Three-sixteen's POV
Something inside Three-sixteen snapped. A sudden wave of heat washed over him as the crystal’s energy spread through his insides. It felt like he’d consumed fire until everything stopped.
The world came to a standstill, his pain ceased, here were no sounds, no sights. Nothing existed except for Three-sixteen.
Then it all returned, only it wasn't the same. He was falling. A black void rushed up to meet him, a pair of burning eyes stared back as his own consciousness floated on a dark sea. A formless mind, both separate from and connected to his own awareness, manifested as little black cat.
The creature formed slowly from the darkness as Three-sixteen tried to understand what was happening. Was he dead? Had he somehow teleported or been tucked into a pocket dimension? His mind flooded questions and regrets he wasn’t ready for things to end yet.
“You’re not dead, so please stop spiraling.”
He heard the voice in his head, but it wasn’t his own. It was female and as far as he could tell, it belonged to the cat. Her red eyes blinked open, looking up at him with such disgust that he felt a twinge of fear.
She snorted. Her nostrils flared and her whiskers twitched.
A strange energy pulsed within her, radiating from the center of her body and flowing through her extremities. She was alive, real in a way she hadn’t been when he’d seen her before. If anyone else were here he felt sure they’d have seen her too.
“You know so little…”
“I know plenty!” Three-sixteen asserted.
She chuckled, her eyes narrowing.
Three-sixteen didn't appreciate her patronizing attitude. It was her instructions and guidance that brought him here, She had in a way saved him several times and she had been the one to suggest he eat Talent’s crystal. Her voice was—perfect and unmistakable.
The cat’s ears twitched as she hissed, “My crystal. It, and even you, belong to me.”
“I…” Three-sixteen wanted to retort, but he wasn’t sure the point and he was curious what she meant. “Explain, please.”
Her eyes narrowed. She sniffed again. She wasn’t angry, her voice was calm and patient. She sat up and began to groom herself as if unconcerned, although Three-sixteen was sure she was actually deep in thought, on focused on something other than him. “There’s no time for that now,” she meowed, “He’s already stolen some of my strength, if you don’t want us to die here then I need control. You need to accept me as your master, so we can merge our wills into one, then I can fight that feathered fuck off. Do you accept me as your master and your partner in life, or would you rather we perish together, trapped in the dark space of your mind forever and ever and ever and—”
Three-sixteen could not imagine what being stuck with this cat would be like. It sounded terrible. He didn’t know anything about her and she wasn't particularly kind or caring. Still, she had saved his life and she seemed quite capable. He nodded. “Alright.”
“Good, it’ll be like taking a nap. When you wake, don’t forget to thank me.” With a single great bound the kitten leapt into Three-sixteen’s chest, sinking beneath his skin.
Darkness enveloped him. He couldn’t feel anything. Couldn't see or hear. His body felt heavy, but nothing moved.
It was the same as the moment before he was born, only this time it was a moment of death, or rather, the start of something new.
He had a vague notion of his consciousness shrinking down until his entire being was just a grain of sand, floating in a vast ocean of dark waters.
Ripples and waves pushed him gently from all directions. He didn’t have to fight the current. He didn't have to move or struggle to stay afloat. The water buoyed him up and he drifted on the waves, unsure of his destination.
It was a strange feeling, but not a bad one. The cat was right, felt a lot like sleeping.
Time passed, a few seconds or a few years, it was impossible to tell.
Suddenly he was aware again—like waking from a dream. Three-sixteen blinked, his eyes taking several moments to adjust to the space around him. It was still dark but he could see smooth metal walls. The floor was cold and he was moving at a pace that made his stomach twist in knots.
The low hum of a crystal engine vibrating through the walls was the final clue that told Three-sixteen this was a crystal cruiser. He was probably in the storage room, but he didn’t know whose cruiser this was or where it was going.
His arms were weak and his legs felt heavy, but he managed to pull himself up onto his feet. A dull ache spread through his body and a chill clung to his skin like frost. Exhaustion nearly toppled him, but determination and strength of will held up long enough to reach the door.
When Three-sixteen’s legs gave out, he fell forward, catching himself on the panel and letting it support his weight. The door slid open with a whoosh, revealing a dimly lit cabin. Three-sixteen stumbled forward, using the wall for balance as he dragged his feet across the smooth floor.
He recognized the layout and the color scheme, but as far as he could tell, the cruiser was empty.
He knew that couldn’t be right though because it was flying and that meant there must be a pilot, at least he hoped that’s what it meant.
As Three-sixteen approached the cockpit, the door slid open. A boy with dark curls ambled out rubbing his eyes.
Both jolted upright at the sight of the other. “T…Talent?” Three-sixteen asked, unsure whether to believe his eyes.
Talent stared back, his eyes as large as saucers and his face pale as shell stone. He looked like he was seeing a ghost which frazzled Three-sisteen and made him check over his shoulder.
He turned back, feeling like a fool. What are you gaping at like that? Is a measly number so terrifying to you?
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Talent blinked several times and shook his head. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it. Finally he managed a, “How are you here?”
The question was barely more than a whisper and Three-sixteen wasn’t sure he'd heard right.
Before he could ask, Talent continued, "Are you really...or am I just that tired?”
“What do you mean? You brought me here didn’t you? After I ate the crystal, you—”
“I watched you die. Your neck snapped along with I assume every bone in your body by the way it sounded. Then that bird, it picked you up and carried you away. I never saw you again after that. At least not until you appeared out of thin air inside my cruiser while it’s mid flight no less. Which is to say that it’s impossible for you to be real; so tell me, how are you here, and what is this illusion of you standing in front of me now?”
Three-sixteen didn’t know how to respond. He definitely was not dead, though if his body really had broken as Talent described, that might explain his current aches and fatigue. The last thing he remembered was eating the crystal, then he had a strange experience with the cat and then he woke up here. He just assumed he must have fallen unconscious and been taken by Talent.
Neither of them seemed to know what really happened.
Three-sixteen decided it wasn't important and shifted the topic of conversation. “Where are we going?” he asked, looking past Talent to see out the front window as if the horizon might give him some clue.
He knew nothing of the surface world, but the view was breathtaking nonetheless.
Tall mountains and vast deserts, rolling green hills and fields and forests filled with a vibrant assortment of plant life. There were animals and structures and a river winding through the landscape and beyond.
The view stretched so far that Three-sixteen couldn’t tell where it ended, only that he couldn't see the edge of the earth.
Three-sixteen didn't hear the answer, but a sudden jerk of the craft pulled him back to the present. They were hovering in place, a beam of yellow light flooding in through the window.
He must have looked rattled because Talent said, “Relax, it’s just the escort my father sent to guide me home.”
Lights flickered on inside the cruiser and two, softer but still loud, thumps echoed from behind them.
“Master Kastin, it’s good to see you. I… I feared you’d been killed by those fools, but my gut told me you would survive.” The voice was rough and sharp, but decidedly feminine. It belonged to a woman with both sides of her head shaved and the hair she had remaining pulled back into to a ponytail. Her eyes were strong and dark, the hardened look of a magistrate who regularly witnessed the worst sorts of violence and depravity. Three-sixteen recognized her, but he name did not come to his mind.
Talent stepped past him, wrapping her in a warm embrace. “You stole the words from my mouth,” he said as he pulled back. “How did you escape?”
The woman shrugged, a gesture which seemed to convey both that she wasn't sure, and didn't care.
Another man, with a short crop of hair and a long beard, stepped up beside her. Three-sixteen recalled his name immediately. Daren, the man with a unique talent for torture.
He clapped Talent on the shoulder. His smile was warm, but his eyes were not. He too, gave no indication of how he survived.
Three-sixteen was more concerned with his own survival. Talent was one thing, Three-sixteen felt fairly confident he could escape from the boy if necessary; he wasn’t so sure he could escape the boy and two of the magistrates most instrumental in his initial capture.
Maybe with a command, he thought, but would that work on a magistrate? He didn’t know.
As Talent and the magistrates spoke, Three-sixteen took a few steps away from the group and sat down in the corner. He was still weak and his whole body ached. His bones were heavy and his joints stiff. The floor was cold and hard, but it was surprisingly comfortable.
Three-sixteen was tired and tempted to rest, but he knew he needed to be prepared for anything. He didn’t care about the reunion, although he was grateful Mikala wasn’t present, but he listened to their hushed conversation, paying special attention for anything that might be relevant to their plans for him or their destination.
He couldn't make out much of it, only bits and pieces, until Talent said, "I don't want to go back. I'll find another way home."
"Don't be silly," the woman with the ponytail chided.
Three-sixteen was tired and tempted to rest, but he knew he needed to be prepared for anything. He didn’t care about the reunion, although he was grateful Mikala wasn’t present, but he listened to their hushed conversation, paying special attention for anything that might be relevant to their plans for him or their destination.
Mostly it was just pleasantries and idle chatter, until Talent said, “I don't want to go back. I don’t think I belong there anymore.”
“Don't be silly,” the woman with the ponytail responded. Her name was Sandra, Three-sixteen picked up from the conversation.
She was short and muscular with a deep tan. Her eyes were soft, almost motherly, yet they held a dangerous glint as well.With a frown she continued, “Where else would you belong? Kasin’algrade is, and always will be, your home.”
Daren nodded and patted Talent's back again.
They were trying to encourage him, but Talent seemed unreceptive.
His jaw was set and his expression hard.
When he spoke again his tone was flat, devoid of all emotion, and his eyes were distant. “I think my father would have preferred that I remained there eternally.”
The two magistrates looked at each other, a brief flash of confusion crossing their features before they composed themselves again.
Talent shook his head, as if dismissing the matter, and returned to his seat in the cockpit. “You’re right though, there’s no better place for me than the manor. Still, I’m almost certain my abduction was orchestrated by my father. I can’t be angry with him though. If I weren’t so adverse to combat, I would’ve been able to easily decimate those ravens. I must become stronger if I want to succeed him. Strong enough that no one would dare oppose me or question my decisions. Diato or not, I will make the world obey me!” His gaze slipped from the magistrates to Three-sixteen, then he twisted around in his seat.
Three-sixteen didn’t like the way that Talent looked at him. He saw something in the boy’s eyes, a desire or intent, that reminded him of the way Luck stared when he worked the mines.
Sandra joined Talent in the cockpit, but Daren moved to stand in front of Three-sixteen. “Who are you really?” he asked, his voice was deep and threatening.
Three-sixteen wasn’t sure what to say. He thought he knew who he was before, a number born to serve in the mines, but wasn’t so sure about that anymore. Numbers could not command others. He wasn’t sure what to believe about whether numbers could eat crystals, but he had eaten more in a few cycles than any magistrate he knew would eat in a few dozen.He didn't feel like a number anymore.
Daren seemed to have no interest in his introspection, however.
The man crouched down and grabbed Three-sixteen by the chin. His fingers were strong, like iron, and they dug into the soft flesh beneath Three-sixteen's jaw, causing him to wince.
His eyes narrowed, studying Three-sixteen like he examining a crystal. His nostrils flared and his lips curled with disgust.
He let go, his expression unchanged, but his tone had shifted. His words were quieter, but harder and filled with disdain.“Whatever, you’ll die soon enough.”
A slight smile tugged at his lips as he turned away. It was so subtle that Three-sixteen might have imagined it.
He had seen that look before, too many times.
There was something sinister about the man.
Three-sixteen wasn't sure what, or why, or if there was anything to do about it, but his gut told him he should not trust the man, that the man was a threat.
He wasn't sure how, or why, or if he could do anything about it. He'd already escaped death once, he wasn't eager to tempt fate a second time.
Three-sixteen watched as Daren took a seat in the cabin, leaning back and closing his eyes. Daren’s throat was fully exposed; if he’d anything sharp, he could slit the man's throat and kill him.
He did not have a knife though, and he doubted he could strangle the man without someone noticing.
Three-sixteen blinked away images of a red mist spraying from The magistrate’s neck. He wasn’t sure why, but the violent thoughts were oddly satisfying.
Daren wasn't a friend or ally, but Three-sixteen didn't hate the man. He didn't particularly like the man either.
Still, it wasn’t like him. Three-sixteen just wanted a peaceful life where he could be left alone. He’d never hurt anyone—
“What about Luck? It felt good then, didn’t it?”
Three-sixteen shuddered at the feline voice. The cat was nowhere to be seen, but he felt her amusement and his heart trembled with fear.