Chapter 34 #2
“Immortality?” Selen cuts in, her teal eyes gleaming with something between warning and intrigue.
“That is more… complex. Bloodline magic is a latent trait, something genetic that can be reactivated through catalysts, or exposure to old power sources. In other words, it is tied to the flesh. Immortality, on the other hand, is an ontological state, tied to the soul. For now, let’s just say that to recover it would require more.
.. specialized knowledge. The ritual sites where it was stripped from us remain hidden.
The instruments used, scattered.” She traces a finger along the edge of her desk.
“I've considered it, of course. But we're not there. Not yet.”
The possibility, however distant, sends a shiver through me. Immortality. Not just magic, but endless time. The full recovery of what we used to be.
I could live forever, see centuries unfold, never worry about death stealing away what I've managed to claim for myself.
I picture my eyes never dimming, my body never failing, my mind collecting centuries of knowledge.
The awakening of our magic suddenly feels like the first step on a staircase climbing toward something I've never dared imagine—a future without limits.
My heart races at the thought, even as I force myself to breathe. But... one step at a time.
My fingers tremble slightly. “We're already risking everything just with this,” I murmur.
“Indeed,” Selen replies.
I take a deep breath, turning my thoughts to a more personal question.
Who were my ancestors? Perhaps there’s some sylred-blood in me.
Beast whisperers. A feral race of fae, so the stories go, that refused to live in marble halls and instead bound themselves to forests, caves, and predator packs.
I might have other gifts too that I’m still unaware of.
Suddenly my heart is pounding. This is so much, so fast. And I don’t know if I am ready for it.
I glance back at Selen, my most urgent concern spilling out. “How will what you just did not be detected?”
She regards me with a level, unflinching gaze, unmoved by the tremor in my voice.
“Do you imagine I haven’t secured this place from such things?
You’ve barely tasted what the empire can do,” she says, her tone edged like a scalpel.
“This office has more protections than the Red Citadel’s high altar. You’re safe, for now.”
Red Citadel’s high altar… The reference means nothing to me, but it gives the unsettling feeling that I’ve barely touched the surface of Selen or her knowledge.
A ripple of skepticism passes across Zeriel’s face. “You don’t strike me as someone who’d risk this much for sentiment,” he says. “What’s your stake in this, really? You’ve been inside the system long enough.”
Selen’s lips twitch into a smile; it’s not warm, but it isn’t cruel either.
“I have a vested interest, let's leave it at that for now.” She rolls the empty vial between her thumb and forefinger. Her sleeve rides up slightly, and I notice the small mark on the inside of her wrist that I’d only briefly glimpsed before.
Now I see it better: a half-crescent moon.
An innocent decoration by appearance, but now I suspect it means something deeper.
“What you experienced here doesn’t leave this room,” Selen says.
She waits, searching our faces for a challenge, a crack, a reason to doubt her.
Then she continues, “The protections will hold unless you bring the Inquisitors themselves through that door, and even then, they’d have to know what to look for.
” Her voice drops a fraction, conspiratorial.
“And the Ironhold has a long history of things going... unreported.”
I cast a nervous glance at Zeriel, who stands a little taller now.
“And if we slip up?” I ask. “If our magic bleeds through too much, and someone notices?”
“That’s why you must practice. Control it, or it will control you.”
For a moment, the silence in the office is absolute, as if the air itself is choked with implications. Zeriel looks at his hand, flexing the fingers as if half-expecting them to combust. “What’s your advice?” he asks, voice flat.
Selen’s eyes glint, the hard teal of shorn glass.
“My advice is simple: prepare like your life depends on it. Because it does.” She leans back, folding her hands.
“Time is slipping, and, more than ever, the tournament will be designed to rip you open. If you’re not careful, that’s exactly what will happen, with or without magic. ”
Zeriel processes this, the lines of his face set with determination. Then he offers a single, firm nod.
“So,” Selen continues, her voice taking on a crisper edge, “I suggest you both join the class with the rest of us.” She glances toward the partially concealed doorway leading to her chambers, on the other side of the room. “Coincidentally, I’ve moved up today’s lessons.”
I glance over to see Byron stepping into the room, his unruly blond locks falling over his amber-gray eyes, his broad shoulders filling the doorway as he scans the space.
When his gaze lands on Zeriel, a slight narrowing of his eyes betrays something: recognition, perhaps, or a quiet wariness.
Then he shifts his weight, positioning himself just ahead of Ellis who follows, as if instinctively guarding him.
Despite the wariness in Byron’s eyes, there’s a strength in his posture, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his worn trousers.
When his gaze meets mine, he offers the subtlest smile, before turning his attention to Selen.
Selen glances at the wall clock. “You and Zeriel certainly have good timing,” she remarks dryly.
And barely a minute later, there’s a knock at the door.