"Recruit me?" Ratelsi asked, tapping a clawed finger against her cheek in thought. "Sounds a lot like the job offer your Traore dude pitched me. His acting was a little too on-the-nose, by the way."
At the mention of his alias, Ryken, who'd been staring straight ahead, snapped his head towards her. Beneath his sleek visor, an eyebrow hitched up, a wry smirk tugging at his mouth. "A little too on-the-nose?" he murmured. "It means your acting was too obvious, man," Torenn muttered beside him. "I know what it means!" Ryken snapped defensively. "Too on-the-nose. Tsk." Oberon and Seraph, standing opposite them, stifled a laugh at his flustered reaction, then snapped back to attention.
Ratelsi chuckled internally. Gotcha! She'd singled him out the second he reacted to his name. Her instincts were right—it was him she'd felt earlier. Dude was practically drawing her in with his distinct scent.
"Yes, to recruit you," Eliàna resumed. "That was the entire point of the operation."
At that, Ratelsi's amusement evaporated, her face contorting into a cold, suspicious frown. "What whole operation?"
Seraph, Oberon, and Ryken tensed at the sudden shift in her voice, recent memories of Timoth's unfortunate death flashing through their minds. After subduing Ratelsi, they'd recovered the obsidian casket from the rubble of Hexoset and secured it in one of the HQ's lower vaults. Seraph looked away, while Ryken clicked his tongue in annoyance. The mission was successful, but they'd forever be responsible for an innocent man's death. After being briefed on what happened, Torenn only mirrored Oberon's lowered head.
"Hey!" Ratelsi demanded, her voice rising sharply with growing indignation. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
Eliàna's gaze sharpened. "And what do you think I'm saying?"
"The only thing coming to my head right now is that…" Her malachite eyes flared brilliantly with eerie light. "Timoth died because of you." It's not like she was expecting any reaction from the commander. But despite Eliàna's seemingly blank expression, there was a hint of… sympathy? In her eyes. But no, she wouldn't read too much into it, especially since that emotion was obviously overridden by motives that were increasingly becoming too large for her to comprehend. No, she would not trust anything at face value!
"HEY!" Ratelsi roared.
The sound vibrated through the white walls as her massive wings snapped open threateningly, the wingtips rising into an arc. Instantly, the four operatives interposed themselves between her and Eliàna, detonators drawn, the safeties clicked off in unison. Ratelsi's eyes widened. The absolute reflex of their loyalty. Why were these Peculiars throwing themselves in harm's way for this human? She stared at Eliàna, then at the wall of weapons facing her, and took an incredulous step back.
"Ridiculous," she muttered under her breath. Gritting her teeth until they creaked, Ratelsi tried to summon her aura, bracing to tear the room apart. But as her power surged, her vision charred black at the edges. Her knees hit the hard floor with a heavy thud, hands flying to her throbbing head. "Huh? Why do I… suddenly feel so weak?" she asked, confused.
"I believe that would be the V-Shot," Eliàna said, stepping through the wall of armed operatives. She stopped beside Ratelsi and looked down at the struggling girl.
Ratelsi tilted her head back, her sight burning. "The… what?"
"V-Shot. An ability suppressant," the commander clarified. "The tranquillizer you were shot with had enough dosage to neutralize your abilities for at least twenty-four hours. Your disorientation is just one of the side effects kicking in."
Tsk! Ratelsi hissed through her teeth, her malachite eyes burning with venomous anger. "Timoth… It's your fault he's dead."
Eliàna met her fierce gaze without flinching. "I am responsible. Do you wish to kill me for it?
Yes! YES! Every fiber of her being screamed it. But as her body shuddered under the suppressant, she felt how heavy her limbs were. Like lead. Even if she could move, just physical strength wouldn't be enough to kill the commander before the operatives killed her. Not with four Detonators on her, and certainly not with another Mawborn in their ranks. Her gaze drifted toward Ryken. It seemed for a second that she could see his somber expression. She looked away, staring at the tiles, thinking she'd already avenged Timoth. All she wanted now was to put his body in the ground and let him rest in peace. But looking around this place, she realized they probably had his coffin locked away somewhere, too. She'd have to get it back. A weary sigh. She was spent. So damn tired. Too much had happened, too much was happening, and it was becoming terrifyingly clear that even more was on the horizon.
Ratelsi's shoulders slumped, all the fight draining out of her. "What if I refuse? What if I don't wanna join your little gang?"
"That option is not on the table," Eliàna countered. "Should you decline, you will be charged as an accomplice to Broco Aqqa's entire clandestine network of activities. That includes the illicit 300 million Aure Venerite deal, corporate fraud, and possession of military-grade contraband. You will be sentenced to death."
Ratelsi sat quietly for a long moment, then offered a hollow, breathless response. "So… I get to meet Timoth again?"
The commander's eyes thinned into a disapproving glare. "Are you truly so fragile that you would take the easy way out?"
"Heh," Ratelsi rasped, letting out a dry, bitter laugh. "You don't know a thing about the mountain of bodies I've made a throne out of. How many lives I've snuffed out, how many deaths happen around me. And you think death scares me?"
Eliàna leaned in slightly, so that her voice stayed between them. "Are you referring to the Yuleon Massacre?"
An involuntary gasp choked in Ratelsi's throat. She recoiled, her pupils shrinking as she stared at the Normie in utter horror. "You don't… You can't know about that."
The commander leaned even closer until her warm breath brushed against Ratelsi's pointed ear, and spoke in a soft, almost intimate voice. "I told you, Ms Ozias. I know everything about you—down to the bone. I know all your secrets. I know how your mother ended her life after enduring relentless sexual abuse and domestic violence from her second husband. She was a Normie, and he was a Peculiar—a sacrifice she made trying to give you a chance at a life she thought you deserved as a Peculiar child after your biological Normie father abandoned you both for being born different. I know the Praesidium took you in at six, right after you wiped Yuleon off the Argonian map. Though, off the record, that was hardly your fault. The trauma of watching your mother choose death over you was the exact opening Oded needed to exploit to possess you. I know you killed your stepfather first, then your neighbours, until no one was left alive in Yuleon…"
Every word hit like a knife to the heart. Every word was cruel. The commander was stripping the protective scab off her wounds and forcing her to look at them under fluorescent light. By the time Eliàna finished listing the ghosts Ratelsi had spent fourteen years running from, the Mawborn was gone, stuck deep in the dark hallways of her own mind. Her glowing eyes went dull, spaced out as the memories flooded back, forcing her to watch every death, every scream, and every blood on her hands all over again.
Eliàna straightened and stepped back. "Imagine the public outcry when these details reach the press. Your execution won't be a private affair, Ratelsi. It'll be broadcast live for all of Argona to witness." Silent, tense glances passed between the operatives as they watched the distraught Mawborn on her knees. The interrogation felt more like a vivisection. Some of them already knew pieces of the Yuleon Massacre, but hearing it spoken aloud in front of the subject hit different, creating a shared discomfort between the teammates. "Hmph." Eliàna sneered, dismissively flipping the fabric of her jacket back as if shaking off an irritation. "I suppose I was wrong about you. A Mawborn, yet you really are weak. Pity. But no matter—we have plenty of time." She swept a lock of blond hair over her shoulder, and pivoted on her heels toward the open door.
"Wait…"
Black, high-heeled boots halted their retreat. Eliàna glanced back over her shoulder. Ratelsi remained seated, her face darkened, eyes glazed, half-submerged in tormenting memories. "I refuse to be a political scapegoat or take the blame for Broco's stupid crimes. He's the one who took Timoth from me, and…" Her breath caught. A warm tear trailed through the grime on her cheek. "My best friend wouldn't want me taking the hit for that bastard." A broken laugh escaped her lips. "He'd beat my ass in Shimun if I threw my life away like that." She snapped her head up, the dullness in her eyes slowly receding as she narrowed them into a glare. "I'll join your squad under two non-negotiables: one, half my pay goes to Kakkis. And two…" Her tone dropped into a low, terrifying growl. "I keep my autonomy. You don't own me, and I'm nobody's slave!"
Eliàna turned fully to face her, studying the manic desperation radiating off the girl. She knew the look—refuse now, and the Mawborn would burn the room down regardless of the suppressant in her veins. In truth, she'd prepared for far steeper terms; these were comparatively modest. Half of P.A.R.T's operatives were recruited under special conditions anyway, autonomy included. So long as they served the Primarch as extensions of his will, using their abilities to protect the people, their personal liberties were a tolerable price to pay.
Her decision made, the commander gave a firm nod. "I accept your terms, Ratelsi Ozias," she said, and turned once more to leave, operatives trailing behind her.
Ratelsi let out a long, shuddering breath, shoulders sagging in relief. "Good." She fell back onto the sterile white floor, resting her head against the hard tile as she stared into the bright overhead lights. "Looks like this is the start of a new life, Timoth," she whispered softly, closing her eyes as another tear slipped past her lashes. "I'm sorry you had to die for it to happen. But I'll live for both of us now… if that's okay with you."
[ONE WEEK LATER]
From the elevated express-rails of the Sector Belt, under the city's lattice force field, Esrossa looked more like a circuit board carved from glass and white alloy. Bright, towering skyscrapers caught the midday sun, while below them, multi-lane transit arteries pulsed with constant motion. An elevated monorail system of Jellopods glided atop curved, bone-white support pillars, cutting between digital billboards and glass-fronted storefronts packed with pedestrians—Normies and Peculiars alike—and sleek vehicles. A large settlement built on velocity, Esrossa was a bustling, high-density nexus where trade, tech, and transit intersected at full tilt.
Yet as you moved inward, the frantic pulse of the town's outer sectors gave way to the quiet core around which the entire town revolved—P.A.R.T's headquarters. Surrounded by a wide, open plaza, the HQ's compound felt like a world apart. Manicured greenery and clean, paved avenues led toward a stone monument of the Primarch, framing the twin glass towers curving upward into the sky. High skybridges spanned the gap between the structures, reflecting the clouds across polished, tinted panes. Behind the guarded perimeter gates and crisp outer walls, the bustling Sector Belt dissolved into a dignified silence.
High on the upper observation levels, the wide, immaculate white corridor stretched out in polished chrome. Its polished floor mirrored the bright afternoon sky outside so clearly it felt as though you were walking on glass suspended in midair. To the left, wall-sized window panels tilted slightly outward, offering a sweeping view of the distant Sector Belt and Esrossa's gleaming skyline far below. Recessed LED strips lined the angular walls and ceilings, washing the corridor in cool, even light. Here, there were no harsh shadows, no clutter—only sterile perfection and the calm, imposing weight of an organization operating at the peak of power.
A jaunty, whistled melody echoed down the corridor as Jeenah skipped along. A folded stack of navy blue uniform pieces rested in her hands, matching the colour of her own attire—a fitted, high-collared top accented with gold buttons, paired with a pleated miniskirt. Black stockings held up by garter straps disappeared into slouchy leg warmers and chunky platform loafers. Rolling closely behind her, the soft squeak of an automaton's wheels kept time. Its matte-gray shell featured articulated hands on slender arms and a flared, legless pedestal base. Atop its narrow neck sat a rounded head with large, expressive dark eyes blinking against a seamless faceplate.
"Ms Obidiah, may I enquire where you are heading in such high spirits?" the automation asked in a flat, robotic chime, tilting its head to match the bounce of her hair.
Jeenah turned her brilliant teal eyes back toward the unit, her voluminous Afro pulled back with a colourful scrunchie. "Don't you know, Joji?" she asked, easing her skip into a stride so the robot could keep up. Then, spinning on her platform shoes, she squealed excitedly and flashed a wide, gap-toothed grin. "She's here! Finally, finally!"
Joji's digital eyes narrowed into two slanted, asymmetric crescents, capturing a surprisingly human look of confusion. "Are you referring to the Mawborn in Room 65B?"
Jeenah shook her head, tutting softly as she wagged a finger in front of Joji's optical sensor with a mild, disapproving pout. "No, no. You shouldn't refer to her that way—not anymore, at least. She's one of us now!" Her scold dissolved back into a bright grin as she tilted her head toward the ceiling, clasping the folded uniform to her chest. "Ah, I can't wait to meet her! I have so many questions—like where she's from, what her favourite colour is, and how she manages the weight of those beautiful wings of hers… Ah, I really wanna touch them!"
A cheerful ding echoed from Joji's speaker as a glowing lightbulb graphic flashed across its faceplate. The automaton raised a delicate finger. "Oh! I know the answer to that. Each of Ms Ozias's feather shafts measures roughly thirty to forty-two inches long and four to six inches wide. Because her skeletal structure evolved alongside their mass from birth, her core, spine, and center of gravity naturally adapted to distribute the weight."
Jeenah groaned loudly, rolling her glowing teal eyes toward the ceiling. "You know, Joji, for all the human personality traits I programmed into your AI core, you really do miss the point sometimes. Of course I know the science! I want to hear her perspective."
"Understood, Ms Obidiah," Joji chimed, lowering its arm.
"Yunno what? Go bother Dret," she said, shooing the robot with a wave. Joji whirred in compliance and wheeled down the hallway, leaving her alone in the corridor. Just as Jeenah turned to resume her stride, a familiar figure rounded the corner Joji had just passed. Saedi looked completely recovered from her broken ribs, dressed in her signature asymmetrical cropped jacket over a fitted top, black shorts, dark tights, and ankle-high combat boots.
Locking eyes with Jeenah, Saedi offered a lazy wave and gestured toward the folded garments in her arms. "Are you heading over to hand those off?"
"Yep! The uniform was ready, and Eliàna needed someone to drop it off and bring her in."
Saedi stopped beside her, a knowing smirk teasing her lips. "So naturally, you volunteered?"
Jeenah chuckled, nodding. "Wanna tag along?"
"Sure. Why not?" Saedi shrugged.
The pair walked in comfortable silence until the hallway narrowed into a sterile corridor washed in a low blue hue. Recessed lights reflected off the metal panels, leading past a series of heavy doors. Clean, devoid of clutter, the commander had placed Ratelsi in one of these isolated rooms built for monitoring. Halting outside Room 65B, Saedi and Jeenah shared a quick nod before Jeenah rapped her knuckles against the reinforced metal. "Ratelsi?"
On the other side, the austere room sat bathed in harsh overhead red light. Ratelsi lay sprawled across a low platform bed, a rumpled blanket covering her legs. She'd been allowed to clean the grime and dried blood from her skin, and her clothes had been laundered. They didn't lock her in, but being left in this cramped room with nothing but the humming silence forced the Mawborn to confront her loud thoughts. A chaos of memories forced her to churn through every detail of the past week over and over, until her residual rage finally burned itself out. Even so, she would never forget that Timoth's death was no accident, nor would she forgive it so easily.
"Maybe she's asleep?" Ratelsi heard a second voice filter through the heavy door. There's two of them, she thought, probably my new teammates. "Teammates," she repeated aloud. The word left a strange, uncertain tang in her mouth. "I guess I'm supposed to meet them now," she murmured, letting out a weary sigh. "This is your life now, Ratelsi. Suck it up," she scolded herself, throwing off the blanket and swinging her legs over the edge of the bedframe.
The heavy door slid back with a metallic hiss. Jeenah let out a soft squeal as Ratelsi appeared, leaning against the jamb with one hand resting on the frame. She appraised the pair—one bouncing on her toes with excitement, the other leaning back with casual indifference. Narrowing her glowing eyes at Saedi, Ratelsi looked down her nose at her. "You're the one who shot me with the V-Shot. Your aura gives you away."
Saedi raised a brow. "I suppose I should be flattered, but you nearly crushed my ribcage."
Ratelsi scoffed, shifting her gaze to the other girl. "You, I don't recognize."
"Oh, right! Introductions!" Jeenah beamed, launching into a ramble. "I'm Jeenah Obidiah, but everyone calls me Jeen! I'm nineteen; my favourite colour is green—which kinda rhymes with Jeen, right? I have two dads, and I'm hoping we can be great friends!"
Ratelsi stared, slightly caught off guard by the barrage of optimism. Malachite eyes studied the dark-skinned girl and the way she anxiously bit her lip, waiting for a response. Then Ratelsi's gaze lowered to the neatly folded navy garments in Jeenah's hands. "Are those for me?"
"Yeah! This is your uniform." Jeenah held them out. "We all share the same colour scheme, but we're allowed to modify the cuts however we want. I took a wild guess on your style and picked out a design for you—I think you're going to love it."
Ratelsi accepted the folded stack with a hesitant, "Thanks?"
Jeenah gave a gap-toothed grin and flashed a peace sign. "We'll wait right out here for you!"
"I was hoping you'd leave," Ratelsi muttered to the closing door.
The bulkhead metal hissed shut, granting her privacy. Ratelsi unfolded the bundle, inspecting the uniform designed specifically for her. The outfit radiated a combat-ready intensity in midnight-navy tones. She lifted a pair of thick cloth wraps. "Are these forearm bindings?" She held up each piece in turn, raising a skeptical brow at the amount of thought Jeenah poured into selecting the ensemble. It was far lighter and more comfortable than she'd expected for a standard-issue uniform. Running a hand over the dark fabric, she had to admit that the chatterbox outside had guessed her style remarkably well.
Peeling off the tank top and micro shorts she'd been stuck with all week, she pulled on the dark ensemble. The high-collared, sleeveless top hugged her torso tightly, emphasizing the fullness of her breasts before she tucked the hem into the high-waisted, loose-fitting trousers. Sitting on the bed, she began wrapping the thick bandages slowly around her fingers, winding them neatly up to her forearms. She flexed her hands—the cloth offered solid support without restricting her movement at all.
After putting on a pair of platform boots, Ratelsi stood up, deciding to test the gear by throwing two swift punches into the air to gauge her range. SWOOSH! WHOOSH! A surge of malachite aura flared from her wrists, the force crumpling the steel fixture above the bed like tin foil. Lowering her fists, Ratelsi offered a faint, satisfied smirk. "Hm. Not bad." Gathering her waist-length hair, she pulled the dark bulk of it into a high ponytail, letting her long white bangs fall freely to frame her round face. The contrast drew immediate focus to her glowing malachite eyes, her pointed ears, and the silver glint of her helix and studded earrings lining her lobes. The door hisses open once more, revealing Ratelsi in her customized gear, the Arcane Eye emblem neatly embroidered over her chest to match the rest of their uniforms.
Jeenah clapped her hands happily, bouncing on her toes. "Eeek! You look so fucking badass!"
Saedi offered a nod of approval. "Not bad, Mawborn."
Ratelsi squinted at them. "Now what?"
"Now we take you to meet the rest of the team! Right this way, ladies!" Jeenah chirped, taking the lead with Ratelsi and Saedi flanking her. They doubled back through the corridor where Jeenah had parted ways with Joji. Ryken and Torenn were just rounding the far corner when Saedi called out, "Hey babe, wait up!"
Torenn turned back, catching Saedi in his arms as she rammed into him for a tight hug. Ratelsi glanced sideways at Jeenah, who quickly leaned in to explain. "Well, that states the obvious, doesn't it? They've been together since long before they joined P.A.R.T."
"Oh?" Ratelsi raised a brow, watching as Torenn pressed a soft kiss to Saedi's head. He gave Ryken a quick fist-bump before the couple walked off together, leaving Jeenah, Ryken, and Ratelsi in the hallway.
Both Mawborns immediately locked eyes, and the corridor's atmosphere thickened instantly as their raw auras collided. Jeenah looked back and forth between the two, trying to decipher the unspoken intensity hanging in the air. Finding no answers, she shrugged and turned to walk away. "Don't stare too long, you two. Eliàna doesn't like to be kept waiting."
Ratelsi crossed her arms, silent, refusing to break eye contact. Realizing she wouldn't budge, Ryken decided to close the distance himself. Ratelsi took in his customized uniform as he approached—a runic talisman dangled from his left ear, swaying just above a high-collared, asymmetrical dark top cut away at the right shoulder to expose glowing purple runic tattoos winding down his arm. The top tucked neatly into wide, billowing hakama-style trousers belted tight at his waist, yet his overall posture remained deceptively relaxed. Ryken halted a few paces away, slipping his hands into his pockets as his bright amethyst eyes studied his kin. The dark hair she remembered was gone, replaced by a tousled brown mop falling down his neck. But it was his snow-white brows and long lashes—mirroring the exact colour of her bangs—that caught her attention.
"You don't look like you did in Hexoset," Ratelsi observed.
Ryken offered a self-conscious shrug, rubbing the nape of his neck. "Yeah. That was… just a disguise."
"Well, obviously."
An awkward silence stretched between them. Discovering that Timoth's death was no accident had retroactively poisoned any lingering admiration she had begun to develop toward the people involved. As for the Mawborn standing before her, his flirtation back in the penthouse, his praises, even his tenderness when she'd needed help from Oded—it all felt suspect now. Either he was a master manipulator or his genuine feelings hadn't stopped him from participating in a scheme that got her best friend killed.
"I—"
Ratelsi raised a hand, cutting him off before he could start. "Save it. Whatever you're about to say, I don't care."
He paused, looking down with a rueful smile. "I was actually going to tell you my name. My real name."
Her arm dropped to her side, her expression unreadable as she waited.
"It's Ryken."
"Fine. I still don't care."
The coldness in her voice cut deep. He could feel how furious she was about P.A.R.T's reckless involvement in Timoth's death. Timoth had been dear to her, and his life should never have been collateral damage. No amount of apologies, pleas or forgiveness would bring him back or soothe her grief. It's been a week since then, and Ryken still desperately wanted to bridge that chasm between them. She fascinated him. She was like him—the only person he'd ever met, probably in the whole world, who shared his nature in virtually every way. He couldn't bear the thought of their bond being anchored in such deep hatred. He couldn't let them start like this.
"I know you're tired of hearing this, but when Timoth died—"
"He died because you needed to test how we'd react," she interjected coldly, pointing an accusing finger at him. "And you didn't care enough about either of our lives to consider what might happen."
"Look, I know it sounds that way. And maybe part of it was… but it's so much more complicated than that. He wasn't supposed to—"
"But he did! Timoth died in an operation orchestrated by you! One you willingly—maybe even happily— agreed to." Ratelsi scoffed, her malachite eyes burning. "I can't believe I'm forced to play teammate with people like y'all. I disgust myself just standing here looking at you." She strode past him, her shoulder almost brushing his exposed right arm. Her steely voice landed with brutal clarity. "I will never forget that he died because of you. And don't expect forgiveness so easily, Ryken."
She didn't pause to watch his reaction, her long ponytail swishing as she disappeared around the bend.
Ryken leaned his head back against the wall, shutting his amethyst eyes. "She finally knows my name," he whispered to the empty air, feeling a hollow ache settle in his chest. "She said my name… and it felt terrible."