I wonder if infinity is enough time to heal a broken heart.
9
A SMALL ARENA SITS BEHIND the Colony’s lopsided structure, carved out of rock and soil and stepped several levels into the ground. Strangers gather in the stands, chattering among themselves and occasionally throwing a curious glance toward the ring below, where a long wooden table sits.
Three very distinct objects are perched on the surface. On the left is a crow’s feather, in the middle is an empty bowl, and on the right is a locked box.
I make my way down the stairs, and strangers erupt with compliments and well-wishes all around me, making my cheeks turn scarlet. They treat me like I’m already one of them, but how can I be? They’ve all done this before; they know the rules.
I feel like I’m stumbling through a game I don’t know how to play.
Annika waits behind the table. A hint of yellow scarf sits beneath her braids, and she wears the same worn brown jacket from earlier. But her eyes are brighter today, more hopeful than cautious.
I stop in front of the bowl, eyeing the feather and locked box in turns.
“You don’t need to be nervous,” she says. “This is just a simple test to discover which direction your mind gravitates toward.”
My eyes flick toward the nearby crowd. “If it’s so simple, then why do we have an audience?”
“I told you it’s been a while since we’ve welcomed anyone new.” Annika follows my gaze. “Everyone is very curious about you.”
A few familiar faces appear at the edge of the crowd. Theo and Shura stand side by side, eyes blazing with excitement. Ahmet and Yeong are there too, making their support clear with a simple nod and the wave of a hand. And then there’s Gil, arms crossed and brows knotted together, staring at the floating lanterns like he’d rather be anywhere else.
“Maybe not everyone,” I mumble under my breath, and pull my eyes back to the table.
Annika folds her hands together. “Most of the people in the Colony fall into three categories: the casters, the veilers, and the engineers. Casters have a talent for using their consciousness to seek out power. They can summon elements and will objects to move. With the right training, they often excel in battle. Veilers are gifted with the ability of illusion. They’re able to shift their appearance and make themselves invisible—even from the Residents. And finally, engineers are unrivaled when it comes to making alterations to this world. They are our inventors, our builders, and perhaps our greatest chance at one day winning this war.” She lowers her chin, eyes gleaming. “Are you ready to find out what your consciousness is drawn to?”
I look between each object. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Lift the feather. Unveil the hidden object in the bowl. Unlock the box.” Annika watches me carefully. “And you must do so using only your mind.”
I grimace. “I have to do all three?”
“We don’t expect perfection, or anything even close to it,” Annika offers gently. “We just want you to try. Any reaction, no matter how small, will be helpful.” Wrinkles appear in the corners of her eyes. Signs of an age I’ll never reach. “Remember that being naturally inclined toward one ability doesn’t mean you can’t excel in the others. This is just a starting point, so we can help you reach your full potential.”
I look at each object, trying to figure out if I’m drawn to one more than the other. But I don’t feel any different. There’s no aura of light or magical energy buzzing in my fingertips. I don’t hear thundering drums or feel a rush of wind rippling through me.
I don’t feel like someone who can do any of this.
My body recoils, acutely aware that the entire room is watching me, waiting for me to live up to the title of Hero.
Stop second-guessing yourself and just do something. Anything! my mind scolds.
I position myself in front of the feather and try to push my doubts aside. Breathing steadily, I focus on its shape and its near weightlessness. The iridescent colors shift like oil beneath the light, and I will the plume to move.
But it remains on the wooden table, fixed in place.
Frowning, I try again. And again. And again.
I look up and find Annika watching me like she hasn’t given up on me yet.
I take a breath and move to my right, holding a shaky hand over the bowl. I wave my palm from side to side, trying to lift the veil, but nothing appears. I clear my throat and repeat the motion several times.
“Is something supposed to have happened by now?” My voice sounds like a plea.
Annika’s mouth hitches into a slight frown, but she nods toward the table with encouragement. “Keep trying, Nami. Focus your mind.”
So I concentrate on the veil and imagine it’s as simple as lifting a blanket to reveal whatever is hidden underneath. I wave my hand too hard—it knocks against the edge of the bowl, sending it scattering across the table.
“I’m sorry!” I yelp, lunging out of instinct. But I’m too nervous and my palms are sweaty, and the ceramic slips from my fingers and plummets to the graveled floor, shattering in heavy, chunky pieces. An apple rolls out of the veil, stopping at my feet.
Heart full of panic, I make the mistake of turning toward the crowd. All at once, my senses tune in. Hushed voices carry across the arena like waves of cicada cries, echoing inside my head. Their disappointment is palpable; I can see it in their faces.
I’m not who they were expecting.
Gil is glaring at me harshly from the edge of the arena. I can’t tell if he’s annoyed that I’m proving myself completely useless, or angry that I’m dragging this out.
I place myself in front of the locked box and squeeze my fists stubbornly. My thoughts race like swirls of color, impossible to grab hold of. It’s not over yet. All you have to do is try, I tell myself.
Shutting my eyes, I remember what it felt like to push the shrapnel from my leg. What it felt like to will something into reality.
I imagine a key turning into place and the lock clicking in response. Make it real, I order. Make this work.
My eyes open. The box remains fixed in place, and the lid is closed. Locked.
“I can’t do it,” I say with resignation.
Whispers spark across the crowd. Some of the strangers start to retreat up the stairs, realizing the show is over. Some of them stay behind. I think it might be their way of showing support, but it only makes me feel worse.
Annika sweeps a hand over the shattered bits of bowl, and they rise into the air, floating toward me before landing on the table. With a flick of her wrist, the shards find one another, molding back together until there isn’t a single crack left.
I pick up the fallen apple and return it to the bowl, ears burning.
“It’s unusual for someone to have no control over their consciousness at all,” Annika admits slowly, voice breaking through the horrible silence. Her amber eyes find mine. “Maybe the real question you should ask yourself is whether you want to do this.”
I stare at the table as every emotion bubbles through me, leaving my throat scratchy and hoarse. “How can I want this? I’m not even supposed to be here. I’m supposed to be alive.”
Annika steps around the table and places a hand over my shoulder. “It’s hard enough to accept death when we think paradise is waiting on the other side. So to find out we’re in the midst of a war?” She offers a smile. “I don’t blame you for feeling confused.”