After a grueling night of repetitive motion and bruising blocking, Rhoawyn was shocked she had enough strength to drag herself into the training hall. Most everyone wore the same sunken posture and drowsy eyes as she did, so she didn't feel so bad about arriving a minute later.
She had her own room in the IOB; They tacked it on to the larger suite she shared with the rest of her squad. The room itself was 2 times the size of her old house—all silver walls and soft furnishings. But the beds were the best thing about the suites. When she first lied down on hers, plush and flush against her, she thought it must be what real clouds feel like—not the artificial ones in The Apex. She never wanted to leave it.
But she had other obligations, and when she saw everyone turn to give her a mixed bag of judgmental looks, Rhoawyn knew she should have made better time. As if punishing her before she had the chance to do it herself, the match-maker shuffled through a list of names and promptly stopped. When it put her up against Jazara in the next sparring session, Rhoawyn already knew how the match would end. And by the pleased look on her face, Jazara knew too.
They'd spent the past few nights running through all the drills. Eli spent extra time trying to get Rhoawyn to commit every movement to memory. And she remembered. But her stances still weren't solid enough—and what's worse is she still had not manifested.
But Jazara was a conqueror, at least that's what Winfrey said. A solid force that would power through any difficulty, just like the bat engraved in her leg. On their third night of training, she manifested the full length of gravemark.
Jazara stepped onto the mat, head held high. Rhoawyn wished it was on a pike. Maybe that's a little harsh?
But it's all Rhoawyn could think as she prepared to face her. Throughout their entire time training as a group—as partners—Jazara had done nothing but laugh, or glare, or straight up yell at her when she failed to manifest. Jazara hadn't been able to manifest at the beginning either, but when she finally drug that blunt bludgeon out of her calf, her attacks on Rhoawyn became more vicious.
When she thought Rhoawyn was taking too long, or the sight of her failure disgusted her a little too much, she would swing her bat so close to Rhoawyn's face she feared she might not have a head on her shoulders for too much longer. Even in her current state, even if she knew she didn't stand a chance, Rhoawyn would not let Jazara think she had crushed her spirit.
"So you took Winfrey up on his offer to train you? Must have really thought I could beat you, " Rhoawyn said, stepping onto the mat. Her confidence was a facade.
Jazara likely didn't want anyone to know, but Rhoawyn had seen her begrudgingly ask for Winfrey's help one night. Even in her current state she still used up too much energy every time she manifested, and in an actual battle, it would likely cost her life.
"Guess you should stop making assumptions, huh? Now you're going to lose." Jazara's smirk was wicked—taunting. "I ended up getting a few pointers from Eli, too. He said my technique was the best he'd seen."
Rhoawyn didn't think she was one for overreacting, but she had been learning so many things about herself during this entire ordeal that never flourished in The Apex. She knew what Jazara said was a lie, but hearing it still caused red-hot anger to balloon in her chest. She lunged at Jazara—abandoning her wits and solid stance.
Jazara smacked into the ground after a quick sweep from Rhoawyn's leg. Rhoawyn moved so quickly Jazara didn't get the chance to manifest. Rhoawyn was surprised to have gotten the drop on her—ecstatic, really—so she gloated.
"That big head of yours getting too heavy?" Rhoawyn asked as she stood over Jazara.
Jazara too a page out of Rhoawyn's book though, catching her by surprise and landing her just as hard on her back—the shine of her bat glinting into Rhoawyn's spotty vision.
"Well, you know what they say, keep polishing the pedestal and they'll eventually feel comfortable standing on it."
"No one says that." Rhoawyn pushed Jazara off, rising back to her feet. She dodged a quick swing, movement feeling a little easier—more natural.
"Well, they should." She knocked Rhoawyn back with the rough of her heel. Before Rhoawyn could catch her balance, she swung the blunt of her bat into Rhoawyn's arm—stopping her from even reaching for the gravemark on her back. She was sure she heard a snap, but her body hadn't registered the pain of it yet because Jazara didn't let up.
Maybe it was compassion—no, definitely pity—that Jazara decided not to swing the metal at her face and use her fist instead. Rhoawyn staggered, tasting the metallic tang of blood, panting from the ache blooming in her cheek. But Rhoawyn didn't give up—didn't want to fall. It was definitely a bad idea.
The swelling around her eye narrowed her line of sight, but the frown on Jazara's face—even while winning—showed how much Jazara hated it. Hated that she wouldn't back down. Wouldn't accept a quick defeat.
Jazara jolted forward, like a rocket on lift-off. One sharp blow to the throat and Rhoawyn tilted like Pisa, toppling into a defeated heap. So much for standing tall.
Heavy eyelids blinked away the threat of unconsciousness. They searched the crowd. When Rhoawyn's eyes landed on Eli's as the lead Techromancer declared Jazara the winner. She crumbled under the disappointed look, even as she felt the injured parts of her body healing from the remnants of dust in her bloodstream.
I can't do this, she thought, wishing she could sink into the floor.
Staggering losses were becoming a too-common-for-comfort occurrence for Rhoawyn. Her body was so acquainted with the rough stitch of the training mats that they no longer chafed against her skin.
"Again," Winfrey instructed, watching intently. She'd been at it for hours—constantly trying to hold her own against the robotic movements of the training dummies. Constantly trying to rip her zipper from her back. Constantly trying to manifest. Jazara had already humiliated her enough, so Eli thought she might fare better against non-sentient sparring partners. But he didn't want to be the one to oversee her.
Rhoawyn tried not to take it to heart. But it would be a lie to say it didn't hurt a little. Whether she admitted it out loud, they had grown a little attached to his abrasive presence. Found comfort in it. But because she hadn't advanced to the level she needed to, Eli opted to train Jazara instead.
Technically, she is supposed to be moving on to practicing manifestation, but because she's still struggling with basic combat, Eli doesn't think it's a good idea to move to the next stage. Rhoawyn huffs as she lands mostly clean hits on the dummy in front of her.
"Maybe I need a demonstration? You know, so I can visualize manifestation easier?"
"I'm not so sure that's the problem. Maybe you just need to build up your basics. Hand-to-hand combat skills. You've only managed a 90% accuracy rate on these things." Winfrey slapped one dummy on the back. "Mares won't be so predictable in their movements, so If one ever gets close enough, you need to be ready for that fight too. Everything isn't always about manifestation."
"But everything IS about manifestation, Winfrey. If I don't manifest I won't get any dust, and if I don't get any dust, I won't survive." Winfrey rubs the back of his neck, obviously not wanting to reveal his manifestation. He'd been like this during their entire time training, and Rhoawyn didn't really understand what the big deal was. She'd be glad to manifest at all, no matter where her gravemark was placed.
"It is, but you still need to-"
"So, you'll show me how to manifest then?" Rhoawyn interrupted, lip jutting out in an exaggerated quiver. If there was anything Rhoawyn has learned about Winfrey since she had met him, it's that he's a sucker. She had Flinch to thank for opening her eyes to it, though. The little guy was a mastermind at getting what he wanted.
On the first day they moved into their new suite, the Techromancers arranged for a cake to be sent to everyone's rooms. A red-velvet house warming gift.
Rhoawyn had never tasted cake before, so she might have gone a little overboard by eating four pieces. It was only fair since she was the one to open the door when the cake arrived. Besides, most everyone in the group had come from higher-numbered families than she did, they'd already experienced the sweet, rich goodness of the treat in their former lives.
Jazara almost stabbed her with a fork when she saw it had been half-eaten, leaving only one slice for the rest of them. Flinch didn't quite like the idea, so when Winfrey divvied out the rest of the pieces, he clung to him—eyes round with the threat of tears.
"You know this kind is my favorite, Winfrey. And last time you said you don't even like sweets much. Can I have yours, pleeeease?"
Winfrey stared at him for a long minute, jaw-clenching around the word "no," but he handed his piece over anyway. That's when Rhoawyn realized Flinch was made of mischief.
She knew she should feel bad about playing on this weakness of Winfrey's, but the joy she got from hearing his defeated sigh outweighed the guilt.
"Okay, Okay. I'll give you a demonstration. You better be able to manifest after this," Winfrey said.
"Roger." Rhoawyn grinned, backing away from the dummies.
"The key to manifesting is to visualize the energy focusing underneath your gravemark..." Winfrey trailed off. He stood opposite of Rhoawyn on the mat, tall and broad-shouldered, but his face got more washed out by the second. He rolled his bottom lip beneath the rough of his teeth. "Remember when I said my gravemark was in a private place?"
"Yeah?" Rhoawyn said, wondering why he was stalling so much. It can't be that bad, can it?
"Well," he said, lifting his shirt over the length of his shoulders, and revealing the chiseled torso. "Don't freak out. It's just that I can't manifest with a shirt on."
Rhoawyn's cheeks warmed at the sight of him. She had never seen a guy this up close and personal before, but the glory of his body waned when she noticed his gravemark. It was a splatter of streaks revolving around his belly-button. Something akin to a crater, forged by forceful impact.
"Unorthodox, huh? Guess you can't expect to come out unscathed when you dive off a building," Winfrey said, scratching behind his ear.
Rhoawyn didn't expect the blush she found on his face. Why is he so embarrassed about it?
"Guess not," she smiled, thinking back to the day she saw him face down and dismembered on the ground. "I bet it comes with a cool manifestation though, right?"
"Cool is one way to put it," Winfrey said, closing his eyes. "The first step in manifestation is feeling the energy inside the gravemark."
His gravemark glowed lightly under his concentration as he flexed his core muscles, opening his eyes to look at Rhoawyn. "Alright, hit me."
"Aren't you going to manifest something? You know, pull it out?" Rhoawyn asked, brows creasing.
"Not every manifestation is an object. Some are purely defensive. Now, hit me," he pointed right to the center of his gravemark.
"Okay, here goes." Rhoawyn reared back. Giving herself a running start, she dashed toward Winfrey, fist post to land a blow right in his middle, but the blow she delivered is soft. Light pat soft.
"How's that?" she chuckled.
"Not what I wanted, but it will do." Winfrey grinned as the glow of gravemark intensified. "I guess it's good you started off light. Nice thinking."
Before Rhoawyn stepped back, a wave of energy burst from Winfrey's torso—pushing Rhoawyn onto her butt with its force.
"What was that?"
"I like to call it Intake. It absorbs all the force dealt to my body and releases it in a concussive blast."
Rhoawyn's amazed, as amazed as she always was when she saw a proper manifestation. She wanted to manifest her own power. Know her own true ability. And she was ready to practice until Eli walked in with Jazara and Flinch in tow.
"Well, well, well, look who's disobeying captain's orders," Eli tsks, shaking his head.
"I'm sure a co-captain has the same authority over the group as captain," Winfrey retorted.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, buddy. Good thing you're showing her the ropes, though. The Techs are about to divvy out this week's dust." Eli turned to Rhoawyn, giving her a strange look—somewhere between disappointment and discomfort.
"Don't worry, Rhoawyn, you won't be getting any," Jazara said before Eli could bring himself to drop the news. He clenched his jaw at her statement—at her smugness—but he didn't refute the claim.
How did they expect her to manifest if they don't replenish her energy? Why did they expect everyone to catch on so quickly? Why was this happening to her?
Rhoawyn tossed around these thoughts for a while, kicking her legs over the soft edge of her bed. Until her obsessing gave her an idea.
She had passed the distribution room many times on her way in and out of the training halls, but she hadn't expected it to be so easy to get in. Maybe the Techromancers didn't think they needed to guard it much? It made sense in a way. Most Imaginaries probably wouldn't dare try to sneak some dust. But Rhoawyn was desperate.
Rhoawyn waited behind one of the large columns next to the distribution room's entrance. She could not get in unless someone scanned the right fingerprint. Or she caught someone leaving. Rhoawyn swayed on her feet behind the column, keeping her ears open for the telltale sign of the door sliding open. After what seemed like hours, that familiar swish sounded into the silence and Rhoawyn peered from behind her hiding spot.
A Techromancer carting cylindrical vat of a clear substance was exiting the room. Now was her chance. Rhoawyn waited in crouched form for most of the cart to exit the room. When she knew she had enough cover, she waddled in the opposite direction the Techromancer was walking—keeping her body tucked tight against the vat until she was close enough to the door. The liquid produced a distorted reflection as Rhoawyn used it for cover, but the Techromancer didn't notice her. She silently crouched over the threshold of the distribution room, the door almost sliding closed on her bare back.
It made little sense for the Techromancers to be so stingy about divvying out the dust because there were tanks of it lighting the room in a subtle blue hue. But she didn't come here to marvel, or to question. She came here for survival. She stayed low behind the counters, keeping her eyes peeled for any dust that might have already been transferred to the test tubes the Techromancers gave out. Rhoawyn ducked around the corner, still unable to find any dust outside of the tanks.
Her anxiety kicked up. What if she had come in here for nothing? What if there was no way to obtain the right amount of dust? There were nozzles on the tanks, without keypads and locks, filled with dust for the taking. But she couldn't just pull the levers and put her mouth to them, could she? What if she took too much? Would that kill her just the same as taking none at all? She scoured the counters and shelves in search of just one distribution tube until she arrived at the back of the room.
Ready to give up on this fruitless effort altogether, she noticed a small object glinting in her peripheral. A test tube.
Just as she reached for the glass, that familiar swish echoed through the room. In a fit of fear and need, she grabbed the tube off the counter, hands sweating so much she almost dropped it when she heard the light clatter of feet against the floor, and launched herself toward the tank nearest to her.
She pulled the lever on one of the smaller containers, placing the tube against the nozzle to catch the dust as it drained out. But the second the flow began, a loud alerting siren rang out. Rhoawyn panicked as the dust slowly filtered into the tube. Come on. Come on. A herd of footsteps rushed toward the area of the breach—the area she was in. But the tube hadn't filled to the designated line. Fearing she might miss out on having any of the dust at all, Rhoawyn chucked down the half that was in the tube, seconds before a group of Techromancers arrived on the scene.
Consequences were the last thing on her mind. She acted before considering what would happen if she got. Would they starve her out anyway for trying something so stupid? Would they toss her to the Fringe? To the Mares? Over the buzzing thoughts in her mind, Rhoawyn heard them when he ordered her to stand up. One of them turned off the still oozing dust she had neglected out of fear before he spoke.
"Well, the data never lies," He said, cryptic as ever.
Rhoawyn watched him with confused eyes.
"There is always one who takes it upon themselves to steal when they have been put in a life or death situation." The Techromancer cleared his throat, pulling Rhoawyn by the arm to her feet. "Though I don't agree with your methods, I commend your will to live."
Those words made something in Rhoawyn hurt. Living was not something she strived for—something she wanted. If her choices in The Apex were anything to go by. So then why...
"I understand that punishment in The Apex is immediate Departure, but that solution would not serve us here," the Techromancer said, with a hint of a smile. It would be worthless to let the dust you've consumed go to waste, so I want to purpose another punishment for your crimes against us."