Chapter XXVIII
Year 2048
Six Years Ago
Yoki surfaced from a fathomless abyss, his consciousness clawing its way back to reality like a swimmer breaching the surface after too long underwater. Every breath felt like fire searing his lungs, each inhale a reminder that he was, improbably, still alive. He found himself lying on a narrow cot in a dimly lit room, every inch of his body aching with a deep-seated throb. It was as if he had been shattered and pieced back together, the remnants of some immense force still humming in his bones. His skin tingled unpleasantly, a residual charge lingering like the aftermath of a lightning strike.
Blinking against the muted glow, he squinted to make sense of his surroundings. The ceiling above was high and vaulted, shadows pooling in its arches like ink in water. Ornate carvings of faded sunderglyphs adorned the stonework, their meanings lost to time but hinting at a history steeped in magick. The air was thick with a metallic scent, underscored by the earthy musk of dried herbs and the antiseptic sting of healing tinctures. The coppery taste of blood lingered on his tongue, and his throat felt parched, each swallow scraping like sandpaper.
Fragments of memory flickered at the edges of Yoki’s mind: the cold bite of iron cuffs digging into his wrists, the sinister crimson glow of sunderglyphs pulsing in the darkness, and the echo of his own twisted laughter—a sound that made his stomach churn. He recalled the face of the inquisitor, their eyes void of mercy as they threatened to wrench the Painkiller from his very soul. He tried to piece it all together, but the images slipped away like shadows evading the dawn, leaving only the raw emotions of fear, rage, and a haunting exhilaration.
Attempting to shift, a sharp pain lanced through his muscles, forcing a grimace. Even the simple act of breathing felt laborious, Yoki’s ribs protesting with each movement. Instinctively, he reached inward, seeking the wellspring of power that had now become a refuge and curse—the magicks of the Painkiller. For a terrifying moment, there was nothing but emptiness, a void where the dark current should have been. Panic tightened its grip until, finally, he sensed it: a vast, unfathomable reservoir of Sphaeram pulsing beneath his consciousness. Relief mingled with dread as he grasped the enormity of it.
An endless abyss, he thought, both awed and horrified.
This power was unlike anything Yoki had known—a cruel mockery of his status as a Sentinel Nightwalker. The hierarchy of Tearing mastery flashed through his mind:
Initiate, Sentinel, Enchanter, Warden, Mystagogue, Archon, Sovereign, Ascendant, and Eclipse. Each rank represented years of dedication, expanding one's reserve of Sphaeram and unlocking greater dominion over reality itself. But now, with this new well of power, where do I stand? What have I become?
Yoki’s fingers twitched, the temptation to draw upon the dark energy almost overpowering. If he could just tap into it, he might banish the pain, clear the fog from his mind. Yet a whisper of caution threaded through his thoughts—a memory of the abyss gazing back.
A calm voice disrupted his turmoil. "I wouldn't advise that."
Yoki's heart jolted. He turned his head slowly, every muscle protesting with a dull ache. At the foot of his bed sat a woman, her posture relaxed yet exuding an unmistakable authority. The dim light cast her in half-shadow, but he could make out the strong lines of her face, the way her deep brown skin seemed to absorb the glow rather than reflect it. Her hair was pulled back tightly, revealing sharp cheekbones and purple eyes that seemed to pierce through him.
The room around them was lined with rows of similar cots, their metal frames reflecting the soft, golden light of lanterns suspended from above. Herbs hung from the rafters, their dry leaves rustling softly in an unseen draft, infusing the air with a pungent, almost sacred aroma. The old stone walls bore the weight of countless years, and somewhere in the distance, the gentle hum of arcane machinery threaded through the silence, a subtle reminder of the fact that mechanical practicality was still present in such a place as The Academy.
"Who are you?" Yoki rasped, his voice barely more than a whisper. The effort sent a flare of pain through his throat, and he winced, bringing a hand up to feel the rough bandages wrapped around his neck.
The woman's lips curved into a faint, enigmatic smile. "Someone who's been where you are," she replied, her voice low but resonant, carrying a soothing undertone that belied the gravity of her words. Her eyes—striking and violet—met his without flinching, holding a depth that hinted at secrets and experiences far beyond his own.
The sense of déjà vu tightened its grip. Yoki was certain he'd never met her, yet something about her was achingly familiar. It was as if she'd been a constant presence just beyond his awareness, a shadow at the edge of his vision, waiting for the right moment to step into the light.
"Did I... lose my memory?" he asked, the possibility chilling him more than he cared to admit. The idea that pieces of himself could be missing was almost more terrifying than any physical injury.
She shook her head gently. "No. Your memories are intact. But you've undergone a significant... transformation. It's natural to feel disoriented."
He swallowed dryly, the motion painful against his parched throat. "What happened to me?"
"You pushed beyond your limits," she said softly. "Reached into depths of power that few ever touch. If Master Celia and I hadn't found you when we did..." She let the implication hang in the air, the unspoken consequences heavy between them.
Yoki's mind raced, sifting through the haze. The Veilseekers. The chamber. The threat to sever the Painkiller from his very being. The iron cuffs, the sunderglyphs burning into his skin, the sensation of his soul being torn apart from the silence. A surge of anger welled up within him. "They tried to rip it out of me," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "They thought they could control it. Control me."
The woman studied him intently. "And did they?"
He met her gaze, a defiant spark igniting in his eyes. "No."
A moment of silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant ticking of a clock and the soft crackle of the lanterns. Before he could say more, a familiar voice interrupted.
"Master Nikita, always turning up when least expected."
Yoki glanced over to see Indigo approaching with her characteristic grace, her perfect hair catching the lantern light like threads of moonlight woven into a cascade. Her presence was a balm to the tension in the room, her aura exuding warmth, reassurance.
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"Nikita," Indigo greeted warmly, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "I should've known you'd be involved in this."
Nikita stood to embrace her, and for a moment, Yoki glimpsed a softer side to the stern woman—a hint of the shared history between the two.
"You know I can't resist a good enigma," Nikita replied, her smile genuine. "And your protégé here is certainly that."
Indigo laughed, "how is your own protégé coming along Nikita?"
Nikita sighed at this. "The usual of course. Complaining why she couldn’t have been assigned another Master—she knows how to get under my skin, that girl.”
Indigo laughed again, then turned her attention to Yoki, her gaze assessing yet compassionate. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been trampled by a herd of beasts," he admitted, managing a wry smile despite the throbbing pain. "But I'll survive."
"Glad to hear it," she said, pulling up a chair beside his bed. "You've had us all worried."
"Us?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow.
"Your friends. The faculty. You've made quite an impression in a short time," Indigo said. "Not many first-years find themselves entangled with the Veilseekers."
At the mention of the Veilseekers, Nikita's expression hardened subtly. "We need to know exactly what happened," she said, her tone leaving little room for evasion.
Yoki hesitated, the memories still jaggedly raw. The image of the masked but almost inhuman inquisitor flashed in his mind—slitted eyes gleaming with the cold assurance of his soon to be sucess.
And then, I killed him.
But Yoki knew there was no point in withholding the truth. "They ambushed me," he began. "Knocked me out and took me to some place, some chamber I was in. I awoke bound with iron cuffs inscribed with sunderglyphs—crimson runes that pulsed like they were alive."
Nikita exchanged a sharp glance with Indigo. "Crimson sunderglyphs," she repeated. "That's advanced magick. Forbidden, even among the higher ranks."
"They wanted the Painkiller," Yoki continued, his voice steadying as he delved deeper into the recollection. "Thought they could extract it from me, use its power for themselves. They didn't understand what it is—what it does."
"And what does it do, Yoki?" Indigo asked gently, her eyes searching his.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself. "It's a part of me. A dark mirror. When they threatened to tear it away, it fought back. I fought back. I... let it in. Fully."
The weight of his admission settled over them like a heavy fog. Nikita's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "You merged with it completely?"
He nodded. "For a while, there was no distinction between us. I became something else. Something... more."
Indigo leaned forward, her expression intense yet compassionate. "And how do you feel now?"
"Different," he confessed. "Stronger, but also... unsettled. Like I'm standing at the edge of a precipice, and one wrong step could send me plummeting."
Nikita's gaze was piercing, her violet eyes reflecting a depth of understanding. "Can you control it?"
"I believe so," Yoki said, though uncertainty gnawed at him. "But it's vast. Limitless, almost. My Sphaeram—it feels like an endless abyss."
Indigo and Nikita exchanged a meaningful look, an unspoken conversation passing between them. "That's not a sensation any Sentinel should experience," Nikita remarked. "Not even Archons report such depth."
"Have you noticed any physical changes?" Indigo inquired carefully.
Yoki hesitated, glancing down at his hands. "My wings," he admitted. "They're... different now. Fully formed."
“Wings! May we see?" Nikita asked excitedly, laced with a child-like curiosity.
Yoki swallowed, apprehension swirling within him. Then, with a slow nod, he concentrated, feeling the familiar sensation between his shoulder blades. With a slight wince, he unfurled them. The wings that had been neatly folded upon on his back emerged gracefully, obsidian feathers shimmering with an ethereal sheen that seemed to drink in the light. They stretched outward, spanning wider than before, exuding an aura of undeniable beauty.
Both women regarded them silently. Nikita stepped closer, her hand hovering near but not touching the feathers. "Remarkable," she murmured. "Developing wings… not just some Shifter’s interpretation, but the real thing—it’s unheard of. This transcends known Tearing manifestations."
Indigo's expression was one of complete, utter, astonishment. "This complicates matters."
Yoki retracted his wings, the effort surprisingly effortless, as natural as breathing. "Am I becoming... something else?" he asked quietly, the question hanging heavily in the air.
"You're evolving," Indigo said, choosing her words carefully. "But the path you're on is uncharted. We need to ensure you don't lose yourself along the way."
Nikita closed her notebook with a decisive snap. "I'll consult with the Council. Discreetly," she added, noting Yoki's alarmed look. "For now, it's imperative that you avoid using your new Sphaeram. Your system needs time to adjust."
Yoki nodded reluctantly. "Understood."
Nikita offered a brief, reassuring smile. "You're stronger than you realize, Yoki. Trust in that." She glanced at Indigo, a silent signal passing between them. "Keep me informed."
"Always," Indigo replied.
With that, Nikita departed, her steps echoing softly down the corridor like fading whispers.
Indigo remained seated, her gaze resting on Yoki. "You're handling this better than I expected," she said softly.
"Am I?" he replied, a hint of bitterness creeping into his voice. "I feel like a storm trapped in a bottle, unable to draw on this gift of power because I’m too… weak.”
Was it a gift or a curse?
"That's not uncommon," she assured him. "Great power often comes with great turmoil. The key is finding balance."
He met her eyes, searching for answers. "How do I do that?"
"By knowing yourself," she said simply. "Understanding your limits and pushing them carefully. You have the potential to achieve great things, but only if you remain true to who you are."
Yoki sighed, the weight of her words settling upon him. "It's hard to remember who that is sometimes," he admitted, his gaze drifting to the shadows dancing along the walls.
Indigo reached out, her hand resting lightly on his forearm. Her touch was warm, grounding him in the present. "Then let those who care about you remind you," she said almost maternally. "You're not alone in this."
He managed a small smile, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. "Thank you," he whispered.
"Get some rest," she advised, standing up gracefully. "We'll begin training anew when you're ready. There's much to learn, and even more to unlearn."
As she turned to leave, a thought struck him. "Indigo?"
She paused, looking back over her shoulder. "Yes?"
"The Veilseekers—they won't stop, will they?"
Her expression turned somber, the light in her eyes dimming slightly. "No," she said quietly. "They see you as a means to an end. But you're not alone in this. We'll face whatever comes together."
"Do you know why they want the Painkiller so badly?" Yoki pressed, the question burning within him.
She hesitated before answering, choosing her words with care. "There are legends—whispers of ancient powers that could tip the balance of our world. The Painkiller is part of that tapestry, a thread that weaves through history in ways few understand. But the full truth is buried deep, and not all of it is known, even to me."
"Secrets upon secrets," Yoki muttered, a mixture of frustration and resignation in his tone.
"Such is the way of our world," she said gently. "But remember, knowledge is a journey, not a destination. Rest now. Clarity will come with time."
He watched as she moved toward the door, her perfect, curvy silhouette framed by the soft glow of the lanterns. The shadows seemed to part for her, acknowledging her presence. Just before she exited, she glanced back, her eyes meeting his with a steady intensity.
"And Yoki?"
"Yes?"
"Don't lose hope. The darkness within you is only one part of the whole. Even the night sky is filled with stars."
With a quiet click, she was gone, leaving him alone with his thoughts. The infirmary was silent save for the distant hum of arcane devices and the faint rustle of the herbs swaying gently in the rafters. Yoki lay back, staring up at the ceiling where shadows danced in the flickering light, weaving patterns that hinted at stories untold.
He felt the weight of everything pressing down—the power coursing through him, the uncertainty of his future, the looming threat of the Veilseekers. Yet amid the chaos, there was a newfound stillness within him, a quiet strength that hadn't been there before.
Closing his eyes, Yoki took a slow, measured breath. The Painkiller stirred softly within its current slumber, not as a malevolent force, but as a part of Yoki—a steady rhythm in harmony with his own. The fear that once gripped him was replaced by a tentative acceptance.
As sleep began to claim him, he realized that where the silence once was oppressive, it now held a serene stillness. The shadows no longer seemed menacing but rather a canvas upon which anything was possible. He had finally made peace with his past, and in doing so, forged a path toward his future.
In the depths of darkness, he had found his own light.
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END OF ACT III