Chapter 21

The walk from the sparring chamber felt longer than usual.

Brynn said nothing as Thelleron gave her a curt nod of respect and stepped aside. She expected to be escorted back to her quarters, maybe patched up or offered one of those awful protein supplements. Instead, a silent attendant motioned her down a corridor she hadn't seen before.

The room they led her to was different. Inside, the metal walls were sterile and hollow. Light pooled in harsh, clinical spotlights, with no ambient warmth. It wasn't a room built for comfort or exhibition, it was built for focus.

And in the center, waiting: a tall Ulratian male--lean, long-limbed, built more like a marathon runner rather than a warrior. He stood still until she stepped through the threshold. Then he moved into the light.

"So," he said. "You can stand in the ring with Master Thelleron."

Brynn blinked, unsure what response he expected.

He didn't wait for one.

"Now, I will to teach you how to destroy the ring."

Her heart skipped.

She almost laughed. The room was too serious for laughter. Her voice caught instead.

"You've got the wrong person," she said. "Seriously."

He didn't flinch.

"You don't believe me yet. That's fine."

He stepped closer.

"But hear this: if they'd given you to me at the right time, before the galaxy had scraped you hollow, you'd already know how to make a man boil from the inside like a vekun root left too long in a plasma kiln."

Brynn's expression twisted.

"You'd have watched your enemies' eyes burst like zarth fruit in a vacuum and not even blinked. You wouldn't have paused. You wouldn't have asked permission."

He paced, words sharpening.

"But they didn't give you to me. You're life has been spent running, hiding. Scrubbing tables or cleaning filth in some hole."

Her chest tightened.

"No parents or home, no one to see what you were becoming. All that energy--burned just trying to survive--when you should've been carving names into the stars."

He turned to face her again.

"If you'd been born to a sultan--as you deserved--you'd already have the power to make Moranna beg."

Brynn didn't speak or move. Her face had gone nearly paper white.

She swallowed. "Okay. But, I have to confess... I really think you've got me confused with someone else."

She crossed her arms slowly. It felt like something she could control. "I didn't come from power," she said. "I came from cracked floors, busted hinges, and cold nights. I didn't inherit anything but bad timing. And nobody ever looked at me and saw potential. They saw a problem. Or worse--nothing."

She glanced away.

"I'm not saying it was fair, but it wasn't some awful tragedy, either. I just got what I got."

Selenar just stared at her. Then, slowly, he dragged a hand over his face with a growl--half curse, half disbelief. He turned away from her, muttering under his breath, then back again. His hand reached out in front of him, indicating her person.

"This," he snapped, "this right here--Exhibit A."

His voice rang off the walls like a weapon unsheathed.

"You are the most dangerous force I've ever stood in front of, and somehow the universe convinced you that you couldn't cut through warm butter."

He was pacing now, hands clenched, fury barely contained.

"They buried you. They broke you. They gave you scraps and called it a gift--and now you don't even want more because you've been trained to think it's not yours to ask for."

He stopped in front of her, voice dropping to something near reverent rage.

"They didn't just fail you, they broke you."

He stepped back, breath shaking, and then... softer.

"If I fail to draw out what's in you--if I leave even one iota of your power untouched--then I've failed the only reason I exist."

A pause. No apology in his eyes.

"Xedrin would never eject me into the void. But if I fail, then he should. And I would demand it."

Another pause.

"My corpse--drifting, frozen, no longer taking warmth or air--would be of more use to the stars than I'd be alive, knowing I left you fractured."

Brynn stared at him, trying to gauge the edge between conviction and madness.

She wanted to roll her eyes, wanted to tell him to dial it down a notch. But something in her froze.

He believed it. Every word. With terrifying clarity.

She swallowed again, the blood draining from her face.

"Okay," she said. "But, I really think you have me confused with someone else."

She gave a weak shrug. "I mean... I came from nothing. I've never done anything. Everyone's always treated me... well, like I was any other normal person. Until I wasn't, of course. There's just... not much here."

Selenar stared in silence for a long moment. Then he put his face in his palm and let out a guttural sound--not words, just rage curdled into grief.

Brynn took a step back, startled by the sound of his roar. These warriors leaned into their emotions, not away from them--that much had become clear within a few days of her arrival.

But this rage... He wasn't even trying to contain it.

After that animal cry, he stood with his back to her for a long moment, shoulders rising and falling like a tide trying to steady itself. Then he spun around suddenly and crossed the distance between them in less than two strides.

He leaned down--almost crouched--to bring his face level with hers, his voice low and sharp.

"Brynn Phytrelia, if nothing else, we can both agree you are not yet ready to face the forces standing between you and your mate."

Her mouth dropped open. She drew in a breath, ready to protest--

But he didn't give her the chance.

"If you were to go head-to-head with them now, you'd be pulverized." He left the word hanging in the air. "So, let's agree that you require additional training, and go from there."

Her mouth shut with a click, staring at him in disbelief. She considered what he said a little more, and then rolled her eyes. "Okay. Fine! Let's just get started."

His grin devoured his face as he straightened. "Good."

He gestured toward a corner of the room, a spotlight switching on, a humanoid training dummy standing on a rod. On the head of the dummy was a small orb with a light so dim Brynn could barely see it.

Selenar turned to her. "Destroy it. Use the power inside of you to light it so bright that it breaks.

She sighed, stared at the dummy for a long beat, then muttered, "This is ridiculous."

Selenar didn't answer. Instead, he walked toward her, slow and silent. She looked up just as he stepped into her space, too close for comfort. He leaned down, so close she could see the faint network of patterns in his eyes.

And then, softly--like it was meant only for her:

"It's all your fault, Brynn Phytrelia."

Brynn blinked. "What?"

"She took him because of you. His absence is a sign of your failure."

She looked away from him, folding her arms again.

"You're never going to find him."

She shook her head, closing her eyes.

"You're too late."

She squeezed her eyes shut.

"It's pointless to deny it. You can't save him."

Then Selenar leaned in, breath soft at her ear.

"Just think... what she could be doing with him now..."

Brynn gasped. Her body locked up. Heat bloomed from her chest outward. The crack caused the walls of the room to rattle as the noise echoed off the panels.

The light at the top of the dummy exploded. Then the dummy exploded, scraps of fabric flying in every direction. The walls lit with searing arcs of heat. Selenar was thrown back like a ragdoll. The training room dimmed under the surge. The lights overhead flickered.

Brynn staggered forward, panting, fists clenched at her sides. She could feel tears on her face. She wiped at her eyes, confused about how they'd been wet.

Across the room, Selenar laughed softly from where he landed, voice hoarse but pleased. "There she is."

Brynn's ears rang. She looked around the room, seeing the heated forked lines in the bulkhead where something had struck them.

Across the training room, Selenar slowly pulled himself to his feet.

Smoke curled from his shoulders and he looked disheveled. He turned slowly, scanning the room, before his gaze met with her.

Not smug. Not cruel. Satisfied.

"This," he said, gesturing to the devastation around them, "is the proof."

Brynn didn't answer.

He stepped forward, and this time his movements were careful, deliberate. He reached for her hand. "Look."

He turned her palm over. There, against her palm, was the metallic plate she'd wondered about before.

"This," he said, "is how you'll control it."

She blinked at it. "What is it?"

"A charge plate. A capacitor, if you want the nearest analogy. It doesn't create anything, it just channels what's already inside you outward."

Her brow furrowed. She glanced around again at the destruction: the walls, the dummy.

Her pulse skipped.

She could barely remember it. The forks of energy that had erupted from her. The burst. It felt... distant. Surreal. Like waking up mid-scream with no idea how you got there.

She looked back at her hand, at the plate in her palm.

"Did I really--?" she whispered, then shook her head.

Selenar saw the doubt creeping in. He stepped in closer, placed both hands on her shoulders, steadying her.

"You can't deny it," he said softly. "Not now. You saw it. I saw it."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off.

"Look at me. Will you really try to pretend this isn't real? That what just happened wasn't you?"

His grip tightened, just a fraction. "The evidence is here. Around you. On me."

Brynn's gaze drifted for a moment.

"Say it," he said, voice low but firm. "Say it out loud: I did this."

She looked from him to the walls, eyes darting from scorch marks to melted bulkhead, before she finally stammered,

"I... did... this?"

Selenar let go of her and threw his head back toward the ceiling--an Ulratian gesture she'd learned was the equivalent of rolling one's eyes. He groaned.

"No! You, Brynn Phytrelia. You did this!"

She blinked, then pointed to herself in disbelief. "I... did this?"

Her gaze swept the room--the ceiling, the scars, the smoke. Slowly, she turned back to him.

Then she steadied her breath. Her voice came stronger this time.

"I did this. I can do this."

Selenar's face lit up with excitement. He surged forward, nodding emphatically.

"YES! You can do this!"

She gave the room another quick glance before meeting his eyes again. Her voice wavered now, uncertainty creeping back in.

"Okay. But... how do I control it? They told me I destroyed everything. The entire Situation Room. It all had to be replaced."

She hesitated, the question like glass on her tongue. "What if I kill someone?"

Selenar's shoulders sagged. His head lowered. "By the void..."

He muttered something under his breath in Ulratian--a phrase she didn't understand, but the tone needed no translation. Then he looked back up, stern.

"No. Don't crawl back inside your own head and bury this. You can control it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but the potential is in you. It always has been."

He pointed across the chamber. A second training dummy stood beneath a spotlight on the far side of the room. He turned her gently toward it. "I want you to destroy it, just like the other one."

She turned to him, wide-eyed, then slowly back to the dummy. "Destroy it?"

"Yes. Without a trace."

"But... how?"

Another groan escaped him. He pressed his palm to his face and shook his head. This was going to take some time...

******************************

Darkness.

The first thing Idris registered was the smell, like stale water and metal. It hung there on his tongue. Then the cold crept in. His back ached, stiff against something hard and unmoving.

Awareness came slowly.

He was lying flat. His arms... bound. Legs too. Three, maybe four thick restraints, wide and heavy. His breathing picked up.

Then he heard the whirring noise of a motor and the tilt began.

The rails and restraints about him began shifting upward. Gravity pressed against him in waves as the angle increased. Inch by inch, until his weight was settled against the restraints--not lying down, but standing.

A spotlight snapped on, directly ahead, shocking his eyes and blinding him. He squinted, the only movement he could manage.

Everywhere else: darkness.

He tried to move his head and couldn't. A wide strap clamped across his forehead, holding his gaze dead ahead. A muzzle crossed his jaw, choking off speech, fixed tight beneath his nose.

There were rails beside him--bare metal, like a stripped-down hospital frame without fabric or cushions.

He was upright now, suspended on display.

Then came the footsteps.

Measured. Slow.

A figure entered the cone of light--and every muscle in his body screamed.

Moranna.

Idris tried to turn, to recoil, but he couldn't. He was locked in place. When she saw the twitch in his face, the attempt to pull away, she smiled.

"Oh, Idris," she purred. "It's so nice to have you back. I was beginning to think you didn't enjoy our time together."

She stepped closer. Her hand rose, and the back of her fingers brushed his cheek.

It wasn't affection, it was a violation.

His stomach churned at her touch, revulsion bubbling up like bile. She radiated control, but she loved her dramatics. She began to circle him, her voice echoing, but also disorienting him.

He couldn't follow her, couldn't see her.

He heard her footfalls rise behind his left ear. Then vanish. Then glide past his right. She was pacing behind the back of his head now, like a cat marking its kill, letting the helplessness settle deep into his spine.

"I do so love when you're here," she said, casual and smooth. "You bring such... energy to the room."

She circled again.

"And you really did try, didn't you?" Her voice carried faint amusement. "Tried to stop me. Tried to save them. Tried to be the good one."

Another slow lap around him, just out of view, her heels clicking faintly on the metal floor. Her movements were too light to track clearly. He couldn't even tell when she was behind him.

Then--finally--she stopped.

Right in front of him.

Her profile slid into view under the spotlight.

She pivoted slowly, deliberately, to face him head-on.

"You poor thing," she whispered. "Always trying so hard. And yet, so ineffective as well."

She leaned in and brushed invisible hair from his brow, mock-affection in every motion.

He wanted to scream.

"You thought you could fight me. That you could win. But now?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Now I'm going to use you to burn down everything you ever tried to protect."

Her lips curled slightly.

"Even my other little plaything."

His stomach dropped. He knew exactly who she meant. He tried to shake his head, but the straps wouldn't let him.

She laughed. Delighted. Pleased like a child discovering a new toy.

"Oh, Idris... I just can't wait to tell you about this surprise."

Her face moved closer to his own until their noses nearly touched. "I don't need your cooperation. I don't need your approval. I only need you to resist."

She leaned in, lips near his ear.

"Because the harder you fight... the sweeter it is to break you."

His jaw clenched.

"Oh, I guess telling would spoil the surprise. And I do love surprises."

She stood upright again.

"You've been so... inept. So incomplete. But I'm going to make you into something... useful. Something new. Something... better."

The doors hissed open behind her.

The figures entered--silent, smooth, but... wrong.

They were faceless, with plates where eyes should be. Limbs too long, like puppets made from wire and glass. They said nothing. Just stared.

Moranna clapped her hands once.

"Let's begin."

The door hissed shut behind Moranna with a gentle finality. Silence settled over the room like dust.

The faceless attendants remained, unmoving, standing over Idris as if waiting for something--or nothing. One of them held a smooth, black device that pulsed with faint blue light. Another tilted its head, listening to something he couldn't hear.

Then the ceiling groaned.

He tried to look up but couldn't. He could only hear the metallic creak as something unfolded above him.

A soft hum started. Then the first needle dropped into view.

It descended with mechanical precision, followed by others--slender, gleaming, multi-jointed arms like the limbs of an insect. They paused, as if considering him.

Then they struck.

The first puncture came at his collarbone--sharp, clinical. The second plunged into his forearm, and the third somewhere near his hip.

Pain bloomed instantly--white-hot, electric. He gasped behind the muzzle.

The liquid they injected wasn't hot or cold. It felt alive.

It hurt, but not like fire--more like something writhing beneath his skin.

He tried to scream, but the muzzle held firm.

His vision swam.

The edges of the spotlight blurred. The walls pulsed, or maybe he did. His body no longer felt like a single shape--he was breaking into pieces, stretching, melting.

His gaze drifted down. His arms, he could still see those.

They were changing.

Color drained from them, replaced by something darker, unnatural. His skin rippled as the hue deepened into the same eerie, ageless shade that clung to Moranna like smoke. He watched it crawl up his veins like ink in water.

His mind slipped sideways.

The attendants didn't speak, they just watched.

One of them adjusted the monitor.

Another reached for a second injection.

And somewhere, deep within the roaring static of his mind, Idris finally screamed.