POV: Abraxes
The days that follow my first are repetitive, to say the least. Nine days have come and gone. Each moving slower than the last. It is a struggle to not go mad.
It is difficult. To remind ourselves that we are human. That we are not cattle being shipped off for slaughter. It is something I realise on my second day.
I am thrown out of the cage for only a moment on my third day. Forced to abandon my clothes—my brother's old clothes—and to change into a black jumpsuit.
It is embarrassing. To do it under the eyes of the Enforcers, but I manage. I can only watch as the last memory of my family is thrown carelessly away. It makes the anger within me grow stronger. It burns the anguish I feel to ash.
I'm forced back into my cell. Into my metal cage not a moment sooner. It is hard not to crack. To not allow the building tears to fall. But I manage. Because that is all I can do.
By the fourth day, I can see those same cracks within Sylas. But where I have managed. He has not. I am fuelled by a goal. A singular devotion to a cause I wish to fulfil. But watching the man. I know he has no such things keeping him together.
Because the pressure is building. Our days are numbered. And we all know it.
Sylas talks. He talks and he doesn't stop. Even when we are not listening to him, he is still talking. The Enforcers yell at him to shut up and he does. But really, he is still talking. Still muttering to himself.
He is coping. He is fighting a battle against his mind, and he is losing.
It is painful to watch. I consider ending his suffering. Granting him peace in his sleep. But that is not my right. So, I do not say anything. By the fifth day, he is no longer Sylas. But a cultivated mask of a dozen different characters.
He has broken, and I wonder. Will I ever break like this? Will it all become too much one day? I do not know. So, I stop wondering and I start preparing.
Every night, I practiced with my Impetus Talents. My understanding deepens and I am no longer inexperienced. But I am held back by my body. So, I start to work out.
Enough time has passed for the Sacral Essence within me to heal any injuries. My body no longer hurts. My back doesn't ache. The cut under my eye has scarred. It is enough to do something in the little space I have.
It takes only minutes before Sylas is cautiously copying me. It is the only time he does not speak. I realise it's a distraction for him. A different way to cope within his shattered mind.
So, I push myself harder. Force myself to last for longer. It is done both out of pity and selflessness. But I am weak. I last only an hour. Sylas doesn't bother continuing without me.
By the sixth day, I am beginning to see Rowan for who he is. For what he is. It takes me time to adjust to my new life. But now, I see the enigma before me for what he truly is.
A liar.
For he is no Mercury.
Rowan doesn't know that I can see him. That I can hear his heart rate rise when he spouts falsehoods to me. That I can hear the churning of his blood. Because if he did, he would have never told me he was from Clan Theta.
'I should have put it together days ago.' It is true. I should have. But I didn't. Because I had my own devils to deal with. But now…
Every Clan of the Plumeria had their own way of earning money. My clan worked in the mines. We dug through rock and sediment for hours a day. Just for the chance to find even an ounce of ore. Sylas' Clan—Clan Zeta—earned their share through livestock and agriculture.
But Clan Theta…they were different. Some called them clever. Whilst others labelled them as prisoners of their own Alloy. In a way, they were. Because they earned their money through a different sort of physical labour.
The Plumeria was the outskirts of everything. But Clan Theta lived within the borders of a city. Held under the control of a House with the Alloy of Silver.
I remember visiting there once. My parents taking me to meet an aunt. I was too young to understand what was happening. But seeing enough to remember even now. To know that they are the richest Clan for a reason.
Because homes did not exist in their territory. Only pleasure houses. Full of Bronzes, Silvers and even the occasional Aureate. They tipped well for the services they received, and Clan Theta adapted to it.
No member of Clan Theta existed without some modification to their body. Be it their hair. Their eyes or their skin. I remember seeing a woman with bright green skin at one point. With antenna coming out of her head, and eyes that held a reflectionless black.
When I was a child, I had thought it was some terrible bug monster come to life. Now I understood. That it was their way of life. Their way of survival. Yet Rowan, he had nothing.
His face was gaunt. His eyes sunken. His hair greasy. But that was it. He looked worn down. Not modified. If that didn't make it obvious enough for me, then the way he acted would have.
He speaks lies consistently. Telling us—now me—information he has heard from the shadows. But I know his Impetus Talent is something else entirely. I can sense it. The rolling spark of thunder.
If I focus hard enough. I can even smell it. The ozone that covers him. But it is his reaction to Sylas that tells me all I need to know. In the dark, his face is hidden. But I can see through the dark.
Rowan sneers. He scowls. His fingers twitch as if he wants to punch the man. He pretends to be patient and sincere. When really, he is only patient.
It is almost impressive. But his status has clouded his sight. Has made him believe we are fools. That we are too stupid to notice his slip ups. That we are not educated in anything but being rats.
I don't know what his story is, or what his purpose might be. But I do not care. Because I now know. That he is no slave in a Mercury collar. That he is no brother. My first instinct is to kill him. To take his Talent and freeze him to death. But I still need information, and he is my only source of it.
So, I follow his example. I wait and remain patient.
Today is the ninth day of my imprisonment, and the repetitive cycle finally breaks. It starts with a grinding screech. Loud enough to even silence Sylas. All three of us look toward the entrance. Recognising the sound of the vault door opening.
It is quiet after that. Until steps can be heard. I strain my ears, and I hear not one, but two set of feet. Heading directly for this cell. They stop before the entrance. Before the rattling of the door begins to sound.
A man their age is soon thrown in. He's tall, at first glance. Easily reaching above me. His clothes are bloodied. Recent enough that I can smell the iron on him. His lip is torn, and his nose looks slightly bent. His hair is onyx and reaches to his neck. As greasy as my own.
"New blood," Sylas growls. His tone aggressive and sudden. It's enough to make the stranger tense and fall into a practiced stance. I see Sylas open his mouth again and cut him off.
"Sylas." He turns to me, his eyes swimming with confusion.
"Yes?"
"Shut up." I tell him as gently as I can. Sylas opens his mouth, before thinking better of it and shutting it again. I watch as he grumbles beneath his breath and crosses his arms. As if he was some petulant child.
I wonder if that was a mask he showed. If it was a mask when I entered on my first day. I wonder how long he has been broken. If I had noticed the signs too late. It is a question I won't ever get an answer to. So, I move on.
Right now, is not the time to be feeling introspective, after all.
"You're from Clan Delta. Aren't you?" I ask the stranger. According to Rowen, I was the second to last stop. After this, it's a direct course for Ασία. A direct line for their impending doom.
The stranger turns sharply to look at me. An almost defensive look on his face.
"I am. So what?" he raises his head in pride. But he is looking down at me.
It takes more effort than I am willing to admit to stop myself from standing up and knocking him down to the floor. It's almost an innate desire to prove myself as his superior.
"Watch your tone." I warn instead. A growl building from my throat as I speak.
The stranger sneers down at me.
But Rowan speaks up before it can escalate to anything.
"Peace, my friends." He raises his hands, his voice peaceful. But only I can see the look of disgust in his eyes. "We are only asking to know how long we have until we reach Ασία."
Rowan talks quickly. But his words are clear enough for the stranger to understand.
"You should have started with that." He grunts, crossing his arms. I can see blood staining them up to his wrists. "Names, Cain Wolfrem. Remember it or don't. It's not my problem."
'Oh, I am going to rip that stick out of his ass.' I think, my eyes narrowing in the dark. I know this type. The ones who fight for nothing but the excitement of it. They're always the most arrogant.
"A pleasure. My name is Rowan Astria." The Enlightened speaks with a smile on his face. But his face is eerily blank. "Above me," he points up. "Is Sylas Denver. He's a little dramatic. So don't mind him."
"He's lost it." I cut in. Getting both Cain's and Rowan's attention. "Mentally, I mean. But he is a brother of the Plumeria. So, speak with respect for the fallen."
My words are edged with warning. Enough to make Rowan begin sweating. But it is Cain's reaction that has my attention. He still looks aggravated. But he is no longer looking down at us.
He is a fighter. He is arrogant. That is clear. But even the arrogant ones know not to speak ill of those who have fallen. It is a code. Unique only to the Mercury's of this world.
Because we care more about the human, than the Alloy which makes them.
Cain looks at Sylas with respect. With a sorrow as if the man was his own flesh and blood. But he also looks at me in confusion. Because we never mention the code. Nobody ever does. It is something we are taught at children. Something we all grow to learn and respect.
I stand from my bed. Feeling my bones click as Rowan bows his head lightly. "Of course, my apologies."
Cain looks almost startled at Rowan's words, and I almost grin. Because the man says it as if it's the most natural thing. But he is blinded by his discrimination. By the pride he holds in being made of an Alloy stronger than us.
Mercury is liquid, after all. We are not solid. We are not strong. But that is what he believes.
"My name is Abraxes Basilus." I introduce myself to Cain. I can see how his body tenses, the gears in his eyes turning as he begins to understand.
I can hear Rowan's heartbeat growing stronger. Faster. As he looks up at my body. My form hidden within the darkness of the room. I can practically smell the fear coming from him. I can taste the sweat on his body it's so prominent.
"And this man…is no Mercury, brother."
My words settle the man's fate as I lunge for his neck.