Page 43 of Interion

As if it had heard his pitiful complaints, fate scratched at his mental wall. He rose with yet another of his long sighs, said goodbye to the girl who made his existence a little better, and slipped away through the shadows.

Δ

In the center of Interion, beside the hospital, a heavily fortified palace cast its shadow over Canoa Lake. Some say that even beyond the walls, miles away, the tallest towers could be seen, displaying their strength and supremacy to the world.

The palace actually consisted of three enormous towers. The city had modernized, but a pinnacle remained synonymous with strength and power in any century. Three towers of metal, stone, and glass gleamed under the moonlight—the two flanking ones larger, the central one smaller. No one, no matter how uninformed, could fail to recognize this as Interion's center of power.

That night, a faint light spread through the rooms on the floor belonging to the king's right-hand man. The apartment boasted a gigantic bed, a private pool, and a small magical garden covering its walls. It would have been an impressive place, if not for the dozens of books on every surface.

The pool had been drained to make room for books, the bed was buried under them, and every table, chair, and piece of furniture sagged under the weight of pages. In the left corner of the room, a man reclined on red velvet cushions. Book in hand, he studied the pages with suspicion, as if trying to decipher some riddle.

He wore one of his countless gray tuxedos. They were all the same color because he could no longer differentiate shades—he'd lost that ability decades ago. His beard was neatly trimmed and his hair precisely styled, for the man knew that part of his strength lay in his image, and just as a skilled swordsman sharpens his blade, he tended to his appearance.

The shadows deepened near the curtains, and Zion emerged from behind them.

Before coming here, he'd stopped by his room to shower and change out of his training clothes. His dark blond hair was tied in a bun, and he wore his battle attire, but without the vest this time—that was how he was expected to present himself at the palace.

“You reek of the girl. Weren't my warnings enough?” the man asked, turning a page. Zion refused to let it rattle him. He'd known the other would sense traces of her, but he'd still tried to mask her presence as much as possible.

“Convincing enough,” he replied, trying not to let his fury show. The word “girl” had come out like an insult, and today was not a good day for anyone to disrespect his partner. The man continued leafing through the book, as if searching for something of great interest.

“I spoke with the inner circle about your vacation. They refused your return to the battalion—the council wants you to train the final-year students and only come back once they graduate. They said: 'Zion is our best warrior. He needs a break or he'll lose his mind from all the killing.'”

The man crossed one ankle over the other and seemed to expect some kind of response.

“Hmm.” That was all Zion could manage.

“You know what I think?” He finally raised his eyes to the general. “I think this is a terrible mistake. A person doesn't lose their mind from killing—they get stronger.”

“Or perhaps they just lock themselves in a tower cluttered with books. In the end, I'd say someone who's lost their mind lacks the mental capacity to recognize they're in that state.”

The two remained motionless for a few seconds, studying each other with feral intensity.

“Perhaps,” the man said, studying the general, whose skin crawled under that speculative gaze. “I believe your stay won't be so bad after all. Judging by the smell, you're enjoying it quite a bit.” His gaze drifted to the portrait of a woman on the wall. A nostalgic gleam flickered in his eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared, and he turned back to the general. “Anyway, instead of rubbing yourself all over her, I suggest you teach her to fight better. What happened today was appalling—I was shocked by such foolishness.”

Zion, as always, had nothing to say to the man's grandstanding, so he ignored it and cut straight to the question that would end this meeting.

“Why did you call me?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You got to the direct questions faster this time,” the man said, rising with the book in his hands. “The encounter with the female probably left you more irritable, didn't it? Let me guess—she doesn't like you very much, does she?”

“I don't see how that's any of your business.” Zion narrowed his eyes at the man.

“Oh, it is, boy! Everything you two do is my business. She's your responsibility, and you're mine. If she causes problems, I'll have problems by extension, and you know I don't like that. So keep yourselves on a leash.” He looked Zion up and down and added, “Or rather, in your pants.” He smiled, but what gleamed in his eyes was an unmistakable threat.

Zion clenched his jaw. He wouldn't rise to the bait—he knew it was a losing battle. The man watched him with a mocking smile, as if daring him to retort.

“What a bad mood, boy! All right, let's get to the point then.” He walked over and, as he passed, pressed a book against the general's chest. “I need you to read this, or at least try to.”

“Why don’t you read it yourself?” Zion asked, taking the book. Its cover was entirely black with the image of an open palm printed on it. The man shot him a dark look, which the general avoided returning, knowing he was more irritated than usual today because of what had happened with Kyller. If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up with two catastrophes in one night.

“Because it’s not a book meant for just one person—it’s ancient and locked with powerful magic. I believe it has preferences about its readers, and since it deemed me worthy to read one of its stories, perhaps you’ll have the same luck.” The man removed some books from the bed and lay down. “You’re on vacation and, judging by the smell coming off you,” he gestured at Zion’s entire body, “you seem to have plenty of time on your hands. Maybe it’ll make you wiser about women. I suppose a bit of knowledge and a dose of common sense would do you good.”

“Is that all?” Zion asked, exasperated.

“Yes, but if you’d like to stay so we can chat about common sense and women, I’d appreciate your company.”

The general gripped the old leather cover and headed toward the shadows on the wall, but before he could reach them, the man clawed forcefully at his mental barrier. He stopped immediately and clenched his fists.