2.8

Content warnings: human incineration, suicidal ideation, mentions of psychological torture (detail below; skip if you prefer surprises)

• A character reflects on the memory of burning someone to death.

• A character mentions being stripped of the will to live by continuous torture. The torture is not described. The character endorses suicidal ideation but his thought process is not closely explored.

~.~

“Think they’ll be okay?” Juli asked, looking back at the campfire. He had opted to take first watch with Felix, leaving Karyme and Dani staring gloomily at the flames. Juli wasn’t the best at reading people, but even he knew that there was some tension between Karyme and Dani that needed to be resolved with a private conversation.

“They’ll be fine,” Felix replied, plopping down on the ground. “Here, take a seat. It’ll be a while before the beasts come out in full force.”

Juli sat next to Felix, legs crossed. “How do you know that?” they wondered.

Felix hummed in contemplation. “I can sense the beasts. The same way you can light a fire and still sense that fire after you’ve walked away.”

Juli gaped at Felix. What he’d said was true—once Juli lit a fire, they could sense their flames anywhere, no matter how far away those flames traveled. It was one of the unique facets of Juli’s power; though Juli was limited to controlling only their own flames, they could also sense and harmonize with those flames. But that was not something just anyone knew about.

“How did you know that?” Juli said suspiciously, eyes narrowed. “I don’t exactly widely publicize my powers, y’know, and most people just see the flames and assume I’m a vanilla pyrokinetic.”

“Well…” Felix frowned. “We dreamed of you the same way you dreamed of us while we were in prison. It’s only natural that I would know some things about you.”

“Bullshit, skater man,” Juli said firmly. “Even the others don’t know about the full extent of my powers. The only way anyone would know is if they’d been… watching… me… which you could have done with your future vision…”

Juli paled. Their voice gained a hard edge to it. “How long have you been watching me?”

Felix bit his lip. “It’s not…” He sighed. “Since you got your powers.”

“What the hell?” Juli snapped. “You—you creep! You were just—what—watching and waiting until you could use us? Is that it?” Felix stayed silent. “Why were you the one watching me, anyway? Didn’t Minerva give me my powers?”

“Mhm.” Felix wasn’t even looking at Juli anymore; he was gazing out at the horizon with glowing teal eyes.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Juli continued, their voice laced with frustration. “What were you hoping to gain? Why would you—”

A shadow beast roared in the distance, and Juli realized, with a start, that there was a whole pack of them on the other side of the canyon. Before Juli could so much as react, a series of icicles sprang up from the ground at the beasts’ feet, piercing the air. As the icicles speared through the beasts’ hides, the whole pack disintegrated, leaving behind a sculpture of jagged ice that glowed turquoise in the moonlight.

Juli was suddenly hit with a memory from middle school. Their family had never had much, growing up—Juli had spent most of their early years bouncing between apartments, and they had eventually had to drop out of school to help the family pay rent. But this was before all that.

Juli had come home from school to find a thug from the Red Scorpions enforcing a tax—except his definition of that had been raising a hand against Juli’s mother. It took a lot to make Juli angry, but this had done it, and as their anger overflowed, so, too, did their flames.

Even after Juli had burned the thug to the ground, their flames had continued to leap out of their control, and for a horrifying second, Juli had watched the fire envelop their mother. And then there had been a flash of turquoise, and the flames had cleared away, and Juli’s mother had been completely, perfectly fine. Paradoxically, she’d been cold to the touch.

At the time, Juli had chalked it up to more weirdness about their powers. But now…

“You weren’t just watching for fun,” Juli murmured. “You—you protected my mom.”

Felix hummed in agreement. “We each picked one of you to watch based on who we thought we could protect. My powers counter yours, so I watched over you.”

Subconsciously, Felix rubbed his wrists. They were just as bruised as when the group had found him in the prison—perhaps a physical manifestation of a psychological wound.

Something clicked in Juli’s mind.

“Your shackles—they were shocking you for using your powers. You would have been shocked every time you took a look at us,” they realized. “So, then, why…? Why bother?”

Felix didn’t answer. Some might have argued that it was simply asset management—that the Ennead were ensuring that the mortals they’d chosen lived long enough to break them free. But as Juli looked at Felix—at his face, drawn with exhaustion; at the scar on his neck where Ridwan had been stabbed to save Peter; at his trembling hands as he, even now, forced himself to stay awake and take watch—Juli had a feeling that wasn’t the case.

~.~

It was still a little too early to sleep. Well, no, that wasn’t it. Karyme was exhausted, truth be told, and she probably could have fallen asleep if she’d tried. But she knew she needed to apologize to Dani for earlier—for using her powers and invading Dani’s privacy—and the thought kept her awake as she stared miserably at the campfire. Karyme was saved the trouble of broaching the topic by Dani.

“About earlier,” Dani said carefully. She glanced over at Juli and Felix to make sure the two were out of earshot. “That voice that snapped me out of it—that was you, wasn’t it?”

“O-oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Karyme said quickly. “You snapped yourself out. I just helped.”

“How did you do that, exactly?” Dani asked. Her voice was hesitant, shy almost, and a light flush colored her cheeks. It was a side of Dani that Karyme hadn’t seen before despite ten years of shared dreams.

“I-I used my power to figure out what was going on,” Karyme admitted. “I don’t—I would have asked permission! Really! But you were so out of it, and I couldn’t defend us, and—”

Dani raised a hand in the universal gesture for “stop.” Karyme fell silent.

“No need for all that,” Dani murmured. “You don’t owe me an apology. If anything, I owe you a thank you. If you hadn’t pulled me out… I don’t know if I ever would have escaped.” He paused, biting his lip. “But what you said—about my parents having no power over me—that was wrong. They do still have power over me.”

“And what if they do?” Karyme said firmly. She scooted closer to Dani and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Anyone would feel that way after what you went through. Being taught to shoot at such a young age, being forced into mafia work—none of that is normal, and that kind of stuff leaves a mark.”

“But it wasn’t an indelible mark,” Karyme continued. “After all, you quit the mafia on your own despite the risks. At the end of the day, that speaks volumes.”

Dani was quiet. For a second, Karyme was afraid she’d messed up. She almost clicked on the pop up box in the corner to double check Dani’s emotional state. Then, Dani cracked a smile.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re good at motivational speeches?” he asked. Now Karyme was blushing, too.

“I’m—well—I feel like I’m cheating a little bit,” Karyme stammered. “It’s so easy for me to use my power and see what’s ailing someone.”

“Well, maybe that’s true,” Dani conceded. “But that doesn’t mean your power magically tells you what to say—you have to interpret the information yourself. And in my opinion, that’s the part you’re good at.”

Karyme frowned. “You think so?”

“What does your power tell you?” Dani replied. As she gazed into Dani’s sage green eyes, Karyme decided she didn’t need to check to know the answer.

“Oh. Well, I’m glad I was able to help a little bit.” Karyme looked up at the starry night sky. The constellations were different here, and she couldn’t find a single landmark to navigate by. A sigh escaped her lips.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m just holding everyone else back,” Karyme murmured. “I mean—it’s like I said earlier: I’m no good in a fight. I don’t belong here.”

“I… used to think the same thing about you,” Dani admitted. He leaned back, placing his hands on the ground behind him. “But now I don’t think that’s true. Your ability to read attack patterns and enemy weaknesses—that’s critical. And maybe that means you have to stand behind my shield to do it, but…”

Dani smiled at Karyme. “I don’t mind.”

“Oh.” Karyme swallowed. She had never been good at taking praise. “Thank you for saying so.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” came Dani’s reply. ”We’re in this together, okay?”

A warm feeling rose in Karyme’s chest. She smiled for the first time in months as she turned to face Dani. The moonlight glinted off of Dani’s glasses, illuminating her angular face at just the right angle. Dani was pretty like this, when her guard was down.

“Let’s get some sleep,” Dani decided. “Tomorrow is going to be another long day.”

Karyme gulped. If they didn’t get to the rendezvous point by the end of tomorrow, it could very well be their last day alive. But, well… She glanced at Dani, then at Juli and Felix in the distance. Maybe there are worse people to go down with.

~.~

As soon as the topic came up, Lian insisted on taking first watch. Rae didn’t put up much of a fight—both of them were too tired and hungry to have that argument. Still shaken from earlier, Ven also didn’t argue. And that was how Lian ended up on watch with Haku while Rae and Ven slept around a dying campfire.

It took Lian about ten minutes to get antsy. It wasn’t the act of staying on watch itself that made Lian restless—it was the silence. The forest was eerily quiet at this hour, and Haku hadn’t so much as looked at Lian even though the two were sitting together. Ven’s words from earlier rang in Lian’s head.

Sometimes, it’s easier to deny it than to admit that you care about someone you’re going to outlive.

Lian swallowed. Was it really easier…? They couldn’t imagine living like that, constantly holding everyone at arm’s length. And worse—Haku didn’t just act that way towards the mortals. In the week Lian had spent training in the pocket dimension, they had not once seen Haku, and the way Ridwan talked about Haku made it clear that this was normal.

“Glasses,” Lian said suddenly. “Why do you isolate yourself?”

For a second, Haku was silent. Lian thought for sure that the immortal was going to ignore them. And then—

“Where is this coming from?”

Lian’s heart leapt in their chest. It was only the second time Haku had acknowledged them in two days. Maybe, just maybe, they’d actually get somewhere with this conversation.

“You’ve barely talked to Rae or me in the last two days, and even when I was training in the pocket dimension, I never saw you around,” Lian pointed out. “And although we’re both sitting here on watch, you won’t even look at me. It almost looks like you’re trying to not make friends.”

“Because I am,” Haku said smoothly. “It is important for me to remain impartial.”

“Yeah, and I’m asking why,” Lian retorted. “Come on, glasses. After everything you did, I think you owe me this much.”

Haku frowned. “Fine. How much do you know about how future vision operates?”

Lian thought back to their lessons with Ridwan. “You can see backwards and forwards,” they said slowly. “And there are multiple timelines. Also, when you’re looking through the future your hands go like—” Lian broke off and started waving their hands through the air, as if scrolling along on an invisible tablet screen. Haku made a face.

“While not technically incorrect, your explanation is incomplete,” the immortal replied, their voice clinical. “There is more to it than that. There are limits to our future vision.”

“Limit number one: we cannot see timelines in which we are involved. In other words, we cannot parse how our own actions may change outcomes,” Haku explained. “Limit number two: timelines and outcomes involving the people we are closest to are harder to see and harder to distinguish.”

Haku paused. “I think with that you can put together why I must stay as uninvolved as possible.”

Lian frowned. “No, I can’t. Even with both of those limits, the other Ennead members seem perfectly okay with getting to know us.”

“It’s not that simple,” Haku sighed. They removed their glasses and scrubbed their face with both hands. “The others—they can live the way they do specifically because of what I’m doing. Only one of us needs to stay uninvolved; that way, we have at least one person who can reliably predict what is going to happen. And that person is me. It’s my job to guide us—to parse which choices lead to which timelines and determine how to reach the best outcomes. I can’t do that if I can’t see.”

Lian’s frown deepened. It was worse than they’d thought. At first, they had chalked up Haku’s prickly nature to the immortality alone, but that wasn’t it at all. To hear that Haku carried the whole timeline on their shoulders just made Lian’s heart break even further.

And then something clicked in Lian’s mind.

“Ridwan’s plan to save me and Peter—that was your idea,” Lian ventured. “You’re the one who figured out how to save my life.”

“I wouldn’t say that I saved anything or anyone,” Haku said flatly. “I simply realized the vision could be interpreted a different way, and I told Ridwan to act accordingly.”

“I’m trying to thank you, you ass,” Lian muttered.

“Thank Ridwan,” Haku said curtly. “I was just doing my job.”

“Your job…” Lian trailed off, staring out into the trees. “So that’s what you spend all your time doing? Looking at timelines?”

“You make it sound easy,” Haku said thinly. “It’s not, by the way. There are no indicators as to what causes each branch point in the timeline. No signposts to tell me how to reach the outcome I want. I have to figure all of that out myself.”

Lian swallowed. That sounded like hard, time-consuming work. It reminded Lian of music theory—of picking apart a song to see how the chords worked together to create a larger whole. Lian hated music theory.

“Can’t you alternate with the others?” Lian asked. “That seems like a lot for one person to do.”

“I could,” Haku said with a shrug. “But it makes more sense for me to do it. My powers let me turn my memories into real constructs, and if I am constantly looking into the future and committing timelines to memory, my power becomes that much greater.”

Lian almost groaned in frustration. It was like talking to a stone wall. Every time Lian made a good point, that point was ignored. Haku seemed set in their ways. Still, Lian couldn’t back down.

“Is that worth cutting yourself off from the joys of life?” they argued. “Like, seriously! You’ll never know the epic highs and lows of high school football!”

Haku gave Lian a withering look. “Riverdale? Really?”

“Sorry,” Lian said quickly. “I couldn’t resist. But…” Their expression softened. “I do mean it. Is it really worth it?”

Haku turned away. “…I never got to live a normal life anyway. I wouldn’t know what I’m missing out on.”

Lian inhaled sharply. They wanted to bop Haku on the head for their stupidity—this was such a fixable problem, after all—but more than that, they wanted to give Haku a hug. This was too much for one person to bear. That said, Haku would never accept a hug, and there wasn’t much Lian could say that hadn’t been said. Still...

“Isn’t it lonely?”

Haku didn’t answer. They didn’t have to.

~.~

Morgan held the crystal out in front of her. They weren’t even sure if this would work, but they had to try. They didn’t know if they’d live long enough to apologize in person, after all, so this was the next best step. Or, at least, that’s how Morgan justified it to themself as they looked out over the moonlit meadow.

With a deep breath, Morgan turned the two halves of the crystal.

Joshua? Morgan asked, projecting their thoughts only to him. Can you hear me?

What the hell do you want? Joshua snapped in reply. Morgan winced. Well, at least the telepathy crystals worked over long distances—that was good information to file away for later.

I— Morgan’s voice broke. I wanted to apologize.

…Keep talking, Joshua grumbled. Morgan’s breath caught in her throat. They’d been so sure that Joshua wouldn’t want to talk to them ever again, so to hear otherwise was earth-shattering.

I, um. Morgan was suddenly at a loss for words. How did one apologize for hitting someone else with lightning, exactly? I’m sorry that my lightning hit you. That must have hurt a lot, and it was my fault, and you almost died, and I-I’m sorry that I lost control like that—because I really shouldn’t have—and I’m sorry for—for being a bitch during the prison break, and—

I’m going to stop you right there, Joshua interjected. Morgan’s heart stopped. He sounded calm, but it felt too much like the calm before the storm—or maybe that was Morgan projecting based on her experiences with her dad.

You’re right, Joshua continued. You shouldn’t have lost control like that. You shouldn’t have even been in that arena if you couldn’t fight without losing control.

Morgan swallowed. Tears started to course down their face. They knew Joshua was right. They knew they were unfit for combat, knew that they were a mess, knew that they were nothing but a fr—

…I don’t think you wanted me to hear that, Joshua said wryly. Morgan jumped. They hadn’t realized it, but at some point in that downward spiral, they had started projecting their thoughts over the crystal.

Shit, Morgan cursed. Um. Ignore that.

No, Joshua shot back. I don’t think I will. Now, let me finish before you start making assumptions. Morgan nodded mutely, though Joshua couldn’t see them.

You made a mistake, Joshua said firmly. Fine. But clearly you know that you made a mistake, and you’re sorry for it. Just… don’t let it happen again, and don’t beat yourself up over it. I’m not—I’m not fuming. Not anymore. A pause. If you wanted to buy me a luxury coffee brand, though, I wouldn’t say no.

Morgan snorted. They supposed they owed Joshua that much, at least. They wiped the tears from their face and took in a shaky breath.

Okay, Joshua. You’ve got yourself a deal.

~.~

Peter peered curiously at Joshua. The winged man was sitting atop a boulder, seemingly lost in thought, and though Peter was more than a little tempted to see how Joshua would react to a mustard grenade, he decided he’d pushed Joshua far enough today.

Peter turned to Kai instead. The immortal was tending to his wife with a grimace. His left arm was basically completely shriveled up now, so he only had one working hand with which to bandage Jinal’s wounds. That didn’t seem to slow him down at all, though Peter had to wonder why Kai was treating her wounds in the first place. Didn’t immortals heal naturally?

“Not all the time.”

A grin crossed Peter’s face. So Kai had been reading his thoughts.

Kai turned to face Peter with a wry smile. “Sorry. I try not to probe into the minds of others, but when you’re projecting your thoughts that clearly, it makes them hard to ignore."

Kai turned to look back at Jinal, and his smile immediately disappeared. “Did Ridwan explain how our immortality works?”

“Nope!” Peter said brightly. “They seemed more focused on making sure Lian could hold their own in battle.”

“Fair enough,” Kai said mildly. “You seem like the person who would be least upset by this information, so I don’t mind sharing it with you. And you can tell the others, if you so desire, but I’d recommend waiting until the right time.”

Peter cocked their head to the side. “You sound like you’re about to tell me my dog died.”

“It’s probably less gruesome than that,” Kai said wryly. “But the tone is similar.” He gently brushed a strand of hair out of Jinal’s face with his good hand. “There is a reason I’m worried about Jinal. You see… our immortality is conditional.”

Peter pulled a can of ravioli out of his backpack and cracked it open. This seemed like a story that was going to take a while, so it seemed like as good a time as any to sneak in a meal. Peter materialized a fork, speared a piece of ravioli, and held it over the campfire.

“Didn’t it seem strange to you that The Necromancer held the nine of us in a prison instead of killing us outright?” Kai asked. “He is the one person on this planet who can kill us… so why didn’t he just steal our souls and end it?”

Peter had noticed this fact back when Haku had first explained where the immortals were being held, but he’d kept his mouth shut—at the time, the other mortals had been reluctant to help Haku, and Peter hadn’t wanted to ruin a good heist opportunity.

“The truth is, an immortal cannot have their soul stolen unless a certain criterion is met,” Kai continued. “When someone tries to steal an immortal’s soul, whether with a soul stealing rifle or a soul extraction chamber, a battle of wills occurs. The thief’s will to steal competes with the soul’s will to live on and be free, and the outcome determines what happens to the soul.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Peter interjected. “If the thief is stronger, the soul gets stolen, and that’s game over for you. If the soul’s will is stronger, the soul escapes and continues to live on, or whatever. But what happens if the two are equal?”

Kai made eye contact with Peter, his expression grim.

“The soul shatters.”

Peter nodded sagely, as if he hadn’t just been given a disturbing piece of information. “That makes sense. Can souls piece themselves back together?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Kai said with a grimace. “That was how The Necromancer imprisoned us in the first place—he shattered our souls, then took the pieces and threw them together inside prison cells. Once our souls reformed, he tried to steal them again—and that failed, too.”

“So then he, what, kept you there out of spite?” Peter asked.

“No.” Kai swallowed. “The problem was that our will was too strong. So… he spent the next fifty years trying to strip us of the will to live.” Kai averted his gaze, looking instead at Jinal’s peaceful, sleeping form. “If you had come just a day later, it would have worked.”

Peter popped a piece of ravioli in his mouth. “You mentioned being worried about Jinal. Does she not want to live?” This was important stuff to know if he was going to continue to work with the immortals.

Kai bit his lip. “I… I don’t think she wants to die. But I don’t think she wants to live, either.”

“And is that true for all of you?” Peter pressed. Kai’s silence was all the answer Peter needed.

“Well, if none of you want to live, you shouldn’t,” Peter said firmly. “Let mortals fix the problems you left behind—or maybe we won’t—but it shouldn’t matter to you since you’ll be dead anyway.”

Kai laughed bitterly. “How could I possibly do that? The world fell apart in my absence. I can’t—I can’t just leave it like that.”

“Fine then,” Peter said with a shrug. “If you’re going to keep sticking around out of guilt, find something to live for. Otherwise, you’re of no use to anybody.”

Kai stared blankly at Peter. “I…” The immortal looked at Joshua, sitting on a boulder above them all, then at Jinal, laying peacefully on the rocky ground, then back to Peter. He took a deep breath. “Okay. I can do that.”

“Great!” Peter said cheerfully. He held out the can of ravioli towards Kai. “Want some pasta?”

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter