SEVENTEEN

Glow

Xelan had always loved this forest. Razor had chosen the location when Xelan was tracing Celindria across the galaxy. As her path spiraled, Thailea at its center, they preemptively constructed the treeloft for Xelan’s mission. Often when he’d slept in the comically gigantic bed or used the open shower, he’d wondered what Razor was thinking in its design.

Xelan asked the nearest tree, “Razor, did you program the loft to open for Nox and Rayne? How much are you swept into this Aegis plot?”

Of course, there was no answer, and much of this was contorted until Xelan couldn’t make sense of it. Razor believed with every fiber of his being that he and Triss were the Eternal Bind. So who or what was drawing Rayne and Nox together all this time?

Xelan paused in his stroll to bite his thumbnail and stare at the untouched deadfall of the undergrowth. Antiqued chrome, the leaves had lost their shine and offered little in the way of response.

The forest wasn’t completely non-responsive. A fat wallop followed by a lighter one sounded in the limbs nearby. The mating pair had allowed Xelan to enter their dominion of peace, and he was grateful for it.

Earlier in Nox’s memoryscape, Xelan had reached out and grabbed Nox’s hand. Not because he didn’t want to see the behemoth crumble and fall, but because sentimentality and nostalgia crippled Xelan.

That was the simple answer to Rayne’s question. It was why he couldn’t kill Celindria, Korac, or Razor for their crimes—

No.

That wasn’t quite right.

Out of sight; out of mind. Xelan didn’t witness their crimes. One could argue, he’d witnessed Korac’s alongside Nox’s, but the faithful General was following his beloved King’s orders as only the best soldier would.

When Nox ripped Xelan’s nacre from his chest and lit the Prince of Cinder ablaze with an Icarean firestick, sneering about defiling Rayne—That had been Xelan’s brother.

And it killed Xelan.

It cost Xelan the first two years of watching Pax grow from an infant into a toddler. Perhaps if Xelan had been around, he could’ve surmised the connection between Pax and Imminent sooner. He could’ve built a bridge between him and Celindria that way.

Xelan wiped a hand down his face and considered the memories they’d stumbled onto in the serene bone yard of Nox’s mind. A cold Spire kept warm by three boys. After living among nacre-less humans for so long, Xelan often wondered what Nox would look like without a nacre to heal their wounds.

The scars.

How many would Nox have? And how many would he have because he’d stepped between their abusive father and the baby?

Nox would be dead if they’d been born without nacres, and then where would Xelan be without the big brother protector? In a way which Xelan didn’t like to consider, Rayne wouldn’t exist without Nox. None of the Shadow would.

Was that the answer, then?

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Leaves crunched behind Xelan. While staring into the forest, he said, “Everyone expects me to forgive you. The baby with the older brother as savior. The Prince looking up to his misunderstood King. You were always a warrior. In my eyes, you were everything. Strong when my bones seemed brittle. Fearless when I cowed behind our mother. I wanted to grow up and be like you. You failed me.”

Regret formed Nox’s presence at Xelan’s back. Like a black hole, it was a heavy mass drawing the younger brother in. The older remained quiet, absorbing the punishment as he’d done throughout the last few hours of interrogation.

Xelan shook his head, filled with uncertainty and regret. “And I failed you. We keep failing each other, Nox. Our parents brought so much strife between us, and I am ashamed I didn’t see your suffering sooner. But you never told me, and for that, we are both guilty. I think we’ll mourn this lifelong rift between us for the rest of our existences. Long may they be.”

The younger brother looked up to find the perplexed frown he’d expected on the older one’s face. From across the clearing, Xelan stared into Nox’s eyes and admitted, “I don’t wish you dead and not only because your death would crush Rayne. I believe there is some virtue to harvest in your genuine contrition. Can I convince you to end it with her? That in exchange for the Shadow’s acceptance, you would first give up Rayne. Yet I know it’s wrong and underhanded. And—”

“I would never agree to it,” Nox announced, clear as day. “What Rayne wants is what she wants. I’ve lived her life with her. I know the only thing which can stand between Rayne and whatever brings her happiness is herself. If she is happy with me, as she has informed you, then you couldn’t stand in the way of it if you wanted to. Nor could I. If it were anything but Rayne’s choice, I would stand down, because you’re right. I don’t deserve her, but it’s her decision, and for now, she has chosen me.”

During Nox’s sensible proclamation—too accurate for comfort—Xelan put his hands on his hips and gazed out into the brush. It was too painful to look at Nox while he spoke of his relationship with Rayne.

The Eternal Bind.

If Andrew’s estimations were correct, then the Shadow shouldn’t fear the collapse of the Probability Matrix. They were its dominant reality, and therefore safe, according to Lucas’ halfhearted explanation.

So why keep Rayne and Nox apart at all?

Punishment.

The Progeny were working together to design the perfect rehabilitation for complicated offenders—For the Celindrias, Noxs, and Razors of the Worlds. A long sentence of facing their crimes through lived experience, rich in empathy and anguish. Should it also include isolation?

Unsure of the answer, Xelan dismissed Nox anyway. “Go to Rayne. Hold her while you can, because when I’m through with you, your bones will be too weary to touch her.”

Lightning fast, just as Rayne had said, Nox vanished from the clearing to find her. His physical prowess matched the eye-witness accounts Xelan had discovered while pursuing headlines to keep tabs on Rayne. Citizens of the Twelve Worlds had reported sightings of a good samaritan Icarus performing feats of courage and compassion. The rumors tripled after Rayne and Nox’s impulsive film-worthy performance at the races.

Xelan believed there was hope for this. But was that his sentimentality speaking? Was it blinding his good sense?

Staring once more at the foliage, Xelan called, “You can come out now, General.”

Korac dropped from his high perch, wearing his mask, but Xelan saw hints of emotional exhaustion in the strain around his white eyes. While Korac waited for the conversation to start, he picked a leaf from his braids and brushed bark off his shoulder. It was endearing, and Xelan was glad he’d never called for his former lover’s execution.

“I’ve asked all my other advisers and now I come to you, seeking council. What would you have me do?”

Korac’s single chuckle was expected, as this was a ridiculously comical question with an obvious answer. Still, the General took a respectable amount of time to consider it thoroughly before saying, “I challenge you and Nox to the training course.”

A ridiculous question deserved a ridiculous answer.

Xelan grinned. “Give the people what they want?”

Folding his arms and leaning on a tree base, Korac smirked as he pitched the idea. “It will help market your campaign to reform the ‘galactic outlaws,’ as Sagan calls them. She has this great idea of Nox leading the program, proof positive of its merits. The Progeny all contribute their gifts to recreate memories in live scenarios—We can employ the Divine Booths. So in, a way, Razor also contributes.”

Ah… The last was meant to sweeten the deal and appeal to Xelan. Coy, but he liked it. “We can call it the ‘Epic Triathlon—’”

“No.” Korac firmly shook his head.

“‘The Race of Ages—’”

“Please, stop.”

Xelan headed back to the treeloft, listing off more names. “‘The Icarean Gauntlet’—I like that one.”

“Never.” As always, Korac followed and complained.

“What about, ‘Verses Versus Verses’?”

“How did I ever miss you while you were gone?”