Paragon

by Rowan Rook

  In some strange way, the inhibitor had made him feel secure...more Human. He hadn't removed it until he'd wanted to use Translation to test the Not. He'd snuck supplies from the labs, locked himself in a bathroom stall to avoid the Academy's cameras, stuck a rag in his mouth to keep from shouting or biting his tongue, and took a scalpel to his own chest. He'd dug out the inhibitor that had hidden below his neck for over fourteen years. It'd hurt like Hell, but he'd done it. Using Translation for the first time afterward had been far more frightening.

  "You're mad." Aydel shook her head, then passed him a much sterner stare. "You went without Translation for an unnaturally long time. That's why you're having difficulty controlling it. Get in some practice tonight. We won't be able to rely on Human weapons inside the castle."

  Anson only nodded. She was right; he needed to do all he could to prepare for tomorrow. After all...he would once again be out for blood. He shuddered.

  It doesn't matter. This world is full of creatures who are just as awful as you. Lyrum and Humans alike deserve any punishment they receive.

  Anson stood and whirled.

  ...Who'd just said that? He'd heard a voice, but the only other people around were a few elderly couples gathered near the front pews. No one was paying him notice. It...was almost as if the words had come from inside his own head, but the thought hadn't been his.

  ...Had it?

  You asked who you are, said everything and nothing. You are the one who will save Auratessa.

  Suddenly disoriented, he braced himself against his seat. His heart fluttered—to the beat of the doomsday clock—in his chest. His senses swam, the cathedral's stained-glass colors blurring.

  Aydel glowered at him. "What is it now?"

  He breathed, sucking in air to fight off the dizziness. His senses slowly settled back into place. "I thought I heard someone, but..." Lord, he needed rest. "It was nothing."

  His sister eyed him uncertainly, but he offered nothing more on the matter.

  Their plans for the day and the next decided, the siblings departed from the cathedral and emerged into the elegant city.

  Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ

  Anson ducked, summoning fire like a shield. The icy pebbles melted before they reached him, disintegrating in hisses of steam.

  Aydel didn't give him any time to rest. Another hailstorm rushed toward him, aimed lower than before. He reached toward the sky, melting the ice with a wall of flame. A third volley honed in on his ankles before it met the same fate.

  He shot his sister a satisfied grin, but she smirked. "That all you got, old man?"

  Fresh ice flew through the air—just pebbles, but it still hurt if they met his skin. He'd already taken a few bruises to the face before warming up. Aydel wasn't one to show mercy.

  Anson flew on his feet more freely than he had in years, determined not to let those shards escape. Blood pumped through his veins and his lungs filled fully with air.

  They'd played this game as children. His goal was to melt the ice before it hit him or the ground. She summoned it in faster and larger bursts as time went on, ramping up the challenge. It was almost...well, fun. Adrenaline seeped into his flames, making them stronger and more reactive. For a while, he let himself forget what he was training for. He was just a boy testing his strength and competing against his sister. A child who wanted to get stronger, who wanted to laugh and feel his pulse pound against his ribs.

  But eventually, his flesh started failing him. He tried to take one more wave—a few stray pebbles hitting his face—and bent over, panting. He wasn't sure if it was the running or the Translation that wore him down, but his limbs shook from exhaustion. His body wasn't suited for such things anymore after so many years spent in the lab.

  "Done already?" Aydel arched an eyebrow, looking winded, herself.

  "Just let me catch my breath..." Anson heaved, waiting for his heart to calm.

  His sister shook her head. "No. That's enough. If we keep going, we're bound to attract attention."

  Ah. He supposed she was right. It was two in the morning, and they'd found a secluded area just outside the city, but shouting and spawning bright bursts of fire in the dark wasn't exactly subtle. If someone noticed, it would be the end of them. The Human capital wouldn't take kindly to two Lyrum practicing Translation in the middle of the night.

  Aydel wiped at her forehead. She tried to hide it, but sweat glistened on her brow. Her long black hair, worn loose from its bun, clung to her skin and twitched in the breeze. So did his. They really did look identical. If not for her green eyes and the slightly different shapes their sexes gave them, they could have been the same person. In a lot of ways, perhaps they were.

  "Besides, sleep is important in its own right. We're screwed if you still look like that in the morning." Aydel smiled. A warm, playful smile, absent of anger. Anson found himself returning it until she hid away her own. She brushed past him to return to the inn, nudging him in the shoulder. "Nice job."

  "Thanks for the help, Delly."

  She paused, not looking back. "You should head to bed, too."

  "I will in a bit," he decided. "I want to practice for just a little longer. I'll be careful," he added, guessing what her next words would be.

  She shrugged. "Up to you."

  And with that, she slipped away into the shadows of Velvire.

  Anson sighed, breathing in the silent air. He closed his eyes, treasuring the endorphins and adrenaline still coursing through his body. The cold air fought against the warmth inside of him—he needed to get back to work before it faded completely.

  He held out his hand and brought fire to life, letting it light up the field like a torch. He watched it with a smile, willing it to grow and shrink, to flicker and glow. It followed every command his mind gave it, as easily as his limbs. It wasn't some strange, unwanted thing anymore. It was his.

  It was cruel, in a way. Humans slowed as they aged, growing on a curve and winding down slowly. He was old, too, but on that cold, lonely night, he felt fantastically alive. All of his senses were vivid, awake. Each breath sunk deep into his body. His heart pumped with strong, satisfying thuds, as if it were ready for more, and would be for a long, long time.

  He glanced around, assuring himself no one was nearby before focusing again on his flames. Just this once, he wanted to give it everything he had. Just this once.

  The fire erupted from his palm, lighting up the field like a small sun and stretching toward the sky with dancing red tongues. It spread so wide he nearly startled, stepping back to stop it from licking his clothes. The heat washed over his face and cast shadows behind him. He let it burn, unleashing the full extent of his power and reaching for the stars.

  Anson gawked, his every nerve throbbing with life. His ankles shook, but he didn't care.

  After what had happened to his family, he had always thought of himself as weak. But maybe that wasn't right. Or maybe he had become weak because he'd given up. Maybe he could have been strong if he hadn't hidden behind impossible dreams, moral excuses, and metal laboratory walls.

  He could still be strong, now. He had just lost everything for the second time, but he hadn't surrendered. He could keep fighting. He could live. A normal life, a happy one.

  So...why did everything have to end?

  He watched the fire a while longer.

  What he was doing now with the Butterflies... Had he become braver, risking everything for his dreams? Or was he still only chasing fantasies, running away from the rest of the world?

  A shape caught the corner of his eye. A flash of tan and white. He twinged, the fire all at once sputtering out and plunging the area back into blackness. By the time he spun and summoned another torch, there was no one there.

  "Shakaya...?" he mouthed the name before he could stop himself, unsure if the flare in his chest was one of hope or fear.

  Anson dared himself a few steps closer. He could have sworn he'd seen her, standing there with her stoic lips and icy blue eyes, but his fire il
luminated only the empty field. He swallowed. No. Of course she wasn't there. She wouldn't want anything more to do with him, and she wouldn't want anything more to do with the Butterfly, either.

  He...would probably never see her again.

  Sorrow gnawed at the wound—at the empty place inside of him—Shakaya had left behind. She wouldn't be there waiting for him in the cafeteria after their workdays ended, she wouldn't emerge from the shadows to protect him, she wouldn't be the single companion he shared his days with. That part of his life had already ended...and the ending hadn't been a happy one. He'd lost any chance for closure, but he tried to smile. It was all the more reason he had to be strong. He didn't have even the possibility of relying on her anymore. He had to get stronger, and he had to succeed. For her sake, too.

  He might have lied to her, and she might have lied to him, but...that didn't take the good memories away. He'd remember her in the ten years they'd spent together, not in their parting. In his mind, she would always be his friend. "I'm sorry," he whispered to the air.

  The darkness didn't answer.

  ...He wasn't going to see her again, and if he did, it wouldn't be as partners.

  The hair raised on his arms, the warmth gone. Perhaps it was just paranoia getting the better of him.

  He took a last look around before hurrying back into the city. He suddenly didn't feel like practicing anymore.

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Ice and Smoke

  Anson looked down at the lab coat he was wearing to assure himself that everything was in order. It was the same one he'd always worn—the standard uniform for Academy scientists. An identification card with the name 'Amaranth' hung from his chest pocket. He stared at the title and picture for a while. It was all terribly nostalgic, even though it hadn't truly been that long since he'd left his life at the school behind. This was likely the last time he'd wear his old uniform.

  "You ready?" Jeriko pressed, cautiously peering out at the castle from around the corner of the alley.

  Anson nodded, and Aydel and Tayla did the same.

  "I would go with you, but there's no way I could sneak my gun inside the castle, and without it, I wouldn't be of much help."

  Aydel scoffed, "We can handle it."

  Jeriko smiled. "I don't doubt it." He looked to Tayla. "You know what to do?"

  Tayla managed a confident smile of her own. "Of course."

  Jeriko nodded. "Be careful."

  Jeriko and Tayla clung to the shadows as they left to meet the other Butterflies stationed in Velvire.

  Anson watched them leave. He...was really going to do this. Memories of whispering plans with Shakaya outside Riksharre's borders replayed in his head. A part of him had been terrified to return to the place he'd once called home, but this was different...this dread felt much more deadly.

  The castle waited across the next street. Its dark shape was tall, imposing, but it showed its age. Ivy suffocated the walls and cracks weakened the bricks composing its three towers. A gated garden, with a squad of royal soldiers stationed in front, cradled the most important building in Human society.

  The Anwells spared each other a final glance, then emerged from the alley. They ran toward the castle's garden. Anson let his breaths come heavily.

  "Hey!"

  The guards reacted quickly. Long steel swords swung to block the gate. Other soldiers surged in, training eager guns on the siblings as they stumbled to a halt.

  "Please!" Anson stammered with false panic. "We must meet with the Monarchy!"

  A scowl spread across a swordsman's face. "The Monarchs do not meet with commoners. Identify yourselves."

  The former scientist unclipped the card at his chest and showed it to the soldiers. "I'm a Translation specialist from Elavadin Academy. My name is Amaranth." The alias already felt strange on his tongue, as if it had belonged to someone else entirely. He let his gaze sink toward the cobblestone sidewalk. "There...was a terrible accident in the labs... It's already taken several days to travel here. It's urgent."

  A second swordsman studied him sternly before taking the identification card and passing it to another soldier who carried it away. The castle could determine the authenticity of not only the Academy's identification cards, but those belonging to any other major Human organization. Usage of these standard cards was required by companies complying with the Monarchy's laws.

  "If the matter has to do with the labs, why isn't the Head Scientist here?" one of the soldiers accused. "What was her name again? Ransmae...something?"

  "Ransmae Rickard," Anson finished, not raising his sunken eyes. "She was injured. We...aren't sure she's going to make it." As if to emphasize the point, he lifted the bandages wrapped around his head to reveal the place where his right ear would've been. What remained was nothing more than a slightly bloodied stub. Tayla had done her best to seal up the injury, but certainly hadn't been able to do anything about the missing ear. Dorzin's arrow had mauled it. At least the incident had provided him with a rather convincing piece of evidence.

  The guards shuddered, and Anson put the bandages back in place. "It...was horrific. I'm fortunate to have escaped with everything else intact."

  The soldiers looked at each other, their expressions still unsure.

  "It's genuine." Another guard reappeared with the ID card and handed it back to the supposed scientist.

  Anson returned the card to its place on his chest. "Please, sirs. The Monarchy must know about this. It was the result of a rather...confidential project, originally assigned to us by the king himself. I can't speak of it to anyone else."

  One of the guards arched a brow. "You can't talk to our military captain?"

  Anson shook his head. "This isn't a military matter."

  Another soldier gestured at Aydel. "Who's that?"

  "A witness. My sister, actually," Anson explained. He couldn't pretend that he and Aydel weren't related, not when they looked so much alike that it'd be suspicious if he didn't specify a familial tie. "She wasn't inside the labs, thank Heavens, but she was visiting with me at the Academy when the incident took place. She wishes to report what she saw."

  After a signal from the swordsmen, a couple of soldiers stepped toward the siblings. Anson tensed uncomfortably at the stranger's touch and forced himself not to scowl as the guards patted him and Aydel down. They were searching for weapons, incendiaries, or anything else with which the visitors might cause mischief. They weren't going to find anything.

  If they succeeded in their mission—the assassinations of the king and queen—the entire city of Velvire would be up in arms in mere minutes. They would need to flee the scene immediately. The Butterflies had already purchased a new carriage that morning, parked it at the nearest city exit, and traced back-road routes along a map. Their weapons were stored inside the carriage. Instead, within the castle, they would rely only on his and Aydel's Translation.

  The soldiers backed off.

  Anson looked at them through nervous, pleading eyes...and the fear wasn't hard to fake. "As one of Ransmae Rickard's most trusted pupils, she asked me personally to come here," he added, afraid he was saying too much. His restless tongue, so used to lying, moved on its own. "Please, grant me this audience so that I can hurry home to my beloved mentor. If she was to slip away while I'm gone, I'd..."

  One of the swordsmen spent a last moment of hesitation with a sigh. "Follow me. I'll see what I can do."

  Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ

  Anson stuttered wordlessly in front of the Human king and queen.

  Wallace and Prunella Eastoft. You couldn't be Human—or even masquerade as one, it seemed—without knowing those two names. The Eastoft family had ruled since the Inversion itself.

  The king was an unexpectedly small man, his thin features accented by graying black hair and weary green eyes. There was a certain meekness about him, but he sat tall in his throne, his gaze unwavering and his hands folded firmly in his lap.

  Wallace was a good king. At least, that's what the rumors claimed—det
ails regarding what the Monarchy actually did were scarce, but he was nonetheless well liked. He was also rather conservative. He disliked Lyrum, of course, but while he gave the Academy permission to keep them in labs, he otherwise looked the other way even as their hostility increased. He was regarded as quiet, but kind and fair.

  Prunella was a different story altogether. Having married into the Monarchy at an early age, she was a bit younger than her husband, with strong features and blue eyes already narrowed in suspicion. The curly blonde hair cascading around her shoulders felt like an attempt to soften a stern face. She owned a stately sort of beauty, but everything about her lacked warmth. A much more aggressive and domineering personality, many claimed that it was she who held the real power within the Monarchy. Not nearly as conservative as her husband, she'd done more to push Human civilization forward, but she also bore a much more distinct hatred of Lyrum—the queen likely would have gotten along just fine with Shakaya.

  "Please state this urgent business of yours," one of the six soldiers positioned in front of the royal couple ordered. There were eight more guards watching the audience room and two more stationed near its entrance. The two ill-intentioned Lyrum were more than outnumbered.

  Anson managed another unintelligible stammer, suddenly intimidated beneath the man and woman whom he still considered his king and queen. The weight of just what it was he was there to do churned his insides into nervous mush.

  He glanced at his sister. She crossed her arms, her gaze impatient. He found himself wishing it was Shakaya standing beside him, instead. Aydel was competent, yes, but she didn't offer him the same sense of stability.

  "There was a terrible accident at the Academy. Tell them about it, An—Amaranth," she urged.

  Trying to ignore his pounding heart, Anson faced the Monarchs once more. "R-right." He rubbed the bandage around his head, as if to blame his anxiety and absent-mindedness on an injury. "There was an incident last week... A Lyrum specimen awoke early from a procedure and escaped. It was swiftly apprehended and caged, of course, but..." He swallowed, pretending that bad memories were tightening his throat. "We store chemicals inside the Academy's laboratories, many of which are flammable. We didn't realize a large amount of these materials had been spilled until it was too late. Wires were torn during the struggle, you see..."