A few days had passed since Jayar's initiation into Fulchiva, and nothing about him seemed diminished—instead, he moved as if a new weight had fallen off his shoulders. He lay on the floor of the small room, the thin mattress pushed to one side, sunlight from the high window slanting across his chest. The crimson mark on his forearm blinked in and out of being, a living pulse that pleased him rather than frightened. For the first time in a long while, he felt whole. More than whole: alive in a way he had not known was possible.
"I didn't do anything wrong," he said aloud to the empty air, sounding almost incredulous at his own calm. "So what's the problem? Why is Fulchiva called a — a dark empire?" The question hung between him and the ceiling, rhetorical and real at once.
The door burst open. Felix came in like a storm—red-faced, wild-eyed, words tumbling out before his feet found the floor. "You! You! You're a sectarian!" The accusation ripped through the room like a thrown thing.
Kayav was already moving, slipping between the two as if he could physically wedge sense into the space. He planted himself at Felix's shoulder, hands steady, voice the cool surface of water. He did it to stop the fight before it began—because fighting friends made no sense, even when ideals clashed.
Jayar pushed himself up slowly, the room tilting for a heartbeat before leveling. His smile was small and tired. "Yeah… I'm—" He left the sentence unfinished, not because he hadn't the words, but because the words were heavy.
Silence settled like dust. Felix looked as if someone had pulled the floor from beneath him; anger collapsed into something taut and raw. Kayav's expression softened, then hardened, then turned inward, trying to measure what to say next.
"That was a joke, wasn't it?" Kayav asked finally, hope threading his tone.
Jayar met his gaze without flinching. "No." The single syllable carried more than denial. He folded his arms across his chest as if to hold himself together. "Those who stand against the Gor—many of them are frighteningly strong. I want that strength. I want to change things. I'm willing to do what it takes to reach that goal."
Felix's mouth opened, shut, and opened again; outrage warred with something like fear. Kayav's shoulders slumped, the mediator suddenly made powerless by the clarity of Jayar's choice. In the hush that followed, the mark on Jayar's arm flared once, then winked out, as if punctuating his declaration. The room waited—friends on opposite sides of a gulf sudden and wide—and somewhere beyond the window the world went on, indifferent.
The terminal chimed softly before anyone spoke — Carmen's voice, cool and mechanical, announcing a probability like a verdict.
"Conflict detected: 78% chance of a fight."
Jayar met Felix's glare without flinching. "Felix — do you want to fight me?" His question was blunt, a thrown gauntlet.
Felix's face crumpled with a mixture of anger and pleading. "Do you even understand what you've done to yourself and everyone you know? Do you understand what you're dragging your friends into?" He ran a hand through his shock of red hair as if to smooth the tremor out of his voice, forcing himself to speak quieter, more measured. "Alex got pulled in too — said it was a laugh, a way to make money. Where is he now?"
Kayav turned to the window, watching the street as if the view might hold answers. Jayar rubbed at his brow, the motion more painful than it looked. The mention of an old friend struck them all; the wound was older than the words, and none of them wanted to pick at it again.
Felix drew in a long breath, bracing himself. "Listen to me. Before it's too late. This isn't just some sect — it's a dark empire. That's why the Gor and the Dome exist. We lost two people because of this. Alex and Kim. Kim isn't on our side anymore — he's one of them. I won't lose another friend."
Jayar's laugh came out sharp. "You're cowardly. You really think hiding behind the Gor makes life safe? You think that'll let you live normally?"
"You saw him," Felix snapped. "Kim Woo. I asked around. He got dragged in the same way you did. You saw what happened to him. And there's the worst part — he's been in prison since he was fifteen. Ten years in a real cell. What do you suppose he does after that? He falls back into the same thing. It doesn't heal."
"I have a plan," Jayar said, voice tight. "Well — almost."
Kayav's warning was soft but firm. "This isn't funny, man."
"You won't find anything if you don't leave your comfort zone," Jayar shot back.
Felix's jaw tightened. "We're talking about a sect—"
"Say the word 'sect' a hundred times, maybe then I'll understand!" Jayar barked, losing patience.
"You don't understand!" Felix countered.
Jayar stepped forward, fingers curling. "I'm going to hit you."
Felix's answer was icy. "Hit me, and we're done."
Kayav put both hands up, desperate to keep the fissure from widening. "Whoa. Are you seriously about to fight?"
Jayar's stance slackened almost at once. He inhaled, then let out a shaky breath. "No."
The small denial fell between them, fragile and final, as if someone had chosen, for a moment, to pull the knife back from the throat of the room. Carmen's quiet report still echoed like a promise — eighty percent danger — and outside, the city went on unaware.