Location: Fenwick District — The Aetherium Foundry — Jerkins Residence — Evening
The dining room was a cathedral of opulence.
Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their light scattering across the walls in fractured rainbows. The table was long, its surface polished to a mirror shine, its edges carved with scenes of hunts and battles. The chairs were high-backed, leather, designed to make the people who sat in them feel important.
Elijah sat near the end of the table.
His face was not his own—younger, sharper, the face of a trainee who had been at the Foundry for months. His posture was relaxed. His hands were clasped in his lap.
Across from him, Caspian Jerkins.
His face was sharp, his eyes cold, his smile the smile of someone who had been told he was special since birth.
Beside him, Lilia Jerkins.
Her face was smooth, her eyes calculating, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass.
At the head of the table, an empty chair.
The patriarch, Elijah thought. Jericho Jerkins. Currently occupied with matters of state. Or matters of the Foundry. Or matters of whatever keeps him away from his family.
A butler entered.
"A letter from the master," he said.
His voice was flat. Professional.
"He sends his regards to the family. He wishes you all well. He will return when his duties permit."
Caspian's smile widened.
"Father is always busy."
"He has responsibilities," Lilia said.
"He has responsibilities," Caspian agreed. "Unlike some of us."
His eyes moved to Elijah.
"Speaking of which—how are you, brother? Still incapable of forming a revolution? Still stuck in the BOH?"
"I'm fine."
"Fine."
Caspian's voice was light.
"Fine is not good enough. Fine is not excellent. Fine is not—"
"Fine is fine."
"Fine is mediocrity."
Elijah's expression didn't change.
"If you say so."
"I do say so."
Caspian's smile was cold.
"But don't worry. Even if you're nearly incapable, I'm sure I can find you a job. A position. Something that doesn't require—"
He gestured vaguely.
"—thought."
"I have a position."
"Oh?"
"I'm going to participate in the Crimson Ascension."
The room went quiet.
Caspian's smile didn't fade.
But his eyes did.
"You?"
"Me."
"You can't be serious."
"I am."
"You'll get yourself killed."
"Maybe."
"You'll—"
"I'll prove myself."
Caspian's hands tightened on the table.
"You're a fool."
"Maybe."
"You're—"
"I'm going to compete. And I'm going to win."
---
Lilia's voice was smooth.
"How sweet," she said. "The little cripple wants to play with the big boys."
"I'm not a cripple."
"You are. You've always been. A BOH defect. A burden. A—"
"I'm not a burden."
"You are."
Her eyes were cold.
"You've always been. And you always will be."
Elijah's expression didn't change.
"We'll see."
"We will."
---
Caspian excused himself.
His chair scraped against the floor. His footsteps echoed off the walls. His face was the face of someone who had just been challenged and was not sure how to respond.
Elijah watched him go.
He's frustrated, he thought. He expected me to cower. To bow. To beg.
Instead, I stood my ground.
That's not the response he was expecting.
That's not the response he's used to.
---
Lilia followed Caspian.
Her footsteps were soft. Her expression was unreadable.
Elijah was alone.
Wonko's voice was dry.
"That went well."
"It did."
"You've made enemies."
"I've made enemies before."
"Not like these."
"No."
Elijah's eyes moved to the empty chair at the head of the table.
"Not like these."
---
The study was smaller than the dining room.
Dark wood. Leather chairs. A desk that had been carved from a single block of mahogany. The walls were lined with books—some old, some new, all of them unread.
Caspian stood near the window.
His back was to the door.
"It's overwhelming," he said.
"What is?"
"Everything."
His voice was tired.
"The expectations. The responsibilities. The need to be perfect all the time."
Lilia's voice was soft.
"You're not alone."
"I know."
"You have me."
"I know."
"You have the family."
"I know."
Caspian turned.
His eyes were hollow.
"But I don't feel like I belong."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not sure I'm good enough."
"You're more than good enough."
"Am I?"
"You are."
Lilia stepped closer.
Her hand found his shoulder.
"You're a Jerkins. You're the son of the patriarch. You have nothing to prove."
"I have everything to prove."
"No. You don't."
Caspian's eyes moved to the window.
"Maybe not," he said. "Maybe I just need to—"
He paused.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Caspian—"
"I said nothing."
---
Lilia's voice was quiet.
"There's something I need to tell you."
"What?"
"I hired someone."
"Hired someone?"
"To do something. Something important."
Caspian's eyes narrowed.
"What kind of something?"
"The kind that needed to be done."
"Lilia—"
"It's done. It's over. There's nothing to worry about."
"Nothing to worry about?"
Caspian's voice was sharp.
"You hired someone to do something, and you're telling me there's nothing to worry about?"
"There isn't."
"Lilia—"
"Sometimes you have to set a trap to catch a fish. Sometimes the bait is the only thing that works."
"That's not—"
"It's done. It's over. Let it go."
Caspian's jaw tightened.
But he didn't argue.
---
Elijah stood in Leo's room.
The space was small—smaller than he expected, smaller than the rooms of the other Jerkins. A single bed. A desk. A window that looked out onto the courtyard.
"You're different," Leo said.
His voice came through the earpiece.
"What do you mean?"
"You're not the same person who wore my face before."
"I'm not."
"Who are you?"
"Someone who's going to help you."
"Help me?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I need something from you."
"What?"
"I need you to trust me."
Leo was silent.
"That's not an easy thing to ask," he said.
"I know."
"You're asking me to trust someone who stole my face. Someone who infiltrated my life. Someone who—"
"I know."
"Why should I trust you?"
"Because you have no other choice."
Leo was silent again.
"That's not a good reason."
"It's the only reason."
---
Elijah reached into his pocket.
His hand emerged holding a small sphere. It was no larger than a marble, its surface smooth, its color the pale silver of moonlight.
The orrhion condensate, he thought. The prototype. The thing that Leo's family has been hiding.
He gave it to me. Back when I was still wearing his face. Back when he was still confused about who I was.
He doesn't know what it is. He doesn't know where it came from. He doesn't know—
He doesn't know anything.
But I do.
He held the sphere up to the light.
"What is it?" Leo asked.
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"Not yet."
"Then why—"
"Because I'm going to find out."
---
Elijah pressed the sphere against his lower midsection.
The surface rippled.
Not in the way that water ripples—in the way that light ripples when it passes through a prism. The sphere melted into his skin, flowed into his body, became part of him.
The effect was immediate.
His vision flickered. His muscles tensed. His breath caught in his throat. The frequency spectrum of Mars—the red planet, the source of the Astraseal—flooded through his veins. It mixed with the frequency of the moon—the dream, the illusion—and the frequency of unyielding spirit—the thing that had kept him alive.
The suit, he thought. The Aethernova suit that would have formed from these three frequencies. The one that would have made me a weapon.
But I'm not a weapon.
I'm something else.
Something more.
Something—
The frequencies merged.
They formed a shell around his body—not visible, not solid, but present. A second skin. A shield. A transformation.
Leo watched from the corner of the room.
His eyes were wide. His mouth was open. His hands were shaking.
"What are you?" he whispered.
"I'm not sure," Elijah said.
"But I'm going to find out."
---
Through his perception, Elijah saw the frequencies differently.
Not as light—as color. The deep crimson of Mars. The pale silver of the moon. The golden bronze of unyielding spirit.
Kokoro flowed from Leo—not the subconscious belief of the crowd, but something deeper. Something that looked like faith. Like devotion.
"What is this?" Elijah thought.
Wonko's voice was thoughtful.
"I'm not sure."
"You're not sure?"
"It's not Kokoro. It's not Tenryu. It's something else."
"What?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"I don't know."
Elijah was silent.
"I'm going to call it Shinso," he thought.
"Shinso?"
"Yes. Shinso. The deep faith. The unconscious worship."
"That's... not a terrible name."
"Thank you."
"It's still not a good name."
"It's my name."
---
Leo knelt before Elijah.
His head was bowed. His hands were pressed against his thighs. His body was trembling.
"What are you?" he whispered.
"I'm not sure."
"You're not human."
"I'm not."
"You're—"
"I'm something else."
Elijah's eyes moved across the room.
The frequencies still pulsed around him—the crimson of Mars, the silver of the moon, the bronze of unyielding spirit. They formed a halo that made the air shimmer and the shadows dance.
"But I'm going to find out what I am."
"And when you do?"
"When I do—"
Elijah's lips curved.
"—I'm going to use it."
---