{The Seam}

The Aegis known as Razor smelled of sweet lemonade from holding the aroused girl. The Rayne impostor never moved to counter him. Instead, her body relaxed in his arms completely, because she knew of her own capabilities. Because she lured him there to kill him. And it impressed him. Matt impressed him. Puk astonished him.

When the conduit came to claim him, the Pain Curator found himself uncertain for the first time in ages. No Lyriki guards. No weapons. No counter measures prepared. Inanis took time and control. He was out of both.

Skimming through the Probabilities yielded zero identical results. This chain of events was unprecedented. He grinned at the purple hall. He liked unprecedented.

The Aegis known as Razor slipped out of his ruined, sticky shirt and swept into his blazer. Puk kept it safe from the bloodbath. How considerate. Standing in the ruins of his people, the Pain Curator invented many exquisite experiences for the traitors. Starting with the little siren.

But first—

“Come out, Seamswalker. You summoned me, and I’m here. Although, I was certain you perished hours ago.”

Nothing came. Not a sight or a sound.

He wanted to get back to Triss immediately. If this little coup extended to the Emporium, she was in danger. But… His people expelled him from the Seam over ten million years ago. A quick jaunt would cost him only five minutes on Earth, and because time passed slower here. Leaving without help was impossible.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled down the hall. The spectrum of purples already existed by the time of his creation. The same was true of the oranges in the Royal Artery. Blues in the Celestial Battery. Reds in the Infernal Amphitheater. And so on.

There was no space for his contributions. His innovations. It filled the Aegis known as Razor with bitterness.

Wandering for what passed as an hour on Gait, with no sign of the Seamswalker, he entered the brightest chamber. The Feast of Roses. The flowers were engraved along the arched ceiling, walls, pillars, and floor. As yellow as Triss’ eyes, the color wept from them and drained into the pool inset below.

Aegis blood.

Voices whispered and echoed within the monolith. “Three Two Four,” they cried, hissed, and moaned.

The Pain Curator leaned on the banister overlooking the pool. “I don’t answer to that name.”

“Here you will.”

Loathed to hear that voice, especially with that tone, Three Two Four turned and faced the man that made him. Cavalier and hard, he mused, “Ours bones never decompose. But you look better without your skin, father. Where is the Seamswalker?” He settled back against the banister to keep things casual.

“Preparing.”

It was difficult talking to a man without eyes. Humored by his own observations, Three Two Four smirked and crossed his ankles. “For what?”

“To defend the Atheneum. She knows.”

This revelation might frighten him if he hadn’t reduced Sagan to a starving, half-powered Seamswalker. And yet… He frowned. How did she open those conduits after he shut down her nacre’s ability to call them?

As if hearing Three Two Four’s thoughts, the Exalted chided, “Like the ones before her, the Seamswalker is more formidable than you predicted.”

That wasn’t a fair assessment. The Icarus who fed from Three Two Four got lucky. But The Afflicted One surprised him. In much the same ways as Sagan. Both were sweet and kind. Both were a challenge to fit inside his world.

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And when was the last time Zero went this long without speaking?

Three Two Four considered asking more about the Seamswalker, but turned his back on the man instead. He leaned over the banister where the feast beckoned below. Their blood sustained the heart of the Seam. Without it, the color desaturated as if stolen by the spectrum of light. With the Elders locked in this appropriate afterlife, Three Two Four alone kept the blood flowing. Once a fountain, now trickled into a dehydrated stream. However, the Seamswalker restored the Seam to full vibrancy.

How?

The crunch of amber glass behind him indicated Zero stepped forward. Three Two Four whirled to find the man lowering an outstretched hand as if he thought better of the gesture. This weak attempt at approaching the Pain Curator sickened him. As did the sorrow in his father’s voice.

“You are brilliant, my three hundred and twenty-fourth son. I wanted to tell you on that last day you came to see me. I wanted you to know… that I was jealous. I was blind to it in my pride.”

What was this? Regrets? Three Two Four plastered on a stony mask. “You wronged me. You punished me. Your apology comes far too late. It was too late ten million years ago.”

“You condemned us. I know not which of us deserves cold justice more. I only know that yours is nigh.”

Three Two Four rolled his eyes and gestured flippantly. “Justice or no, I won’t let you cycle into the Atheneum.”

“She will.”

Something emerged from the pool. A person. Razor gripped the balustrade and leaned forward, staring below. Sagan. The yellow fluid sluiced off of her, revealing an amber exoskeleton fitted perfectly to her form.

Zero said she was preparing. That justice was nigh. Well, the Pain Curator was no King of Cinder, and the Seamswalker was no counter Weapon. He wouldn’t reduce himself to fighting her.

Drawn to the feast, the blood eagerly abandoned her and returned to the pool. It left her blond hair dry around her fresh face with the light dusting of freckles across her nose. They brought out her eyes.

And what eyes they were. The same soft violet of Monarch Hall, the color swallowed them save for the black slitted pupil. They sparkled with her smile.

“Seamswalker.” Casually, Razor walked down the stairs with one nail-less hand on the balustrade. He kept his gaze on her. The suit of nacre piqued his curiosity. “That’s quite the ensemble. How are you strong enough to wield it?”

Sagan answered in three pitches, “Matt and Rayne.” Looking off, she concentrated on something beyond this room. Something she considered more important than this confrontation.

“Rayne’s blood?” Tilting his head, the Pain Curator squared off with the woman in a suit of nacre armor. Somehow the Shadow reserved their King’s blood and kept it for emergencies. He snapped his fingers as he realized. “The chains. Matt returned your chain when he pushed you. I’m so glad you introduced us. You know I look forward to reimbursing him. With interest.”

Ignoring him, Sagan scented the air and beamed with the most radiant smile. “He found her. He found Lucy.”

Razor spared a thought to how she might know what the Rayne impostor smelled like while aroused. After which, he raked his gaze over her. Naked beneath the glass armor, he appreciated her confidence. Standing tall, shoulders straight and proud, with her hands loose in case of conflict. But he was mildly concerned. The restorative properties of Aegis blood dissolved the nacre port from her chest.

Curious over the faraway gaze, Razor lounged on the steps and pressed, “What distracts you so?”

“I’m exploring. I can open conduits and see into anywhere. I’m learning to harness it. The constructs guide me.” Sagan wrinkled her nose and grimaced as if she discovered something unpleasant.

He laughed at the cute expression. At the day he had. At the incredulity of it all. He chuckled through his words. “To what end, Seamswalker?”

Razor was an Aegis. Nothing moved faster than his eyes could follow. Until her. Before he realized it, she stood over him with different eyes. Sad ones. Weighted with finality.

“I know what you’ve done to Korac. You’re the source of every awful thing in his life.” Sagan crouched and put her face in his. Her anger was warm and filled with as much light as her kindness. It burned. “I’m harnessing the constructs to set them free. To save him and to rip your world in two. Unlike you, I make good on my promises, Three Two Four.”

In Sagan’s eyes, Razor saw a solid and determined truth. Icy fear chilled his veins and stiffened his glass bones. Schooling his voice to this side of pleading, he reasoned, “You’ve only heard their testimony. What of mine?”

“You burned it into me.”

The Pain Curator swallowed hard. Sagan was strong enough and knowledgeable enough to truly end him. But that took second priority. He couldn’t let her free them.

Cautiously, Razor backed up and stood. She straightened with him. So short. By far, the shortest Progeny. And even knowing that, he knew her as the most deadly. Trying again for reasonable, he gazed into the intelligence in those stunning eyes and beseeched her, “Might I request a parlay? Not in terms of our personal history, but regarding my people. Zero’s slow and unwilling to answer questions directly. You can learn from me, as Rayne did from Nox in his Verse.”

Sagan was gazing at his father up the stairs until Razor mentioned the illegal Verse. Her head snapped to him, and her eyes narrowed. She sat down on the wide step with her back against the wall, one leg bent and the other straight. Unaffected by his fear, she assured, “I’m learning to harness the constructs until I can free them. What you say until then can’t affect that.”

A little time was all Razor needed.