Rose Marie was
drowning in a warm, dark sea, the dregs of cheap wine and restless sleep
pulling her down. A voice, sharp as a shard of glass, shattered the surface.
"If you
don't wake up now, you're gonna miss his ship!" His voice was thick with
disapproval. "Why'd you even get wasted with that woman? Today of all
days."
The world
snapped into a painful, blurry focus. Bennet. Her father. He stood in her
doorway, his silhouette a familiar, weary cutout against the hall light. Rose's
wristband glowed, the numbers a cold, hard slap.
'Shit. Shit,
shit.'
Twenty minutes.
The thought was a jolt of pure lightning. She was out of bed in a tangle of
limbs and stale sheets, her head buried in the wardrobe, hands scrambling for
the rough, black fabric of her soldier's uniform.
"You
should really take a shower, you know..." Bennet's voice was a dry rasp,
laced with a familiar, paternal judgment. He crossed his arms, leaning against
the doorframe. "Unless you don't think he'll notice the alcohol stench
coming from you. It smells like you bathed in a distillery." He didn't
wait for an answer, turning away with a sigh that was more performance than
feeling.
'Oh, crap. Why
did I drink with Teacher last night?' The thought was a useless, looping scream
in her head as she stumbled into the shower, the water a punishing, cold shock.
Minutes later,
a girl with fiery hair and eyes like lit embers flew through the streets, her
sprint to the station interrupted when a vendor's cart overturned, a pan of
frying oil erupting into a wall of flame. Without breaking stride, Rose didn't
conjure or command; she simply unmade it. A sharp flick of her wrist, a sip of
breath, and the fire was gone, the air left cold and tasting of ozone, the heat
drawn into her palm and snuffed out as if it had never been. The vendor stared,
open-mouthed, but she was already past him.
She arrived
panting before the station, her uniform clinging to a frame slick with a
nervous, cold sweat. The tailored black fabric made the 5'9" girl look out
of place, like she was wearing someone else's skin. 'I can't get used to this.
Did I even earn it?' The thoughts rushed through her, a torrent of doubt.
Two hundred
years after the Great Change, this was the ritual of the Harvest. At thirteen,
every healthy child was ripped from their homes and shipped to the
Incubators—barren planets where they had to survive for seven years as military
trainees. Theirs was Devil's Maw, a name that promised exactly what it
delivered: a meat grinder where over half of the hopefuls were ground into bone
and memory.
At thirteen
your bones weren't done calcifying. Devil's Maw finished the job. The Ministry
called them Incubators as if they hatched heroes; the graveyards told a
different story. Seven winters per cohort. Most never saw four. Cultivators
could be trained by the thousand; mages could not. The Republic counted mages
by name and sent inspectors when one was born. Rose had lasted six months on
the Maw before Buba—the Republic's lone S-Rank Archmage, half saintess, half
rumor—dragged her off a frozen ridge and said, "You'll be under me now."
"Thank all
the silent gods," she breathed, the words tasting of sweat and relief. She
was here. This time, she'd made it. 'I swear I'm not hanging out with Teacher
again.'
Her eyes were
locked on the sky, on the monstrous, rust-streaked airship descending like a
fallen leviathan. Motherswomb. An old acquaintance, its hull a scarred map of
countless, brutal journeys.
'Eww, I'm all
sweaty...' The vain, childish thought was a fragile shield against the rising
tide of anxiety. She stood amidst a sea of thousands—parents, siblings,
lovers—all holding their breath in a unified, silent prayer. Please be alive.
Please be whole.
The station was
a temple of tension. The huge doors of the Motherswomb groaned open, a metal
mouth disgorging its contents. But the children the crowd hoped for didn't
come. A minute passed. Then two. A restless energy replaced the joyful
anticipation. A voice screamed, "It's a mistake! They sent an empty
ship!" It sounded more like hope than fact. The unthinkable—that an entire
Harvest could be lost—had never crossed their minds. The joyful reunion Rose
expected never came. Instead, the crowd began to revolt, their anxiety becoming
hers. How could all of them be gone? Thousands. The air was thick with the
copper-sweet smell of oil and the ozone-tinge of frustrated grief.
The doors were
now open for over ten minutes
"Come out, will
you?!'
"Please,"
she whispered, "come out!"
"You
promised you'd be back!"
The thought was
a splinter in her mind. The initial relief curdled, turning acidic in her gut.
'Calm down,
Rose. There's still time... No one's said they're dead. There's just no way
they all died.' It was a silent prayer, a mantra she repeated as the crowd
around her revolted.
Desperation,
cold and suffocating, filled the hollow of her chest. It was a physical weight,
pressing down, stealing the air from her lungs. Her knees turning liquid.
"Please
come out." Tears started to mix with the sweat on her face.
The whisper was
torn from her, a raw, helpless sound.
"You
promised."
The memory
surfaced then, unbidden and painfully vivid. A rooftop. A sky drowning in
stars.
"I'm
leaving tomorrow, you know?" Rose said.
"Yeah,we
all know, haha." A smile was on his face, but it didn't quite reach his
eyes. "She took you in as a disciple, right? You're so lucky, Rose."
Zack's eyes
were starless, black enough to make the night look thin. When they softened,
the world did too.
"She did.
But I don't wanna go. I wanna stay here in Devil's Maw, with you all.
" Rose
made a grumpy face, arms crossed in a futile gesture of defiance.
"Stop
being crazy,you have to go," he said, his smile fading.
"Someone's
gotta get out of this shit hole. At least one of us."
"I
know,but..."
"No
buts,Rose. You can leave this godforsaken place, so you should."
"If it was
you,would you leave?"
A beat of
hesitation,so brief she almost missed it. "In the blink of an eye."
Liar,she had
thought. "I want you to promise me something."
"Don't
worry,"said the boy with hair as black as the distance between the stars.
"It's me... You know. Also, the other idiot would never let me die. He's a
bit of a genius. The instructors can't keep his name out of their mouths."
He ruffled her
hair. A touch she felt like a brand.
"Zack,promise
me, or I'm not leaving." Rose demanded, aiming her gaze to his eyes.
Zack's eyes,
starless, black enough to make the night look thin. When they softened, the
world did too.
"It's a
promise,"Zack said, his voice softening.
"I'll come
back to you. I'll be there to save you every time you need me."
"You
always need it anyway,"he added.
"Okay,"Rose
said. "You come back. I'll be waiting."
Six years and a
half later. She was now a C-rank mage, a prodigy, a weapon. And it didn't
mattered. The hope was gone, replaced by a yawning, absolute void.
"You
promised," she whispered again, the words a final surrender.
The strength
fled her legs. Her knees buckled, the world tilting on its axis.
And then, a
pair of arms caught her from behind, solid and real, holding her up just before
she hit the ground.
"Rose..."
a voice spoke, familiar as her own heartbeat.
"Tha—"
She turned, and the rest of the word died in her throat.
She had to
glance up at him like she always did. Taller, broader, face cut with new lines,
black hair streaked with premature silver; a sword at his side, the same blade
as before. Older than he should be, colder than he should be. But it was
him—alive, solid, real.
Her gaze locked not on the
familiar face but on the eyes that held her reflection.
They were a clear unyielding blue. The sight was a bucket of cold water thrown on the embers of her hope.