A meticulous tapping wrapped around my ears, there was absolutely no denying it, Father was angry.
And angry would not cut it. It would not suffice for the situation. Father was furious.
The last 4 expedition squads sent into the World Tree's roots had been wiped out clean, no body, no equipment, not even a distinct notice of leave.. Four entire teams. Gone. Clearly, they don't know what employers of other businesses would think- not even a two-week's notice!
I struggled to swallow the spit building in my mouth, afraid the sound would set my father off. He was like a ticking time bomb right now, one that could catch fire at any second.
When he spoke, I tried hard not to jump in my spot behind him, situated at the top floor of the highest skyliner in the citadel, it boasted a clear image. Power.
It was a symbol of power.. If not, it was one thing that further intensified my fear of heights, heights never particularly spoke well to me, not that I'm short!
The spear pierced through the horizon, as if a direct challenge to any being with enough power to strike it down. The office was a pressurised luxury: polished alloy walls etched with mana-law runes, a panoramic window that made the city feel small, conquerable. Yet today it felt like a cage.
Father didn't bother to turn.
He didn't even stop the rhythmic tapping of his finger against the cold glass. The sound was the only thing filling the pressurised office, steady and sharp like a countdown. It filled me with a twisted source of dread, as if an absolute being was deciding my verdict.
"The World Tree is a masterpiece, Kaelen," He said softly. As he spoke, the air around him began to shimmer, as if resonating with his words, hanging on to every sentence, this was simply the appeal of a Scholar on the verge of a breakthrough.
"It feeds us scraps of knowledge like we're infants learning to crawl. Humbling." With this, he let out a deep-seated sigh. I saw the condensed water rest against the window, unsure if they were allowed to flow down in the presence of such a beast,
As if waiting for permission to fall.
He finally stilled his hand. The silence pressed harder than the tapping ever had.
"The Script calls Anomalies sources of power," he said, turning. His eyes locked on mine with a glint that stripped skin from bone. "We hunt them. We absorb their cores. We ascend. That is the cycle. That is how we survived elves and dragons. Before humanity had been fully realised, these were all fictional beings, unable to harm us. Now they wait, lying in patience, to devour our species.
To them, we are just another inferior species that has just been realised, easy prey if you may. That is why we must be careful."
Unsure why my father thought he needed to relay the history lesson to me, it seems his old age has caught up to him..
Or testing if I still remembered the basics?
I lifted my head slightly, trying to discern his mood, though not enough that I could catch his eye.
Father turned away from the window, his hand finally stilling against the glass. The silence that followed was heavier, louder, and much more pronounced than the tapping ever was.
He stepped closer, the pressure of his aura making the floor tiles hum; even the citadel's finest ore seemed to tremble at such a figure's might.
"Our strength lies in our adaptability; without it, this grandiose city would have crumbled long ago.. Humans shovelling muck off the roads of other beings, encapsulated in slavery, and no power house known as Luminara."
I swallowed. His voice was thunder in my ears.
I withheld a whimper as he stood close, his judging eyes scanning me, looking for any sign of weakness. All I could think of was the last time he brushed his teeth..
The contrast between my father's overwhelming presence and the sudden, hysterical thought of his dental hygiene was the only thing keeping me from collapsing on the spot. It was a defence mechanism.
My mind clung to the jokes because the alternative was acknowledging that the man in front of me could erase my existence with a simple flick of his wrist.
All he needed was to churn my body from the inside, or melt my internal organs, or decapitate my head with one swipe of his hand... The list could go on.. But I wasn't particularly fond of listing all the ways the person in front of me (Oh yeah! My father) could end my life.
"You think this is a history lesson," he continued, voice dropping to something dangerous. The air tightened around me like glass about to shatter, threatening to cut me if I moved even one bit, holding me tight, refusing to let go, refusing to let me escape.... "The cycle is breaking, Kaelen. The Script has had enough of babysitting. You could say Humanity's free trial is over."
I eyed the phone situated conveniently on Father's desk. I begged for it to ring. To let me be dismissed, preferably with enough time to get the hell out of here.
He leaned in closer, and the "beastly glint" in his eyes seemed to drown out any remaining drops of humanity behind those eyes. Any trace of paternal warmth blackened out like a phantom.
"When the trial ends, the congratulations stop. The 'free' handouts stop. The Anomalies stop being polite prey that we can easily catch. And if we can't adapt faster than the predators that lurk beyond- "
He let the sentence hang.
I already knew the rest. Echoes were fodder even a static human could sometimes kill in some scenarios as a static. Vassals had brute force, but even then it could be overwhelmed by a well-rehearsed band of harvesters. Behemoths could swallow people whole like they were having a measly lunch-time snack. Hollowed.. Well, no one spoke of Hollowed and lived to describe them.
Father stepped back. Just enough for me to breathe. I gasped at air, but not in any obvious way.
"The last squads weren't unlucky," he said. "They were insufficient."
His gaze pinned me, I felt fear consuming me, I felt sweat streaming down my face. I well and truly hoped my trousers weren't soaked, because that would be embarrassing, I might aswell open the window and jump out.
"Which is why you're going down there next."
The words landed like a blade between my ribs, sucking the air I tried so hard to surreptitiously breathe.
"Me?" My voice cracked despite every damned effort.
"You." He turned back to the window. The tapping resumed- slower now, deliberate. "Prove the Luminara name still means something. Or don't come back."
In my mind, I truly laughed, come back? How on Earth would I come back if 40 damn Scholars were wiped out with no trace.. Is he trying to get rid of me in a less conspicuous way than what he did to Apollo?
If I hadn't known better I would have guessed he felt a bit of sympathy for sending one of his children to death,
But knowing Father made me realise that if I looked at the expensive panoramic window, I would find him smiling.
The thought hit harder than his aura. Apollo- my older brother, the "defective product," exiled at sixteen when no sponsor looked in his direction. Father had stood at the gates, cold as winter, and watched the gold-leafed doors slam shut. I'd been too young to protest, too scared to speak. Apollo had joked about it then, something about "astral traffic jams," but the silence had sliced him deeper than any blade could.
Now it was my turn. Prove myself or vanish.
The same verdict lapping my mind: insufficient.
Father didn't look back. The tapping continued, a metronome for my racing heart.
I backed toward the door, legs unsteady, ready to falter at any moment. The office felt smaller, the window's drop more inviting. As the doors hissed open, the citadel's hum rushed in.
Distant festival chants, core-traders haggling below, the endless grind of "adaptability", you know, the usual struggle for survival.
I stepped into the elevator. The descent began, floors blurring past, but I couldn't care less. I had to survive.
Survive, survive, survive.
Adapt or die, Kaelen..
By the time I reached the armoury level, my hands shook. The doors opened to glowing racks. Blades etched with vassal shards, armour humming with brilliance. I looked at the wide assortment of weaponry, of course, my go-to choice was the sword, it looks so damn cool! But which one? I eyed the multiple, high-grade swords, each with its own enhancements. Any of these could be sold and make generational wealth for a commoner. I tried not to touch the sharp edge of the sword; I felt as though even feeling it would slice my finger off. In the end, I chose the one I was most used to..
Before checking it's enhancements for the near hundredth time, I thought of the team I would take with me.
Probably to their demise! So it was best not to waste any valuable assets and instead use easier-to-replace ones, especially in times of 'need'. When I might need to run away, if I could run away from something that killed 40 Scholars.
My squad would assemble soon, the disposable statics who'd never return.
I leaned against a wall, breathing hard, trying to recall my conversation with the world's strongest man,
And the world's worst Father.
The Script's "free trial" was over. Anomalies weren't polite anymore. And Father thought sending me- a static barely past vassal prep- Would fix it.
Or maybe he hoped I'd prove insufficient, too.
The thought lingered as I stared at my reflection in a polished shield: Pale, sweating. Eyes wide.
Like Apollo's,
All those years ago.
I pushed off the wall. No time for doubt. I had to prepare. Gear up. Descend.
And pray I came back different from the squads that hadn't.
The squads comprised of some of the best Luminara had to offer..
And I'd say Luminara could offer a damn lot.
I scratched my neck, feeling for my scar- The faint, silvery mark left by my Sponsor. My mark.
My Sponsor mark burned bright, as if my 'extra' supportive Sponsor was excited to see the bloodbath about to incur.
I cursed, why me? Did I not try hard enough? Are my skills not good enough for "Luminara"? Was the cake I baked so horrible that Father decided to cast me out?
Questions, so many questions.. But now I needed to focus, or I might end up like Apollo,
Or worse.. Dead with not a single trace.
I shook it off. Adapt or die, Kaelen.
The armoury lights flickered once, as if the citadel itself was holding its breath.