shelves, grips my arm, and pulls me back into the corridor—where Zeriel waits, eyes fixed on me, dark and piercing, as though he could peel the truth straight from my skin.
Selen's mask of cold indifference has returned so completely that it gives me whiplash and I almost doubt the fear I just witnessed. “Now that we’ve collected the correct lens, we may proceed to the main chamber,” she explains coolly, to neither of us in particular.
With that, she leads us through the main doors into the processing chamber, where the familiar nightmare of my arrival awaits: the sterile tables, the ominous equipment, the clinical efficiency of technicians who see other fae as mere objects to be cataloged.
Two white-coated bog fae stand beside the scanning device—that strange, articulated arm with its crystal-tipped probe.
But it's the figure sitting in a chair behind them that makes my blood freeze. Commander Marrek himself, hands clasped over his lap, observing the proceedings with cold interest. A commander supervising an individual scanning? How can what I’ve done threaten them this much?
I glance at Zeriel and catch a subtle crack in his mask: a flicker at the corner of his eyes, a tautness in his shoulders. But if this is my last hour, he’ll shake it off quickly. He’s ruthless enough to carve his way to victory with or without me.
“Four-Three-Seven,” Selen announces, her voice echoing in the chamber. “Step forward for examination.”
I move to the marked spot on the floor, fighting to keep my breathing steady.
“What is the purpose of this examination, Handler?” Zeriel asks, his voice carrying just the right note of cool curiosity.
Marrek answers instead, his silver-streaked head tilting slightly. “Routine security, Champion Caelith. We've detected... anomalies... in certain areas of the facility.”
Well, that confirms Zeriel’s theory.
The technician activates the equipment, and the crystal-tipped arm begins to hum with energy. As it sweeps toward me, I feel an unnerving pressure building behind my eyes, like something inside me is straining against invisible bonds.
“Remain still,” the technician instructs as the crystal passes inches from my face.
I stand frozen, terrified that any movement might betray me. The crystal glows faintly as it moves down my body, the light pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat. Can they see it? Can they tell something's wrong? What did Selen even give me?
The detector pauses at my chest, hovering there longer than I remember from my first examination. The technician frowns, adjusting something on the control panel with his long, tawny fingers.
“Is there a problem?” Selen asks, stepping closer.
“Interference pattern,” the bog fae mumbles. “Common in recruits who've been in close proximity to dragons. The residual energy can sometimes mask the readings.”
Marrek's eyes narrow. “Increase sensitivity.”
The crystal’s glow intensifies, and the pressure behind my eyes builds to a near-unbearable throb. I grit my teeth, struggling to keep my composure as something deep inside me twists, writhing like it’s trying to break free.
From the corner of my eye, I see Zeriel shift his weight, but he doesn’t step closer.
The detector completes its circuit and returns to its resting position. The bog fae studies the readout, his deep, lined brow furrowed.
“Well?” Marrek prompts.
“No unusual signatures detected, Commander,” he reports dutifully. “She shows normal baseline readings.”
Relief floods through me, so powerful I nearly sway on my feet. Selen's liquid worked. Whatever the hell it was, it somehow masked me from the detector.
I’m about to step away from the machine when Marrek speaks again.
“One last time on Four-Three-Seven, at maximum sensitivity,” he says. His expression hasn’t changed, but something in his eyes has hardened. “And,”—now he looks at Zeriel—“protocol requires that we also sweep you, Champion.”
“Naturally, Commander,” Zeriel says. Our eyes meet for a fraction too long, and I catch a flicker of rare confusion there.
The bog fae hesitates. “Sir, at maximum sensitivity, the results can be... unreliable. We might get false positives from environmental aspects alone.”
“I'm aware of the limitations,” Marrek replies coldly. “Proceed.”
As the detector activates again, I feel Selen's eyes on me. Her face remains impassive, but there's a tension in her posture that wasn't there before. Is the liquid's effect limited? Will it fail under greater scrutiny?
The crystal glows brighter this time, nearly blinding as it passes before my eyes. The pressure in my head builds to a crushing weight, and I taste blood where I've bitten the inside of my cheek without realizing it.
Don’t react. Don’t move. Don’t give them anything, something in me warns, sharp and insistent.
The detector pauses again at my chest, lingering there until I fear I might scream from the pressure building inside me. Something is pushing against Selen's suppression, fighting to break free. Is it my magic? Or something else entirely?
Just when I think I can't bear it any longer, the detector moves on, completing its circuit before returning to its cradle. The bog fae studies the readout longer this time, his expression confused.
“Results are... inconclusive, Commander,” he finally says. “There's interference in the baseline readings, but nothing that indicates fae magic. It’s likely to be residual energy from the dragon pens, as I mentioned before.”
Marrek steps forward, examining the readout himself. His cold gray eyes flick from the results to me, studying me with detached interest.
“Very well,” he murmurs. “Continue.”
Zeriel steps forward to the marked spot with the ease of someone entering an arena he’s already claimed. I back away, trying to slow my racing heart, and find myself standing near Selen. Her face remains impassive, but I notice her fingers subtly tapping against her thigh—a nervous tic?
The detector whirs to life once more, its crystal tip glowing as it begins its examination of Zeriel. Unlike me, he stands at ease, shoulders relaxed. The crystal passes over his face, his chest, the length of him in a methodical sweep.
I watch, holding my breath. He’s confident the scan will find nothing because he thinks there's nothing to find. Which means whatever magical potential might exist in his blood remains dormant, unignited... Unlike mine.
The bog fae studies the results, nodding. “Nothing unusual, Commander. The champion reads completely normal.”
“As expected,” Marrek says, his voice betraying nothing. He rises from his chair, straightening his immaculate uniform. “Thank you for your cooperation, Champion Caelith.”
Zeriel inclines his head. “Of course. Whatever anomalies were detected must have another source. Let me know if I can be of further assistance.”
“Indeed.” Marrek doesn’t blink as his gaze slides over us, resting just long enough to make the silence stretch and coil. Then, with a flick of his fingers toward the door, he speaks softly. “You are dismissed.”