The first time I met Dael’s eyes, it felt like I had stopped breathing. The frantic beating of my heart and the fluttering in my stomach were not love at first sight, or an unrealistic beauty that could freeze time. If it was, cold transpiration wouldn’t be trailing behind my back, nor would I struggle to control the trembling of my hands.

Dael’s eyes were like an abyss, sucking out all the light and happiness that dared approach her proximity. It was as if the patch of grass she was sitting on had withered just by her being on it. An aura of intangible danger permeated every single one of my pores, even if Dael was so far away from me.

Dael wore a long white jumpsuit almost reaching her feet. It was tightly clasped around her body just as the other people in the garden, wearing it as if it was a uniform. However, unlike how the outfit identified who was a deviant, it was as if Dael’s uniform was for a completely different purpose. I guessed The whiteness of the fabric protected the world from her skin–from the toxicity she emanated. Otherwise, her dermis would putrefy everything beautiful and good in this world.

The beating of my heart was fear, the fluttering of my stomach, nausea.

I could almost taste the bile in my throat– the burning behind it– as I stood petrified, like a statue long forgotten by everyone except from the eyes that could see past me.

A voice in my head whispered Dael would be the end of me, and I –as weird as it was– wholeheartedly agreed with it. If Dael's eyes could almost tear me apart -or at least I felt they did– then it was obvious her hands were capable of more frightening things. unnamed actions that would culminate with death, or in a more unfortunate case, in a prolonged and slow pain that would drag out for eons.

“Stop wasting my time!” Vincent's push carried a considerable strength, making me fall to my knees, scratching them against the cold and jagged stone. If for some reason the deviants were not watching me, assessing the newcomer that would join their ranks, now every single one of them was paying rapt attention.

Though it was short-lived, as deviants tended to have a short attention span when it came to matters other than their cursed magic. There was no hurry to pry open what hid behind my skin, they knew it, I did too. They would have all the time in the world later, when I started to serve my sentence.

Only one gaze continued watching every movement, every twitch of my lips, every tremble of my shoulders, how I slowly got up. Even though I was standing straight – something I rarely did, always preferring to slouch over, to make myself appear smaller, less intimidating– and keeping my face expressionless, I felt Dael knew how I truly felt beneath, when I didn’t even know myself what I was exactly feeling.

How could a stranger give the impression they knew everything about you, every emotion you felt, every secret you tried to keep hidden? To Know things about yourself you weren’t even aware of?

There was a constant thrumming pricking my fingertips, slowly extending towards my arms like crawling ants. It had started ever since I read the book and was accompanied by a strange urge I couldn’t quite place.

Was Dael aware of what it was?

As thankful as I was towards Vincent, his push was the reason I was no longer in a trance, trapped in the black hole of her eyes, my knees stung and were slightly bleeding.

Everybody had heard rumors about the Zorad Tower, the magic tower akin to a prison, so different from the Treller Tower, where invention and progress were achieved with the effort of hundreds of magicians from all around the world, not only from the Alguise Kingdom, where the Tower was located.

Unlike the Treller Tower I had once visited, the Zorad Tower in the south was dilapidated, almost in shambles. There were cracks in every wall, grime sticking to every surface like a parasite. The garden Marie had seen was more like a jungle, no flowers or bushes were trimmed, the little life that remained in that garden was due to the plant’s own persistence, refusing to perish among gloom and despondency. I knew I had to be just like them, tenacious and resilient.

The guards of the Zorad tower were practically untouchable, any aggression towards them spelled punishment. Depending on the degree, it could even lead to death.

Vincent dragged me until we left the field and entered the tower. I could feel the exact moment Dael’s gaze abandoned my back, fear no longer gripping me tightly by the shoulders, only uncertainty. Most of the other guards standing around the peripheries had only glanced at me with hatred. If they felt like it, punching, kicking, and even killing a deviant would come with no consequences, and I–was a deviant too.

“Vincent Bierhals reporting with a new deviant.” Vincent's expression scrunched up, the words ‘deviant’ clearly leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

The imponent doors opened, revealing a long hall full of paintings on every inch of the walls. They depicted beasts, people, and creatures from the worst of nightmares. I felt they were also looking at me, however, I realized it was only the paranoia the remanent of Dael’s gaze had left.

There was a metal door at the end of the hall, with just a small opening covered by metal bars.

We walked in silence, approaching the door with each step. I had no idea what was behind the door. I felt she was being dragged to the slaughterhouse, but at least I was glad Vincent was the one doing it.

As if hearing my thoughts, the grip on my wrist loosened.

“Marie…” Vincent mumbled. looking at his profile, I noticed there was no abnormality, except for the strain in his jaw covered by his rough stubble, as he was clenching it with–what I thought was– an exaggerated strength able to shatter his own teeth. “I hate you.”

I remained silent.

“You’re a disappointment.” Vincent continued; his dry lips slightly trembling.

I didn’t respond.

“I thought you knew better, I never wanted to see you.”

‘You think I wanted to?’ was left unsaid.

“Can you say anything at all?” Vincent yelled, his voice breaking at the end. He let go of my wrist and brought his hands to his face.

There wasn’t anything I could say.

I didn’t want to see Vincent either, at least not like this.

Nobody would want to see their friends in these circumstances.

Having received no response, Vincent looked beyond frustrated. Standing in the middle of the hallway, he turned around.

Vincent’s actions were pointless, I was sure of it. Even if he showed me his sturdy back, I couldn’t run away. Even if he had let go of my wrist, I still needed to follow him. Vincent knew that too. However, if his superiors knew what he was doing, leaving his back exposed to a deviant, he would’ve been fired and punished.

If he knew it was pointless, then what was he doing? Was he betting on the impossible chance that I knew a way to escape?

I scoffed, the first sound I had made ever since meeting Vincent. My attempt to remain silent had been disrupted by indignation. Vincent surely was a hypocrite, showing his back so I could escape when he had done the same thing three years ago, only that during that time, the back I had seen departed without even a single farewell.

“Why did you do it?” Vincent asked, I knew what he was referring to, still, I wanted to ask him the same.

Why did you leave without a word, was it something I had done? Did I bother you?

“Curiosity,” I answered instead, at least I wouldn’t be like Vincent, ignoring others for the sake of it. I would at least tell him why she was at the Zorad Tower, and while it may sound as an unreasonable reason, it was the truth.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Vincent abruptly turned around, chuckling with no mirth behind it. He glared at me, slightly raising his head to meet my eyes. “What a lame and pathetic excuse, curiosity you say.”

Vincent grabbed Marie’s wrist once again, this time with a herculean strength threatening to break my bones. “Curiosity will be your end.”

“Vincent, you– “

“Don’t say my name.” Vincent continued dragging me, I was tugged around with almost no effort, like a leaf against the wind. “From now on you will only refer to me as Guard Bierhals, Deviant Lander. Do you understand?”

That’s it? Did Vincent sever our friendship–or the crumbling vestiges of it– just like that? No explanations, not letting me talk nor make questions. There was no trace of the friend I had grown up with, running around in our village until the sun went down. Only a guard that hated a deviant. It was normal though, everybody hated deviants. Why had I thought Vincent would be different?

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Curiosity would not be the end of me, at least not regarding Vincent, since the last thing I wanted to do right was to be involved in any of his affairs. He could die for all I cared.

“Understood, Guard Bierhals.” I hoped my voice didn’t waver.

“Good.” Finally reaching the metal door, Vincent opened it by injecting some of his mana into the lock, each person’s mana was unique to them, an identifying trait.

The interior of the Zorad tower wasn’t as I had expected.

For an exterior so poorly maintained, the interior was surprisingly tidy. Still, there was an oppressive feeling emanating from the walls, as if trying to crush me.

Desks were filled with secretaries processing other deviants. All their expressions were cold and unwelcoming, though at the same time it gave the impression of them not being there. The deviants they were interrogating seemed on the verge of tears, anxious or some had a sick grin adorning their faces.

For some reason, it gave me the impression of guards checking the identities of others at the border.

Vincent brought me to one of the secretaries. He forcibly sat me down in front of the secretary’s desk, without any regard for my long and cramped legs under it. Vincent stood against the wall without saying a word. He ignored the guards standing next to him, trying to start conversations.

“Name?” The woman asked, her black uniform and Vincent’s red one were characteristic of the Zorad’s South Tower. It made her look respectable and professional, the quality reflecting they were worlds apart. Her tidy blonde hair made her feel refined, noble even.

“Marie Lander.”

The woman nodded and started writing a form. Different from normal secretaries, there wasn’t a tag on her chest. There was no way for me to know her name.

“Aristocrat or commoner?”

“Commoner.” I clenched the hem of my scraped pants. My hands were full of sweat, and I felt the world had started to spin, the edges of my vision becoming slightly black as if the prickling of my skin that had made my fingers numb had extended to my vision. The voices, mumbles, and cries of the deviants were too loud, and the room was completely filled with the odor of sweat.

“What book did you read?”

Curiosity was the reason I was here, I was too curious and read a book I shouldn’t have. Forbidden knowledge was forbidden for a reason.

I couldn’t remember the color of the book’s cover or where it had come from. When I read it the words didn’t make sense. The letters were like waves spilling over the pages, reaching into me, and forcibly ingraining themselves in my mind. The pain I’d felt back then was unbearable. I had passed out trying to keep on reading, even though I knew it would be harmful to myself and to my future. When my consciousness had returned, I had been surrounded by The Inspectors, a branch of the knights known for their power and ruthlessness.

A long timeframe was gone from my memory, leaving disconnected patches of events. I had no recollection of my actions during that time, but it was enough to earn me the label of deviant. I only wished I didn’t hurt anybody that deserved it, not wishing to harm any bystanders or innocent people going about their day, struggling as much as I did.

It felt unreal, becoming a deviant. Nothing had changed except for a strange urge I have been feeling after reading the book, as if the nasty and dirty sensation was a proof of reading what I shouldn’t have.

“Seven.” That was the only thing I remembered of the book, I wasn’t even sure if that was the real title.

The secretary continued writing.

“What will happen to me?” I asked, my leg bumping against the desk each time I moved them. The only thing I knew was that deviants resided in the Zorad tower but had no knowledge of what happened to them.

The secretary gave no response, nor did her expression change. It even made me question whether I had opened my mouth in the first place.

“Let me go!” A deviant screamed, rising from his seat.

Startled by the sudden commotion, I flinched; however, the secretary in front of me didn’t seem to mind the actions of the deviant.

“Take a seat.” The secretary that had been accompanying that deviant calmly ordered, he didn’t seem perturbed by the man pointing his hands at him, ready to cast a spell.

“No! You shall let me leave this filthy place. Return me to my library in this instant.”

“This is your last warning, return to your seat.”

“I just want to go back and read, what’s the big deal?” The deviant grinned, his eyes bloodshot. He seemed like a madman. I could feel how he gathered mana from the surroundings, ready to attack those who stood in his way. “I am Count Elliad's son, what are you going to do eh? You can’t touch me; my father would end you. If I don’t take a seat, what are you goi-“

Splat.

And just like that, he ceased to be.

The deviant that confidently threatened the secretary was nothing but a puddle of crimson and crushed organs. He didn’t have time to scream nor to protest.

I remembered a painting a friend of mine once did. Bored out of his mind, he just started pouring painting on top of a white canvas, with no direction. It overflowed, spilling into the floor until he run out of it. His painting ended up as an incoherent image, only appreciable by its disorder and chaos.

Somehow, the scene I was witnessing reminded me of that, but instead of just red paint of different shades, it was a crimson accompanied by a thick coppery smell and the sight of the unrecognizable body along intestines laying around.

I puked, but instead of the relief it usually brought me when I was sick, the burning behind my throat only increased more. It felt like my stomach hated me, churning, and turning until there was no more bile left, only strings of saliva. I would never forget such a scene, I was sure the other deviants wouldn’t too, as they were also vomiting.

I had always guessed deviants were people devoid of feelings, already accustomed to slaughter and death but it seemed I was wrong.

Apart from the sound of retching and gagging, there was no other sound, no other words uttered. All of us were afraid to join the pile of organs and be by its side forever.

That magic was too weird, too terrifying. It was just not normal. Such a thing couldn’t be done with elemental magic nor spiritual arts. If anything, I thought that power deserved to be locked down instead of me.

The one responsible for such power appeared to be the secretary assigned to the deviant, his grey eyes looked steady, no change in his behavior even after killing a man.

I was glad she didn’t try to escape.

“Deviant Lander, you’ll reside in the tower for two years,” The woman hadn’t stopped writing even after such a carnage happened. All secretaries had continued with their jobs. “Your room will be on the 12th floor. All the information you’ll need is in the paper.”

The secretary handed me the paper she had been working on, it was filled with too many words. There was almost no blank space in it.

The paper wasn’t reader-friendly, and the font size was too small to be able to decern unless one stuck their face to the paper.

Before i could even begin to read it, the black at the edges of my vision expanded until it was the only thing in my sight.

What had happened? Was it another weird magic? Had they turned me blind?

“Guard Bierhals, escort Deviant Lander to the 12th floor.”

I could only hear steps approaching me.

“Follow me.” Vincent's baritone voice said.

I made no move; I didn’t know where I was facing towards.

Then everything became silent.

There were no cries and screams from the deviants, no more questions being asked by the secretaries, nor the muttered insults made by the guards.

No sound.

I tried to speak but heard nothing.

I tried to ask for help but there was no reply.

I screamed, begged for anybody, but there was no response.

What a wicked magic it was.

I had never felt more vulnerable in my life. Not even the day I lost my parents– when I had felt completely incompetent and helpless.

The only thing preventing me from losing my mind was the sour taste in my mouth.

And the return of the firm grip on my wrist.

I winced; I couldn’t see but there were probably dark red imprints of Vincent’s hands on my wrists.

I was dragged, stumbling over my own steps, not knowing where I was heading to.

I almost slipped with something. No idea what it was, just that it felt wet and viscous because of my bare feet.

Please, someone, tell me it’s not what I think it is. It’s just water, right? Someone might have spilled water. Even though I didn’t see any cups, I bet the secretaries have cups filled with beverages, something to quench their thirst. That has to be it, I didn’t see a cup but if they were made from porcelain when they fell, they must have broken apart and the liquid was spilled onto the floor. I just didn’t hear when the cup broke because there wasn’t any way I could. That was it right? Please somebody tell me I’m right.

Vincent increased his pace; it was even harder to keep up with him.

I was uncomfortable, I tried to talk again, to make a sound but I was met with nothingness.

Feeling a strain in my throat, I stopped.

My clothes stuck to my body due to the sweat, but I was glad it did. Any sensation, no matter how unpleasant, proved that I was still there, still present. My tears trailing down my cheeks didn’t bother me either.

I tripped on what I thought were stairs and I believed I was right by how Vincent was tugging my wrist upwards.

One step, then another. It was done carefully, with no sudden movement.

At first, I constantly tripped. I got used to it soon though, walking upstairs smoothly.

I grounded herself with the smooth texture of the paper in one hand, and the painful touch of Vincent in the other.

A long time passed, after all, according to the secretary they were heading towards the 12th floor.

I was only able to hear my thoughts, stuck with what I knew was my worst enemy.

Had they taken away my senses so she wouldn’t figure out what path I had come from?

No matter how you looked at it, it was overkill. There was no need to go to such lengths, nobody would try to escape after the scene where the deviants were being processed.

Was it torture? A punishment designed only to make me suffer? To make me feel hopeless?

My legs ached; my breathing was ragged.

It was just too many stairs. Couldn’t they use magic or something to make the stairs shorter?

Vincent let go of my arm. I stood still, with a lump in my throat, not knowing what to do.

Then, my skin broke into goosebumps. I just wanted to return to my small house in the vicinities of the capital–not quite inside it–surrounded by a forest, where happiness was enclosed between four walls. Where I could walk downstairs and start working in the library, I had poured my heart and soul into it.

Back then, my only concern had been to decide what book I wanted to read; now, my future was full of uncertainty. Whether I came alive from this place filled with dangerous deviants depended entirely on my actions.

just as my sight and hearing had disappeared, they returned.

It was too abrupt, the blast of sounds and light leaving me disoriented.

My eyes took some seconds to get used to the brightness, having only seen infinite darkness for goddess knows how long.

Multiple voices reverberated against my skull. Their conversations invaded my ears out of nowhere, pounding against my forehead and around my temples.

As I got used to the return of my senses, I examined my surroundings.

It wasn’t what I had expected. Instead of Vincent, there were Marble floors with no sign of any blemish covered by a red velvet carpet. A long hall with multiple doors on each side. Deviants were going in and out of the rooms connected to them. They smiled, talked, and laughed. There were some that carried elegance with their every move, others rough in speech and appearance, there were even demi-humans.

It was as if they weren’t paying attention, however, I could feel their gaze cast onto me.

They watched my every move from the corner of their eyes.

I would have mistaken this place for a hotel or an inn, a peaceful place where guests enjoyed their stay, was it not for the white jumpsuits they all wore, or the unsavory gaze I had been subjected to before, coming from Dael, standing at the end of the hall.