Page 309 of Interion

The second thing he noticed was Dominic chained to the back of an animal. He was unconscious, his arms and legs dangling from the beast's flanks. Breno realized he was in the same position, and the stench came from the disgusting hide of the animal carrying him. He looked more carefully and saw a third man being led, his body covered in blood, cuts, and bruises. Definitely more dead than alive. He knew it was Yugo, the great blocker who maintained the barrier—the one they'd given up for dead. A half-truth.

He tried to move, but he was immobilized. The only thing he managed was to draw the attention of the woman in black, who heard the clinking of his chains. She turned and examined him from head to toe. Her eyes were green, and her rigid face radiated cruelty.

He knew he was being taken somewhere, but where? What did they want with him? What did they want with Dominic? If the goal was to destroy Interion's blocking power, why not just kill them?

He didn't have time to speak—the stranger gestured to someone else, and Breno heard footsteps approaching. Kaori appeared in his field of vision, and then he remembered everything that had happened. He thrashed on the beast and shouted, releasing a spark of the hatred burning inside him. But soon the serpents were on his skin and the venom spread through his bloodstream. Even filled with scalding fury, the boy forced himself to close his eyes so he wouldn't freeze with them open again.

The last thing he saw, before paralysis claimed him, was the cursed queen's cruel smile.

Δ

Kyller and Zion stood in the shade of three red maples, at the edge of the small Dornéu forest. Around them, the five-pointed reddish leaves formed a damp carpet on which his partner knelt. She offered a silent prayer, her hand extended over the disturbed earth where Zion had buried Serguei hours before. In the branches of the blood-colored tree, birds sang while the ex-general kept his gaze fixed on the girl shedding tears over the soil.

Earlier, when he had approached the bed with his wounded body and eyes swollen from grief and pain, the tears Kyller shed as she curled against his chest were enough for him to understand that behind the incandescent irises, she was still the same. And somehow, she knew what had happened.

Serguei had died—an unquestionable truth. Perhaps the whole world had felt it.

During the few minutes he allowed himself to hold her against his chest, Zion summarized what had happened, from the events of the test to the moment when the devourer brought down the wall and the psychic faced an entire legion of monsters. However, he couldn't bring himself to tell her about the events that ended the battle, and faced with his reluctance, she simply nodded—it wasn't necessary to say anything. The ex-general swallowed hard, the bitter taste of defeat on his tongue, then changed the subject, focusing on urgent matters. He explained that they needed to eat and leave Interion, because every second they spent there was dangerous.

They ate eggs and apples on the bed for lunch, because Zion could never bring himself to face the wooden table downstairs. Afterward, they dressed in the Night Squadron uniforms that had belonged to Serguei and Ravena, since they were the only clothes available in the house. The uniforms consisted of wine-colored pants and a shirt made of durable material, with a black vest worn over them, the chest crisscrossed with leather straps. During those moments, Zion watched her. He waited for her to speak and analyzed her every action, looking for changes, but aside from the fact that she couldn't move her left arm, her healing powers were still dormant, and her eyes had red halos, the rest seemed normal. Or at least that's what he wanted to believe.

When he was fitting the travel backpacks onto their backs, he heard his partner's first words.

“Where is Kiara?” Her voice came out hoarse—it sounded as painful as shards of glass scraping her throat. But it was still her voice, and Zion breathed a sigh of relief.

He explained about the surgery and the mutation. The chimera couldn't travel with them—she was weak and unstable. When silent tears overflowed from his partner's eyes, Zion assured her that Kiara would be well cared for by Owen, and they would both return for her when things were better. He thought for a moment and, in the end, didn't have the courage to tell her about the uncertainties of the mutation. She was already facing so much; Zion was afraid that any more information would be the last straw.

Kyller choked back her tears and remained silent while she improvised a fabric sling for her unresponsive arm. Finally, she asked:

“Could I say goodbye to Serguei before we leave?”

“Of course.” He stepped closer and pulled her against his chest. “I need to say goodbye too.”

Now they stood beneath the maples, and although this put them at risk, Zion would never forgive himself if he didn't give his partner—and himself—this moment. The anesthetics and painkillers had worn off, but he remained standing, pretending he wasn't dying of pain. He kept his hand on the hilt of the bone sword at his waist. His father's sword.

For the first few minutes, he gave Kyller privacy to say goodbye alone. Then he turned his gaze to the open sky, without a single white cloud. When pain crept toward the edges of his heart, Zion lowered his eyes to the earth, unable to contemplate the clear blue. Soon he found himself studying the path of ashes that would lead them toward the destroyed wall. He was grateful the opening existed, because now he couldn't transport them through the walls.

Kyller let out a quiet sob, and he forced himself not to interfere. He looked again at the small pile of stones he had placed over the makeshift grave. Although he tried to remain rational, he couldn't stop thinking about his father. He felt that after miles of drama, cutting words, and unfounded grievances, he had finally managed to identify the reasons that made Serguei's atmosphere unstable and prone to constant storms.

Serguei was a storm, the strongest the world had ever known, and his name would be etched forever in history and in some hearts. The great man made of mistakes.

And that was why Zion couldn’t admire the open sky. When you’ve lived your entire life inside a storm, you end up yearning for every bolt of lightning, every flash, every thunderclap echoing in all directions. It was as if he were still waiting for the psychic to slip into his mind and tease him, telling him it had all been a joke.

Yet Zion noted, with great sorrow, that no matter how grand a phenomenon might be, no matter how much applause it received at the end of a performance, life was ruled by impermanence—even when staved off with empty words, magic tricks, or promises.

The storm had stretched across the eyes of every creature that ventured beneath its domain. It had been solace for kindred spirits, fury for those who fought against its winds, and above all, the barrier that kept warships from reaching its protected coast. But like everything in life, the storm was now exhausted and longed for rest. It was the end of an era, and even the tears reflected the vibrant colors of a new chapter.

Now the sun broke through, heralding an open sky. The horizon gleamed with golden rays that pierced the clouds and painted the sky pink and orange. All of it clashed with the feelings in the ex-general’s chest. Such a beautiful day felt wrong when Serguei’s body was decomposing beneath his feet.

He glanced at his wristwatch and saw that the time for farewells was running out, so he took a deep breath and limped toward the grave, stopping beside his partner. It was his turn to say goodbye. There, beneath the blood-red leaves, beside an entire field of ashes—proof of Serguei’s love for them—Zion closed his eyes and pressed his fist against his heart. He began to softly chant the traditional Drutes rite, even though there were no drums to accompany the ceremony. This was a farewell for soldiers who had died with honor in battle: one beat with a closed fist and another with an open hand, in a rhythm that mimicked a heartbeat. When he was young, Serguei had told him this ritual was as ancient as the sun and moon, and that a Feeric could never depart the world without being guided by it.

The beats grew louder, rhythmic, and the first verse of the song formed a humble poetic request for the goddess of Death to accompany the man’s crossing through the Valley of the Moon. The second was a plea for him not to be drawn into the Abyss. The third was a wish for him to find the people he loved in the next life.

After the first beats, he saw Kyller join the ceremony, still kneeling, following the rhythm as if she could perform it with her eyes closed. They continued for a full minute, until the words of the ancient song came to an end. Then the two bowed in reverence before death. Kyller finally stood and faced him, her large incandescent eyes full of tears. Seeing her so fragile, he embraced her and buried his face in her neck, inhaling her natural scent as if he needed it to survive. The two set aside any conversation. It was clear this wasn’t the time for words. They would grieve first, and when they were ready, they would talk about what had happened.

“We need to go.” Zion pulled away and extended his left hand to her.

The girl with the exotic eyes placed her trembling fingers on his palm, and he guided her toward the destroyed wall while she gazed at the sky. Everything was so clear and bright that her already tearful eyes spilled over with fresh tears.