Love left the library with the books stacked neatly against her chest, steps unhurried, posture relaxed.
On the surface, it had gone well. Better than expected.
Solace Wright was… different from the rumors. Quieter. More deliberate. Not the sort to ramble or overshare. Blind, yes, but not fragile.
As she walked down the long glass corridor connecting the library wing to the central halls, her reflection followed her in fragments. Black hair tied loosely at the nape of her neck. Black eyes that looked bored if you didn't know how to look closer. Uniform pristine. Expression neutral.
She replayed the conversation in her head, just to check for inconsistencies.
Languages.
Origins.
Ishtara.
Most first-years asked about combat manuals. Or heroic campaigns. Or ranking systems.
That wasn't suspicion-worthy on its own.
But combined with Ishtara?
A probability formed.
Maybe he saw something, she thought.
Or read something he shouldn't have.
Not enough to act on. Not yet.
She adjusted her collar again as she descended the stairs. The academy buzzed around her, students passing in clusters, laughter bouncing off-white stone. Someone waved at her. She waved back without breaking stride.
By the time she reached her dorm building, the sun was already lowering. Gold light cut across the courtyard, painting the academy walls warm and harmless.
***
Night came the way it always did.
Love didn't return to her room after dinner. She waited until the halls thinned, until the night staff began their predictable routes. Then she slipped out through a side passage, walked beyond the outer gardens, and descended a stairwell that did not appear on any map.
The door at the bottom opened with a muted hiss.
It was a facility. A supply and intelligence base operated by the Church, close enough to the academy to monitor it, far enough to remain deniable.
White lights hummed softly overhead.
The air smelled of antiseptic, metal, and something faintly burnt.
Several guards stood along the corridor, armored and silent. None looked at her for long. They never did. Not out of respect, but because she wasn't worth curiosity anymore.
One of them gestured toward a side room.
"Lab Three," he said.
Love nodded once and walked in.
The room was small, windowless, and sterile. A single chair sat in the center, bolted to the floor.
"Welcome back," a voice said mildly.
Three men waited for her.
Dr. Havel, thin and sharp-eyed, adjusting his glasses as if preparing for a lecture.Dr. Morren, broad-shouldered, sleeves rolled up, hands already gloved.And Archivist Pell, older than the other two, his bloodstained coat worn like a badge of seniority.
They looked at her the way scholars looked at a failed experiment they hadn't given up on yet.
Love sat down without being told.
The collar around her throat activated instantly.
A soft hum.Then pressure.
It felt like invisible fingers pressing along her spine, each vertebra acknowledged in turn. Her breath hitched once before she forced it steady.
Restraints followed.
Cold metal clamped around her wrists. Ankles. Chest. Thighs. Straps tightened with mechanical precision, pinning her in place.
One. Two. Three.
Pain came next.
Electricity surged through the chair, violent and immediate. Her muscles seized so hard, her back arched despite the restraints. Her jaw clenched, teeth grinding together as a hoarse sound tore itself from her throat before she could stop it.
She tasted blood.
Don't cry. She told herself.
Crying made it worse.
"She's adapting," Dr. Havel said calmly, watching the readings flicker across a screen. "Resistance to the countermeasure has increased by twelve percent."
Dr. Morren clicked his tongue. "Unacceptable. Increase voltage."
The second shock was worse. Not stronger, but longer. It crawled through her nerves, lingered in places that made her vision blur and her hands shake long after it stopped.
Archivist Pell leaned closer, his gaze lingering too long on her face, then lower.
"Such a waste," he murmured. "All that power in something so… disobedient."
Love said nothing. She focused on breathing. In. Out. In. Out.
Havel said suddenly. "Split."
Her stomach tightened.
"Now," Morren added, impatient.
She closed her eyes and complied.
The air beside her shimmered, then tore.
A clone formed. An Avatar.
Her body fractured and split into two. The second her clone separated, Its hair began to change. It started to burn and turned red, the same thing happened with Its eyes.
The Fire Avatar cracked her neck and spat on the floor.
"Oh, look," it sneered. "The cowards in coats want to play again."
Morren swore. "Hostile response again."
Pell smiled thinly. "How unbecoming."
The avatar laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "Unbecoming? Motherfuckers, You strap her down like an animal and expect manners? Fuck You! Bastards"
"Silence," Havel said, tapping a control.
Pain slammed into Love instantly.
Not electricity this time.
Something deeper. Vibrating through her essence itself. She screamed before she could stop herself, back arching violently as the fire avatar flickered, destabilized.
"Control your split," Morren barked.
The avatar snarled. "Try it."
Another pulse.
Love's vision fractured into white shards. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill.
Don't cry. Don't give them that.
She forced the split back into herself. The heat vanished, leaving only cold and shaking muscles behind.
Pell stepped closer again. His gaze roamed freely now, predatory. "You see, girl," he said softly, "you belong to us. Your will, your body, your power. Even your suffering."
His fingers brushed her chin, lifting her face.
She did not pull away. She could not.
"Remember that."
The collar tightened.
She bit down hard enough to draw blood again.
The session continued. Testing. Punishment. Observation.
By the time they released her, her limbs trembled uncontrollably.
"Dismissed," Havel said, already turning back to his notes.
Love stood on unsteady legs and walked out.
The night air outside was cold. Clean in comparison.
Love walked through the academy park slowly, each step deliberate. The path curved around a small lake, its surface smooth and dark, reflecting the moon. A single large tree stood near the water's edge, branches heavy and unmoving.
She paused there, leaning briefly against the trunk.
Her body hurt everywhere. The kind of pain that sank into joints and stayed.
That was when she noticed him.
Solace stood several meters away, alone on the grass. Cane set aside. Posture steady. Movements careful but deliberate. He was practicing footwork—slow steps, measured turns, pauses between motions, as if listening to something only he could hear.
A Blind was training.
What a joke. Something rose in her heart. A feeling that came from the bottom of her heart.
Envy.
Love watched for a few seconds. Then she looked away.
She didn't have the energy to care tonight. Whatever mysteries Solace Wright carried could wait until tomorrow. Until four o'clock. Until she had slept and reset herself back into something functional.
She pushed off the tree and continued toward her dorm.