as fate would have it | gem zero: future is prologue
A/N: The first gem is hereeee. Super excited to start officially posting my original writings. I'm working on putting a formal cast list and masterlist together, but I figured I would go ahead and post the first chappie. She's over 9k and thique, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless.
TW/CW: language, angst, betrayal
SYNOPSIS- Tex Aurelius is thrown for a loop when he’s thrust into a world where beings other than humans exist and he’s poised to one day, become a leader to an entire sovereign. Along the way, he forges friendships and rivalries with other future leaders at Cascadia Academy.
Sibyl Aurelius was pleased to say that she had taken successful measures in protecting her son from a life in which destiny overrode desires. When Tex decides he wants to take saxophone lessons in elementary school, she excitedly signs him up, eager to sate his musical curiosities simply because he had them. When he joins the varsity basketball team in high school, she’s at every game she can make, appreciative to raise a son who was afforded the luxury of pursuing his interests. She knows she can’t protect him forever, but dammit, if she doesn’t wish she had more time.
The first clue that something’s up is the car she notices when she leaves for work early this morning. It’s a simple black sedan, but her past has made her more observant than the average person. That’s why there’s a small, niggling feeling in the back of her mind all day at the fact that the vehicle had no tags and no visible driver.
She works in an office, mostly glued to her computer and phone. Today, she’s working hard to convince herself she’s paranoid at the way the computer screens zap sporadically throughout the day as if there are interruptions in the connection. She grabs lunch from across the street and nearly stumbles in the middle of the intersection when she thinks she sees intangible blips up above, almost like there’s someone unzipping and zipping the linings of the sky.
She feels sweat start to prickle under her arms and her nerves are too high-strung to be worried about the inevitable stains in the royal blue blouse. She stumbles in her heels as she walks to her car that evening and forces herself to control her breathing once she’s in the driver’s seat. She uses her hands to ground herself, gripping them to the steering wheel as an anchor.
When she gets home and walks from the garage into the yellow linoleum-tiled kitchen, she refuses to acknowledge that the stove and microwave clocks were in need of a reset, much like after a power outage. Refute, ignore, deny.
She has the night to herself at home while her son spends the night at a friend’s and so she orders takeout instead of facing the beeping digits of her appliances and eats on her burgundy tufted couch in front of the fireplace before reading her current mystery novel and heading off to bed.
Only she hears the front door slam as she reaches the top of the steps and shrieks at the sound.
Tex.
He looks up at her, taking out one of his AirPods, bewildered at his mother’s outburst.
“What?”
She heaves a heavy sigh, clutching a hand to her chest, “What are you doing here? I thought you were spending the night at Tyler’s.”
Tex shrugs, “He got grounded. Got kinda boring when his dad took away the Xbox.”
He takes note of the way she’s still taking deep breaths as a means of calming herself.
“You good?” he asks.
Sibyl briefly closes her eyes, more worn down than usual. She suspects all this worrying and paranoia has expended a lot of energy. “Yes. It’s late, come on and get into bed.”
She gives him a light kiss on the forehead as he climbs up the steps and passes her in the hallway. It’s summertime so she knows her son’s not going straight to bed, but she knows she’ll sleep better tonight with him under their shared roof.
The summons comes without ceremony. It’s a secured message that comes through, requesting Silas’ presence at the Council Chambers. There’s no distinct urgency in the memo. The words immediate or promptly needn’t be used when the message is coming from the Chamber Speaker.
The room where he’s waiting to be briefed is ordinary in appearance, with its nondescript furniture and standard office design, but Silas is no fool. The room is completely proofed. No one outside of it has any chance of seeing or hearing through its walls. The full contents of this discussion are never to leave this room.
Only him and the Chamber Speaker are present.
On his way inside, Silas sees several people hustling back and forth between the two large congregation rooms across the hall. They walked with a frenzied purpose and it was then that Silas knew.
The opening words from the Chamber Speaker’s mouth was no surprise.
“The Honorable Arch Hendrix passed twenty minutes ago. The succession protocols have commenced.”
Silas breathes in.
“May his transition have been peaceful.”
Speaker A’dez nods glumly.
The truth of the present is only now beginning to set in, though Silas has been preparing for this for a couple of months now. He looks beyond, the room and A’dez dropping away as he takes in Cascadia, its synchronized rhythms and pulsing waves.
The city was alive and it was watching him.
Speaker A’dez crossed his hands over his knee, his grief palpable.
“I imagine you have some important conversations you need to have.”
Confessions is more like it.
Silas nods. “Yes. I should go promptly.”
“Very well. The announcement will be going out shortly. We must proceed with preparations forthwith upon your return.”
There’s nothing else to be said, nothing that will unbind the ties that have led them to here.
Silas pauses on his exit at Ade’z’s parting words.
“He picked you for a reason. You were meant for this fate, whether you choose it or not.”
Silas stares at the door in front of him.
“I choose it unreservedly. I just don’t know what that means for Cascadia.”
He walks out intently, for better or for worse, as the imminent Honorable Arch of Cascadia.
Tex’s eyelids lift blithely after over eight hours of restful sleep. His body naturally relaxes under the streams of sunlight that peek through his half-open blinds. He stretches, loosening the tiny remnants of tension in his frame. The bed squeaks as he shifts with all the laziness he’s afforded on weekend mornings. His laptop is still open on his night stand and he wakes it up, resuming the lo-fi playlist he reserves for Sunday cleaning.
The soft sounds of chilled drum beats aerates throughout the room as he begins picking up discarded clothes off the floor. He figures if he starts having all of his chores done without being prompted, his mom will be more inclined to let him go to the upcoming music festival with his friends that she’s been on the fence about. He starts to haul his hamper towards the door, cursing when the heaping pile of laundry nearly topples over. He balances the linen sack with one hand while opening his door.
The smell of chicken fried steak and eggs immediately wafts in Tex’s face, a familiar welcome on weekend mornings.
What knocks him for a loop is the sound of a resonant, masculine voice sounding from downstairs.
A familiar, comforting voice no matter how long it’s been since he’s heard it.
“Dad!”
Tex rushes down the steps and raises his arms outward to avoid crashing into the wall in his haste.
Silas looks up and immediately bears the widest smile. He’s embraced in a hug before he even gets a chance to stand and he savors the physical affection they so rarely get to share.
“What are you doing here? Mom didn’t mention you were coming to visit!”
Sibyl turns away from the stove, swiping a quick glance at Tex. “I was surprised, too, honey. It was a spur of the moment kinda thing.”
For as long as Tex could remember, his father had worked as a diplomat, stationed in multiple foreign nations over the years and constantly on the go. He visited every few months as much as time allowed and communicated often, though never lived with Tex and Sibyl.
His focus turns back to Silas, waiting for a response.
“I missed you, son. It’s been too long,” he says.
“I’ll say. Things must be pretty busy in Tanzania.”
Sibyl clears her throat. “Si, we have water, grape juice, or tea. What would you like?”
“Tea, please.”
Tex and Silas sit at the dinette table as Sibyl places down everyone’s breakfast.
Tex immediately digs in, heaping a large portion of scrambled eggs into his mouth.
“How long are you here for?” He smacks in between bites.
Silas finishes chewing before answering, “Not sure yet.” He takes a sip of his drink.
Tex’s eyebrows raise. When his father came to town, it was usually planned weeks in advance. The surprise drop in was certainly welcome, though anomalous. “Did you take off from work?”
Silas sighs and puts his glass down, pausing as if combing for words.
“Something like that.”
Tex’s eating slows. He watches as Silas and Sibyl briefly glance at one another. There’s weight and significance exchanged between them, unasked questions and silent answers.
“You’re being weird,” he accuses. “Is something wrong?”
Silas chuckles, though there’s no humor to be found in his tone. He shakes his head. Sibyl reaches a hand over, placing it on top of his, briefly. It’s only an instant but he swears he sees his father’s fingers briefly curl around hers in that swift second before she retreats.
Tex glances at her and he’s met with a small, off-kilter smile.
“I don’t know if you had plans today, but I’m sure your friends wouldn’t mind a rain check so you can hang with your dad,” Sibyl suggests.
“Of course not.” Tex looks at his dad. “I’m all yours, today.”
Silas’ sincere, content smile is back. “I’d like that.”
Breakfast continues with Tex catching Silas up on his latest comings and goings. There’s still something looming that he hasn’t quite captured yet. It’s not tension and it’s not uncomfortable but the ambience feels atilt. Nonetheless, he’s forthcoming in sharing that his GPA had gone up after nailing his finals and that he was enjoying a lazy summer break before junior year starts.
Sibyl gleans proudly at Tex. “Can’t believe our boy has grown up so fast.”
“Mom..” Tex drawls as he gathers their plates. He exchanges an amused look with Silas as he heads over towards the dishwasher. “I told her I was considering taking some AP classes for college credit and you would think I told her I was moving out and getting married.”
Silas snorts.
“I’m sentimental, sue me,” Sibyl retorts. “Besides, it feels like it wasn’t that long ago that I was carrying you in my belly. Sometimes, it’s hard to believe that you’re almost all grown up.”
Tex walks back over to table, leaning a hand on Sibyl’s shoulder.
“I still rely on you for rides and lunch money, so I’m not that grown up.”
His parents laugh and he absorbs the lightness in which they’ve always interacted with. Sometimes, it’s hard to believe they’re divorced. He’s never asked his mother why they split, too fearful to bring up the potential for heartbreak, but a minor part of him would always wonder what was standing in their way from them being together.
Sibyl brightens as she stares out the open casement window over the sink. “Anyways, I was thinking if you’re not too cool to hang out with your parents, we could have a Blind Mice Day.”
Tex chortles. He has fuzzy memories of singing nursery rhymes on the day trips the three would take together whenever Silas was in town. His four year old cover version of Three Blind Mice had obviously made an impression enough for their rare occasions of quality time to have been dubbed with the ridiculous reference.
His smile dims. It’s been too long since they’ve spent time together as a family.
He grasps his father’s shoulder, his other arm still wrapped around his mother, and he looks between them, relishing in what he wishes he had more of.
“Blind Mice Day sounds perfect.”
Draven: Just checking in. You need anything?
Silas looks down at the message with defeat. There were a lot of things that Silas needed, but the unfortunate truth was that there wasn’t anything anyone else, including one of his closest friends, could do in his stead.
Silas: I’ll let you know when I’m back.
He types out the quick message, letting out a low sigh at the tall list of tasks waiting for him once he returns. His head turns up at the sound of approaching footsteps on the tiled patio deck. The sun was nearly tucked in for the night after a full, eventful day. Blind Mice Day had consisted of a mini road trip out to the nearby lake with an adventurous hiking trail around its circumference. Even after walking the trail, Tex, Sibyl, and Silas spent hours talking, lounging, and playing games in the balmy breeze. Afterwards, they ventured back into town, grabbing food at Tex’s favorite Ethiopian spot and enjoying dinner outside. They stopped for sundaes on the way home and Tex’s gait was sluggish with satiety as they got settled inside.
Silas had excused himself to the deck to gather his thoughts, though he wasn’t the least bit surprised that Sibyl had come to check in on him not long after.
His eyes follow her as she leaves the sliding door cracked and nimbly approaches him. Her radiant glow and soft-angled features still enrapture him without effort. It never feels like enough when they’re around each other.
Even still, he lets the silence linger between them for a few more moments of respite before there’s no more avoiding reality.
“Are you going to tell him before you leave?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have a choice. The transition period has already commenced.”
“Si, it’s not like this was a complete surprise. We always knew this day would come.” She rests a hand on his arm.
“I know,” he exhales. “I just can’t help but feel like I’m setting him up for failure.”
“You’re not. And he’s not going to fail. You won’t let that happen.” Sibyl asserts.
Her confidence in him has always sliced him. There were many things he shouldn’t have let happen. Too many aftermaths that he should have prevented.
Inside, Tex’s voice drifts as doors slam and feet shuffle in the background.
“Hey mom, have you seen my gym shorts?”
“Just washed them, try the dryer.” Sibyl calls back.
“Got them!”
Sibyl turns back to Silas, alarmed at how painfully tight his eyes are shut.
“What is it?” She inquires concernedly.
“That noise…” Her eyes blink in confusion before he elaborates. “The noise of him existing in this house. The boy has zero problems, Sibyl. I’m taking him away from a perfect life.”
Sibyl sighs with a quiet understanding. She’s remarkably calm given the present circumstances. In his inner swirling turmoil, Silas admires how intact she’s remained. Knowing her had always made him feel like he lived in abundance, and yet he’s never felt so alone and deprived in the world. If he didn’t love her so much, he’d probably be resentful at her togetherness.
“You did that, you know?” She peers up at him, grasping his hands as if she could physically transmit her convictions. “You gave him that perfect life. By taking him away, you gave him a life where he could be happy, a life where he wasn’t raised surrounded by hatefulness. And now you’ve given him a world that he can come back to.”
“We did that.” He amends. “I couldn’t have done this without you. I don’t understand how you’re being so strong.”
Sibyl shakes her head. “Silas, I can’t-”
Her words break off with a crack.
“Can’t what?”
The words reach him though she never gives voices to them. His frame settles with realization. She was calm because she wasn’t going to do this. Couldn’t do this. He mistook her expression as composed, when really she was stricken.
He knows his words are futile, but he speaks them nonetheless.
“Sibyl, you know that it’s safe-”
His words halt at how vicious her head shakes.
“I can’t go back there.” Emotion strangles the light buoyancy from her voice. It’s almost like Silas is in her mind’s eye, watching the spine chilling flashbacks of a darker, deadlier time. She’s had to live through unspeakable things in the name of love. Something deep in Silas gnaws at all that she’s had to endure. He watches her in the throes of anguish, curling into herself, and he leans closer with an arm outstretched.
She scurries back. “Stop!”
“Mom?”
The two twist back at the cracked patio door. Tex steps out, approaching concernedly.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” Sibyl ekes out.
Tex looks on unconvinced before turning to Silas.
His father’s sigh is one of resoluteness. The time for lingering was no more, if there was any.
“What do you say we go inside and talk?”
The threads of unease from this morning have found themselves in a quilt of tension that covers Tex immediately. Silas takes a step towards the door and Tex’s eyes veer back and forth between his parents. Sibyl looks up and her face expresses a poor mask of blankness. Still, she gives a half-hearted smile and nods encouragingly. It’s notable that she doesn’t follow the two inside as they head into the house.
They reach the living room, Silas leading and Tex more so wandering.
Silas imagined himself having this talk, releasing these words, for well over a decade now. It’s funny how one can have all of the words available when it’s not the right time, but there’s nothing to be found in the moment that counts.
“What’s going on?” Tex implores once more. “Why are you here? It’s starting to feel like this is more than just a spur of the moment pop up.”
“It wasn’t so much as ‘spur of the moment,’ but more so a day that I anticipated, but am utterly unprepared for, nonetheless.” Silas supplies, gesturing for the two to sit. “I need to tell you something and it’s long overdue.”
“You’re not dying, are you?”
Silas chuckles flatly. “Not hardly.”
He gazes at his son. His warm, open eyes and limber limbs. His chestnut, brown complexion and his thick, cloudy hair. His son who stole his mother’s nose and his father’s angular elements. His muscles and vasculature that aren’t quite so human. Seeing so much of himself in him, despite living vastly different lives, is as bewildering as it is heartening.
“You’ve lived in this world your whole life,” Silas starts.
Tex tilts his head with a frown. “Yeah… I’m still doing that.”
“There are places beyond this world, Tex. …Other worlds that live in parallel to this one.”
“As in other continents? Like with third-world countries?”
“No.”
Tex chuckles, “As in other planets?”
“No.”
“Well, what then?”
“There are layers to what you know as life. Dimensional realms that mirror but also diverge in the ways of life and humanity.”
“You starting to sound like one of them conspiracy people. You be going down them Facebook rabbit holes, old man?” Tex jokingly elbows his father’s shoulder but notes of anxiousness flair when he takes in the solemn expression Silas wears.
“I need you listen closely to what I’m about to tell you and understand that I’m telling the truth.”
Tex’s pulse picks up.
“There’s a place called Domea,” Silas tells him.
The name registers as foreign to him. He aced his Geography class last year, so he feels like it should impress upon him, at least vaguely.
“Never heard of it,” Tex admits.
“That’s because it doesn’t exist in this world,” Silas resumes, “Not in any way a random person could simply access. It exists on a completely different dimension from the one we’re in now.”
“Hold up. You’re saying there’s an entire different world out there that just exists??”
Silas assents.
“And what? It’s like a secret?”
“Not completely, but very few people of this world are aware of it.”
Tex sucks in a quick breath. This was far from however he expected this conversation to go.
“Okay, so how do you know about it?”
There’s an instant of silence before Silas can no longer stifle what he’s hidden from his son for over sixteen years.
“Because I live there.”
Tex’s brows furrow. “I thought you lived in Tanzania.”
“No, son.” He rests a hand on Tex’s shoulder. “That’s just what we told you.”
“Why did you lie? And why are you telling me now?”
Abruptly, Tex stands, his father’s hand sliding off his shoulder at the acute movement. Silas watches his son pace on the cognac colored wood.
He doesn’t answer the first question, skipping to the second.
“Because you were born there, my son.”
The words ring in Tex’s ears and jerk his feet to a halt.
“You and I are not from this world. And we’re not like other people.”
Silas affords himself a brace he knows he doesn’t deserve. But the fact of the matter is, he knows his and Tex’s relationship will never be the same.
“You’re a synoid.”
Tex blinks. “I’m a what?”
“A synoid. Your body has bionic capabilities, like most of the people in Domea.”
Silence permeates between them. Tex paces once more before stopping and starting again. When he stops once more, he gazes as Silas head on, scoffing. The look he wears is not only of disbelief but also of appalled concern.
“Did you just say I’m a fucking robot?”
Silas’ lips go flat. “Robots are inanimate. Your heart and mind function just the same as they do here.”
The look of trust and respect wasting away in Tex’s face hits Silas viscerally.
“Are you crazy?” It’s asked with a level of cautiousness likened to gently approaching someone mentally unsound. Silas internally shrinks into himself, feeling the utter essence of inadequacy. “You’re not joking right now? You’re serious?”
Silas’s head lowers. “Yes. You’re a synoid.”
“Synoid.” Tex repeats. He tests the word several times, feeling wholly unsettled at the new term.
“Yes,” Silas says once more. He lacks for better words, unable to describe simply what is. “Not all that different from other humans, just with a different genetic makeup. Cybergenetics, if you will. You have heightened abilities; sight, hearing, strength, perception, healing…”
Tex’s mind once again streams in several different directions. His eyes flit with a scoff. “I don’t have any of that.”
“Not here, no. As I said, the world exists in many dimensional paradigms. Your abilities are only active in ours.”
Tex flinches at the word ours.
“So why are we even here? Why are me and mom living in this…” Disbelief pauses his questioning. “Why are we here and why are you in another dimension?” He turns his head back to the closed patio door, straining to see his mother in the inky dark outside.
“For many reasons. The most important being your safety. Cascadia wasn’t always a safe place. Not for you and especially not for your mother.”
This time, Silas peers at the patio door, longing for so many things to have never happened. His mother once told him that a life with regrets is a life thoroughly lived. Sometimes, Silas wished he had never lived.
“Cascadia was not always safe to people who weren’t synoids and many people suffered for it. Even synoids themselves who sympathized. When things came to a hilt, I decided that you and your mother needed to live somewhere away from a world that only wished you harm.”
Silas stands finally. He had sat down, needing steadiness to unleash a long harbored truth. He chances a step towards Tex who stands still, not approaching or sinking back.
“Your mother is a human from this world, which means you are as well. In the same vein, I am a synoid, and that also makes you so. Once upon a time, there were many people who’d ignore that you were a synoid just like them and hurt you simply because part of your ancestry lies here.”
Tex exhales. “I still don’t understand why you had to hide all of this. Why are you telling me now?”
“Tex, you’re barely handling this now at sixteen. I don’t suppose you would’ve handled it any better at what, say five??”
“Well shit, it might’ve been more believable then! You just dropped the craziest shit I’ve ever heard in my life. How am I supposed to react?”
“Son, please,” Silas entreats. “I know that my revelations are neither trivial nor fair, but I have much to tell you with too little time.”
Tex stares, mouth nearly agape. Silence struck, he queries to himself just how much more he could fathom. How much more secrets there were to be thrown at his feet.
“The leadership in Cascadia is mostly structured through lineage. My uncle, your great-uncle, passed away yesterday. He was Cascadia’s Arch, its ruler.”
Even never knowing this family member, Tex’s face creases with compassion at his father’s distress.
Silas continues, “My cousin, Dorion, has abdicated his rightful role in succeeding his father and thus the role now falls to me. I officially assume office in a week’s time.” The spew of his cousin’s name is harsh and striking in a sea of words that’s otherwise said with resignation.
“That’s why you’re telling me then,” Tex’s expression molds in scorn. He chuckles, “You’re off to be some big shot leader in a crazy ass fantasyland and you decide, ‘Hmm, now is a good time as any to tell my son his whole life’s been a lie’.”
“Your life has not been a lie.”
“I have gone my entire life not knowing I’m the prototype to the fucking Cyborg comic books. What else is it, if not a lie?!” He snatches his shoulder back from Silas’ outreached hand, his stormy steps heading towards the stairs. “You can defend your shit all you want, but I deserved to know.”
“You did. You deserved to know, son.” Silas walks over to where Tex has halted near the steps. “And you deserve so much more than being forced into a corner at the drop of a hat.”
Tex’s confused guise briefly wipes away as the patio door glides open. His mother is tear-stricken, the utter portrait of devastation. Ice slides through his veins. In just the past several minutes, Tex has felt his life changed several times over. He looks into his father’s eyes and knows that is has changed once more.
“As the Arch’s heritor, your presence and habitation is required, effective as of this moment, to begin succession training as the next Arch of Cascadia.”
The open, clear glass pivot doors of the Garden of Eat’n bring in a breezier draft that cools the sole restaurant’s patron as he enjoys a late lunch. The man is a mineral collector that works at the nearby pier and the Garden happens to be the closest restaurant for grabbing a quick meal. What used to be a teeming, busy establishment, merely 24 hours prior, is now more likened to a graveyard. A lot of Cascadian citizens view it as deserved. An unspoken message of loyalty to this city’s heritage and an admonishment to the prodigal son who’s abandoned it.
The back office angles off from the kitchen and it’s much stuffier than the front dining area with no windows and deep-colored velvet walls. Dorion Hendrix stands in the middle of his office under a barely working ceiling fan, a figure of calm, despite mourning his late father. He’s looking down at a peridot signet ring in his hand. His father’s. Striking in simplicity with a smooth, gold band. He supposes it’ll be looked upon as an heirloom in the years to come, a precious relic that symbolizes freedom and mobility. Dreams, even. Such a funny, little concept stemming from a land that shackles and stripes.
Dorion thinks he’ll burn the ring. Soak it in colorful chemicals beforehand to ensure that there’s nothing left but scraps.
The sound of approaching footsteps breaks his thoughts.
Draven Slade stands in the doorway. Tall and broad-shouldered, people straighten immediately when he walks into a room. Donning a dark, collared shirt and black boots, he’s got no less than three weapons cloaked in his wardrobe. Hell, he is a weapon.
“Most people have to be dragged out of power. Here you are, rebuking it.”
It’s the most welcome greeting Dorion supposes he’ll get from a man like this.
“People who have to be dragged out, kicking and screaming, were never fit to hold it in the first place.” Dorion expects an insult, maybe a frown. While indirectly, he had just insulted the deceased Arch, his father, a stubborn man, who refused to relinquish his authority, even at 98 years old.
Draven’s gaze is assessing and his expression doesn’t morph an inch even with the scathing words.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” His head dips. “May his transition have been peaceful.”
Dorion grimaces. Doesn’t bother to say thanks. He turns away, turning on the pedestal fan near his desk.
“There’ll be a memorial segment at the inauguration, but the funeral’s tomorrow. Private for family and associates only, but of course, it’ll be streamed to the public.”
“Ah. For the whole world to shed tears and proclaim to anyone who’ll listen about what a magnificent leader he was. I suppose I should be happy, it was what he wanted most, after all.”
To be regaled. To be worshiped.
Talking about him in the past tense feels wrong. Something trembles in his limbs at the thought of someone once so full of life was now no longer more. If Draven captures the hitch of emotion, and of course he does, he says nothing. Pauses for a moment out of respect for his grief before speaking.
“This is everything now that you are executor of your father’s trust,” Draven passes him a thick, enveloped packet. “Obviously the Tower is not up for grabs, but his private properties and personal investments are now conceded to you.”
“I don’t want any of that.”
“Tough shit.”
Dorion scowls, “If I didn’t want to take over his role at the Arch, what would make you think that I want his inheritances?”
“I actually don’t give a fuck what you want. Keep it, give it away. By the looks of things, you might need the money.” Draven’s voice raises as he gestures towards the kitchen. The cook was leaning against a counter, hunched over and reading a book, having not moved since the mineral collector’s meal had been prepared. Draven had walked in and saw a waitress sitting at the bar, searching up job hirings without shame. “You want to abandon your responsibilities, fine, but I’m not here to grant three wishes. Be lucky I even did this.”
Dorion’s jaw ticks. They stare each other down, Draven’s features, daring him to bite back. Instead, it’s Dorion that looks away first. Curses to himself because life is terrible but it’s not worth getting killed in his office for.
His wrist flickers. His Bionex has a message.
The band is a simple, chrome silver and the screen shoots out into a holographic display as he twists his wrist to the side.
The news coverage all day had been relentless with Silas being officially announced as the forthcoming Arch. Draven positioned to be the Tusk. News reports had been alternating between tributes to Arch Hendrix and celebrations of Silas’s ascension.
Dorion nearly flicks his wrist again to dismiss the notification before halting at the headline floating in front of him.
BREAKING: ARCHIVE DATA LEAK REPORTED IN BETWEEN ARCH TRANSITIONS
His eyes race through the article, first pulled to the byline: Restricted substance referenced in redacted documents hundreds of times. He gleans further, shaking his head as he reads further.
A significant data leak, seemingly from the Bureau of Technological Advances, has confirmed what used to be viewed as a debunked conspiracy theory: the government is aware and has had control of a redacted illicit substance for several decades. The leaked documents, a relatively short file of only 30,000 kb, imply that the Cascadian government has experimented with the substance in unauthorized clinical trials dating back to the Desperado era. The Desperado era, of course, includes the Rusville Massacres-
Dorion stops reading. Jerks his wrist so that the article disappears. He glances over to Draven, the perfect picture of calm. It’s only the slight flair of his nose that tells Dorion that the man is murderously livid. He must be suicidal for stoking the fire.
“I guess your first day on the job just got damn interesting.”
Draven cuts his eyes at him, but that’s it. Damn.
“A car will pick you up in the morning for the funeral.”
He leaves without further farewell and Dorion is left to himself, unfamiliar with how to live anymore.
It’s pretty difficult to pack when someone tells you you’re moving to a different country in some other parallel universe. It’s more difficult when that someone is your dad and you can barely stand to be in the same space as him.
His duffel bag lies half open on his bed, a random assortment of his clothes thrown in without care. Shoes. He’s gotta pack shoes. Shit. He needs underwear and socks, too. There’s only so much that’ll fit in the bag that he won on his field day in the ninth grade.
He’s leaving. Moving away. This is really happening.
No more sleeping over at Tyler’s, staying up all night playing video games. No more flirting with the cute girl behind the register at Johnny Rockets.
His life here was over. For how long? A few years until he was an adult and could do whatever he wanted? Until Silas’ term as Arch was finished? Forever?
This can’t be happening.
A soft knock sounds at his door. He shakes out his distraught haze, lumbering over to his door.
When Silas appears from behind it, Tex grabs his favorite pair of sweats from the drawer. There’s only centimeters of space left in the bag and he manages to get it half-zipped.
Silas stays near the door. “You ready?”
“We’re leaving right now?” Tex’ face scrunches up.
“As soon as you’re ready,” Silas nods, looking down. “We don’t have much time.”
Tex sighs, abandoning the zipper. “Mom.”
“She’s downstairs.”
Hoisting the bag on his shoulder, he grabs his laptop and wallet, tossing them into his bookbag. He brushes past Silas on the way to downstairs and immediately sets his bags down.
“You ready?”
Sibyl looks up. She’s slumped at the dining room table, sitting down with no bags nearby.
His hearts plummets.
“You’re not coming.”
A sob forsakes her mouth in the place of saying no.
Tex’s eyes sting. “Please.”
She cries harder. Silas approaches from behind Tex. He leans down, kissing her forehead. Tex shakes his head in confusion. Nothing has made sense since this morning. He’s living a completely different life than when he woke up and now he’s doing it without his mother.
“Why are you doing this?”
“I’m so sorry, baby,” she blubbers and heaves, “There’s so much you don’t understand.”
That’s not my fault, he thinks.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s my fault.” Silas declares.
“Si!”
“What does that mean?”
Tex and Sibyl’s words blend together and Silas speaks over them both.
“She’s not going because I say she’s not going. I’m not giving her the choice.”
Tex starts. “You’re a son of a bitch.”
Silas doesn’t hide his hurt and Tex wishes he could revel in it. But even that feels like too much. He needs his mother. She rises out of her chair, also visibly hurt, but outreaches her arms anyway.
How is he supposed to do this without her?
It’s almost like she can read his mind.
“Everything’s going to be okay, I promise.”
She can’t promise him that, especially because he doesn’t believe it, but he melts into her embrace and pretends he does. Her hand cups the back of his head, an automatic gesture after comforting him hundreds of times.
It lingers and it doesn’t feel like enough when they part.
Tex swallows. “You know you can tell me anything, right? You know that I can handle it?”
“I know that, baby. And I’m so sorry. There’ll never be enough words…”
He nods, acknowledging the apology, though not even in the vicinity of being ready to address it further. Instead, he hugs again, tighter, even though he knows his heart will break just a little more when they part once more.
“This isn’t goodbye. Things are moving fast, but everything’s going to work out. The dust will settle. You’ll see.”
Sibyl looks over Tex’s shoulder to Silas. He only barely registers that the words were meant for him, too.
“You gotta go,” she says as she releases her son.
“I gotta go,” he agrees sadly.
Their hands are the last to unbind. If he looks back, he know he’ll have to be dragged out of his house. So he walks out the door without looking back once.
Tex is too out of it to realize they’re at the local neighborhood park down the block from the house. He’s been trailing behind Silas, his mind running a mile a minute. Too many emotions flair within him, tearing him in ten different directions. Everything is surreal.
He comes out of his daze only when he realizes that Silas has stopped in the middle stretch of grass covering the empty playground. The suburban street’s lights illuminate the surrounding area as he digs into his pocket.
“What are we doing?”
He pulls out a slim, metal square device, almost reminiscent of a floppy disk.
“It’s better to do this away from the houses. These things can sometimes cause interference with the technology here.”
Tex steps closer. “What is it?”
“It’s a Sieve. It’s how we get to Cascadia.”
Silas holds the disk up in the air. The image of the playground ripples like water. It bends and contorts. Silas lifts his other hand and suddenly the playground is torn away like curtains. His father gestures for him to go. He stops him, however, right before Tex steps in.
“It’s going to feel different when we walk through.”
Tex pauses.
Silas explains further. “Your bionics. They’ll activate as soon as we cross the threshold. You’ll understand very quickly.”
And though this is the last thing he wants, though he wishes this day to have never happened, he can’t not feel curiosity, even excitement. He’s being reacquainted to a part of himself he never knew and that part also happens to come with superpowers.
“I’ll be right behind you,” Silas says.
Tex takes a deep breath and then walks through.
It feels like shit.
Like a train has run over his face and the rest of his body has been smothered in fire.
Entering the Sieve feel just like walking through a door, except he feels like he’s been electrocuted as soon as he walked through.
He’s confused on if his body even truly belongs to him.
His knees buckle and an invisible ligature squeezes around his throat.
“Tex.” The voice is clear as Silas is standing right beside him, but so is every other noise. The humming of the light above them. The chirping of insects all the way from outside. The sound of transportation from who knows how far away.
Silas clutches his arm, grounding him, and Tex opens his eyes. When did he close his eyes?
A film is raised from his orbs and suddenly, there’s no speck that’s too small for him. The small layer of grime on his sneakers, the missing piece of chipped paint from the corner of the wall, the microscopic, fibrous septations on the leaves of the plant in the corner.
He hears his father call his name again and he might as well have blared it with a megaphone.
“I’m-“ He inhales deeply. “I’m fine.”
He’s not. Everything feels like too much. He closes his eyes again and the removal of one sense helps moderately.
“Breathe. Just breathe.”
He does as such.
Inhales and exhales hoping it brings his heartbeat to a slower pace.
He can hear his heart beating.
“I’m hot,” he announces suddenly.
“It’s probably your muscles adjusting. Here, let’s get you upstairs and maybe get some water.”
Silas guides them to an elevator. Before the doors open, Tex glances back at the room in which they entered. It’s narrow in width, but cathedral-like in height with lights that illuminate like stars. The floors are obsidian black with lines of gold, almost like circuitry. There’s seating areas and a stand that possesses another of those metal disks. The space is otherwise nondescript and informal.
Tex closes his eyes once again on the elevator, the only thing that’s helping him feel less overstimulated.
“Where are we?”
“The Tower. It’s where w-, It’s where I’ll live as Arch.”
The doors open and Tex realizes he’s got to be damn near close to the clouds with how high up they are. He looks out the window in the hallway and Cascadia sprawls before him. In the night sky, the city should present like an army of glowing ants. Instead, Tex can see the dense verticalities and the sprawling greens, with startling detail. The vibrant colors and the curved buildings. The sky itself seemed alive with movement as a drone passed by. In the distance, he could see what looked like a train traversing on a line heights above the buildings in town.
Cascadia was undeniably stunning.
Silas stands there for a minute, allowing Tex to take everything in. Then, he heads towards the door across from the elevator. Tex watches him hold his hand across an adjacent panel before the door slides open. He hoists his two bags and follows his father inside.
The residence has warmer lighting compared to the hallway which makes things easier on his overwhelmed senses. The floor to ceiling windows give an even more fantastic view of Cascadia than the window just outside. Tex gives a quick sweep around, discerning that the size of the domain occupies the entire floor they’re on. The kitchen, dining room, and living space all blend into one another with low, clean, and functional furniture. With an appraising eye, Tex takes note of the absence of artwork, photographs, or knick-knacks.
Like a jolt, he has the sudden realization that there’s more than just the two presences of himself and Silas inside.
Right when his heart rate ramps up once more, Silas takes a step toward the non-lit kitchen.
“Ah, you’re here already.”
The figure steps out under the living room lights.
Tex starts in shock. “Uncle Draven?”
The man’s face breaks out into a grin. “The one and only!”
It’s been years since he’s seen his godfather in person. The hug is long well-earned. Somewhere in the back of his mind, though a fleeting thought in the midst of thousands of others, he had wondered what all of his father’s lies meant for the stories and connections he’d learned through him. How Silas told Tex how he and Draven met didn’t matter anymore. It wasn’t true, but it felt familiar and comforting that their relationship still held verity.
Draven looks at Silas, chuckling, “This is a grown man! What the hell?”
Silas snorts. “Remarkable, isn’t it?”
Draven pats Tex’s shoulder. “Welcome home.”
Tex stiffens.
“Don’t overwhelm him.” A tinny voice rings from the offshoot sloping off the living room. A petite woman with silky, wavy hair, and in platform stilettos emerges.
“Aunt Serenity.” Tex gapes once more. He had no idea his father spent his every day with these people.
The short woman squeezes Tex, hugging him side to side. “You missed me more than Draven. It’s okay, you can admit it.”
Draven scoffs.
“I’m kinda shocked that you guys are even here.”
“Well, where else would we be, silly?” Serenity turns to Silas. “All your stuff is moved out of your old place. You’ve got the basics already furnished, but let me know any suggestions you have for decor. I’m gonna go ahead and hire an interior designer.”
Silas sighs, “On my growing list of thousands things to get done, decorating this place will be at the very bottom.”
"I don’t understand.” Tex marvels. “Wait, this means you guys are synoids, too?”
“Actually, I’m not. I’m a sanguinx,” Serenity reveals.
“What is that?” Tex tilts curiously.
“Kinda similar to a synoid? Except my parents were both human, so I wasn’t technically born with bionic abilities.” Serenity briefly glances at Silas and back again to Tex. “But that’s a story for another day. We’ll have plenty of time to catch up with each other.”
“Draven and Serenity are both taking positions alongside me. Draven will be Tusk, Serenity the Sine.”
Tex blinks.
Draven chuckles. “We can save the government lesson for when it’s not the middle of the night.”
“Plus one of the classes I registered you in is Government,” Serenity pitches in.
“School. I guess there was no getting past that.”
“Now who’s overwhelming the kid?” Draven twirls a lock of Serenity’s hair before she smacks his hand away.
Silas sighs. “Listen, I know I’ve got a million of things to do, but I think I can be afforded a few hours to settle in and get some sleep?”
Tex tenses again. Leave it to his father to break up a long-earned reunion. Such a petty thing to be angry about in the pile of transgressions.
“That’s a good idea. Actually, do you mind if I debrief with you for a minute before we leave?”
Silas nods, glancing at Tex with remorse.
“Why don’t I take you to your room?” Serenity chirps at Tex. She leads him to the hallway behind the living room. “You totally get a say on decor, too, by the way.”
Tex’s room is wide in its expanse. Even if it were completely furnished, the room would more than likely still create echoes. The bed is huge and after a long, exhausting day like today, he wants nothing more than just to sink in it and sleep his problems away. The walls are a smooth, matte gray with polished wood flooring. The closet, with a panel sliding door, was across from the bed and there was a simple work desk close to the bedroom door.
He drops his bags near the closet, not bothering to unpack a single thing. Not even pajamas, he’d just take off his clothes and leave it in a pile near his bed.
He looks back as Serenity toys with a panel on his wall. It must control the lights as they dim moderately. However, she presses something else, and it’s almost like a gauze dampens his senses.
“It absorbs the noise from everywhere in the house. Like sound proofing,” she explains.
His growing headache doesn’t dissipate but the ache is less nagging.
“Today’s been a long day. If you can, try to get some sleep. Your body will thank you for it.”
Tex hums. “Thanks.”
Sleep is already swamping him as he sits on the bed to chuck off his shoes.
Serenity stands at the door, pauses just slightly before opening it.
“I don’t have any words to comfort you or bring you peace. But fifteen years ago, there were plenty of people who wanted me dead. I don’t kid myself into thinking that there aren’t some people out there right now who wish that for me. But the good always prevails. And it’ll continue to prevail as long as there are people in power who lead and live by what’s right.” She winks at him. “That’s going to be you one day.”
"My life would be slightly easier if you told me that it was you who leaked those documents within twenty four hours of being selected as Tusk.” Silas leans against the massive desk in the center of his newly minted private study. Sitting in the executive chair behind the desk seems too unnatural given that it’s where Arch Hendrix was found deceased.
“Even I’m not that brash,” Draven smirks.
“And not that thoughtless. The timing is terrible. Why would someone wait until the Arch is dead to release government files that paint him in a bad light?”
Arch Liness Hendrix was a well-liked ruler, considered to be fair and judicious. He ruled for over six decades with generosity and a stark calmness, weathering natural disasters, massacres, and a war with ease. His administration rarely encountered controversy and he maneuvered through years of an unruly economy without bringing Cascadia to financial collapse. Now, the megalopolitan that he had helped build into what it is today is closer to a utopia than not. His reward is his name being tarnished directly after his death. Tributes and memorials were now being cut and interspersed with commentary segments regarding the implications of a covert substance being utilized in government trials and Arch Hendrix’s role in such. Silas had his own confused thoughts about why his uncle might’ve signed off on it, but his mind was more so inundated on how to navigate government data leaking before he takes office.
“I don’t know, but it is real. I know that much. I’m having a team look more into it. I’ll check in for a status report in the morning.”
Silas gazes, impressed. “Not even inducted into office yet, and you’re already making moves. I knew you’d be a good Tusk.”
Draven scoffs. “Shut up.” He shuffles his pockets, toying with his lighter. “How’s the kid doing?”
“I guess I should be grateful it wasn’t worse? I just don’t think I was prepared for looking into his eyes and seeing how betrayed he feels.”
“Si, he’ll forgive you. It’s gonna take time for him to understand why you did what you did, but he’s your son. He’ll come around.”
In the meantime, Silas will walk around as a father with his heart outside of his chest. Between his son’s deserved enmity and leaving without Sibyl, he feels like tiny shards of glass are implanting into his chest, removable yet taxing on his soul.
Almost like her essence floats in the air, Draven brings up Sibyl. “Is Sibyl tying up loose ends or-”
Silas gives a pained, disbelieving head shake.
Draven abandons his question, sighing before placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “She’ll come around, too.”
Suddenly, he’s not here anymore. Not in this year and not in this office.
He’s back in a world of horror and bloodshed fifteen years prior.
Draven holding his arm, grasping him as Silas walks alongside him, stunned. He’s shell-shocked.
Other images flash in his mind’s eyes, reminders of the things he’s lost.
He finds her in the aftermath. Sibyl stands in front of him, drenched in blood, head nodding absentmindedly. He walks closer and realizes she’s holding something. Silas looks down at her hand and then on the floor in front of her.
Sibyl’s voice cracks.“I had to.”
To this day, he doesn’t know the full story. Her agony didn’t let for straightforwardness or accuracy.
Sounds. Noise rings in his ears. Sometimes, when he sleeps, the screams stab him into awareness. He’s slept alone for well over a decade and sometimes he still hears those sounds as he lies in bed.
“I didn’t know.” Her voice cracks in a whisper.
He didn’t know what this meant at first. He knows now.
The door behind Draven opens and he shakes his mind loose. Serenity appears, closing the door behind her.
"You’ve got a busy day ahead of you tomorrow, so I’ll keep things short,” she starts, “You have a few briefings tomorrow. The funeral, of course. Plus, there’s this Chancellor summit meeting starting tomorrow. I already told them that you’d be pretty occupied, but maybe you’d be able to make an appearance sometime this week.”
Serenity’s zealous list of tasks subsists and Silas closes his eyes, knowing without a doubt that he’s chosen the right people to preside in this administration along side with. Draven, cunning and forceful, made to be Tusk. Serenity, hyper-focused and pragmatic, the perfect Sine.
When she finishes the intimidating tabulation of action items, Silas nods, arduously.
This is his life, now. Surreality has no time to set in his bones. There’s too much to do.
“Thank you both,” Silas affirms, ready to see them out. “I’ll see you both in the morning.”
Serenity smiles kindly, heading towards the door. Draven pats his back, before following. “You’ve got a security detail now. Someone will be waiting for you when- ”
A startled scream rips from down the hallway.
Silas’ eyes widen with alarm. Serenity and Draven’s expressions mirror his own as they rush out the study.
Sleep fights Tex’s form as soon as his head hits the pillow. He doesn’t bother unpacking a thing, instead opting to take his shirt off and lie in the vast, round bed. It’s his skin against the cold sheets that make him realize the overheated state of his body. There’s tension, too, grasping for purchase in his tendons and ligaments.
The cold is a momentary relief, snapping him out of his frenetic mind.
He laughs in the quiet space. Disbelief settles as he realizes he’s in a place that he hadn’t known existed, mere hours prior. Another world. He looks out of the vast window that nearly takes up the wall, and looks beyond at this foreign earth. Serenity had eclipsed the lights before she made her exit. And yet still, he could squint and recognize some indistinct detail down below at the city that sprawled ahead of him. Curving roads with parked vehicles and strobing neon lights on posters and signs in the thick of the interurban.
This is where he lives now. This is the place that he’s expected to lead in the future.
A metallic taste fills his mouth. He feels his every nerve tingle. The heat suddenly becomes unbearable, deluging his entire body in flames. A stark stabbing kneads his head.
Is he dying? This feels like dying.
His throat feels like it’s closing.
Visions of his mother flood his mind.
He’s dying. He has to be.
He supposes he shouldn’t die quietly. Another twinge of excruciation pierces his temples. He yells, reaching for air, and rolls to the floor. His body tenses into a rigor, he feels himself shaking.
The door bursts open and footsteps shuffle on the floor. Hands and arms grab and touch him. Feel his head, twist his face.
“Tex, can you hear me?”
“Shit. I think he’s going into rejection.”
More footsteps scuff the floors. It’s the sound of high heels rapping against the timbered panels.
“I’ll go get a doc,” Serenity dashes out the room.
Sound begins to muffle, the voices above him becoming subdued. Vision blurs. His heart feels like it beats with intervals of haste and then molasses-slow.
He’s fading.
“Hold on, Tex.”
