The crowd grew silent.

  Some were bound to voice their indignation at not being selected; others might cheer for those who got lucky. But this time was different. Not even a whisper. They pondered the same question that stole the ground from under Aiden’s feet.

  How’s this possible?

  The Ascension selected a family, a bloodline—mothers, fathers, and their sons. So, if the motes of light selected Irena and Dan, Aiden should have followed suit. It was common sense, a fact written in stone, as immutable as the runes that shone in the obsidian gate.

  Aiden’s eyes wandered absently from face to face, seeking an answer in others—anything that might confirm this was all just a bad joke. Melissa and Tom looked at him with shock. Farther away, two boys his age stared dumbfoundedly at him. One was burly, the other skinny—the Heather boys, as his mother used to say. His enemies of sorts.

  They looked away, and that hurt Aiden more than a beating. Pity… from them.

  “Lords! He’s my son!” Irena shouted, all the fear of Sovran wrath lost in the desperation that cracked her voice. “My son! I’m not going without both my boys.” She grabbed Aiden by the arm and pulled him close.

  “Stop it, Irena!” Aunt Mel tried to shush her, eyes wide.

  Dan started sobbing.

  “Enough,” Estephannia Veron commanded.

  “I gave birth to him! He’s my blood. This gotta be a mistake,” Irena snarled back at the Sovran woman.

  All at once, the citizens around Aiden stepped back, except Tom and Melissa. When a Sovran said it was enough, it was common sense to obey. If they told someone to jump, then the abyss might turn hot before a miner did not comply. But Irena did not care for that one bit; she would not abandon her son because of a silly misunderstanding.

  “Enough!” Golden light shone within Estephannia’s eyes.

  She spoke not with her voice, but inside their heads, and her tone was far from satisfied. Aiden’s knees crashed against the ground, his mouth sewn shut. Those gathered in the plaza followed suit, for there was no choice.

  Aiden noticed how this time the pressure was overbearing, but his mind had only a single question. She’s not my mom? It was the only explanation. The Maker did not make mistakes. The torch, which operated under his might, was also beyond such concepts.

  I’m not her son. But how? Aiden looked at his mother, at the genuine horror and denial on her face, and understood Irena asked the same question. She never knew.

  Dad, what in the abyss did you do?

  “The Maker made his choice. There cannot be a mistake, you dirty ratling.” Calandor scoffed, his annoyance bordering on aggression. “Perhaps you have lost count of the number of cubs you produced or the number of men you slept with, but that is not a matter that concerns us.”

  “How did I ever slight you, Maker?” Estephannia whispered.

  Calandor coughed, looking at the woman with a tinge of fear, and stepped back.

  “The torch traced the ties which lay dormant in your blood, Irena… whatever was your other name,” the Psyker sighed. “I shall not speculate on its outcome, like my most intelligent subordinates, for knowing the truth would change nothing. You, Irena. And you…” The Sovran hummed with a pensive frown. “Irena’s son! Yes, that will work. The two of you, and you alone, were chosen.”

  “You have one minute to say your goodbyes.” Kindness within cruelty. It seemed even Sovrans felt pity. “Finally, we are done. Ah! Thank the Maker,” the Psyker sighed.

  Without words of protest, without so much as an expression on their faces, all the other miners besides Aiden’s family left with abrupt, unnatural steps, as if someone pulled strings to control them. The Sovran stared at nothing in particular, eyes shining like golden spheres.

  “We aren’t going anywhere, son. Don’t mind the lady. We’re not leaving without you, Ai,” Irena told her son. “Don’t matter what they say, you’re my son. My. Son.”

  Aiden bit his lip to hold back the tears. “Hm.”

  Dan hugged his brother’s waist, his little head bobbing up and down in agreement.

  “Mom… they said…” Aiden tried to argue, to urge them to leave, to obey the Sovrans.

  Irena and Dan would live a life beyond the limits of a miner’s imagination—a better life. Eat meat every day, sleep on a proper bed, wear decent clothes. They have to go. I can’t ask them to stay. But Maker forgive him, Aiden felt relief when his mother reassured him of her decision. It also shamed him to his core.

  I’m so selfish. Tears fell like water from a broken tank. But I… I don’t wanna be alone.

  “It is time,” the Sovran declared.

  “We aren’t going—” Irena started, but froze midway.

  Dan stiffened and let Aiden go. He walked past his mother with clouded eyes and a mechanical gait, making his way to the dais. The rage that had filled Irena with resolve abandoned her body in a defeated sigh. Moments later, she followed the path of her younger son.

  “Mom!” Aiden grabbed her sleeve, but his mother did not flinch.

  Miners, Sovrans, Aiden looked for anyone that could make this nightmare end. He did not want to be alone, but worst of all, he could not bear the thought of never seeing his family again. Screw them. To the abyss with the Maker, they are my family! He stepped forward to go after them.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  The Psyker glanced back, the amusement in her eyes gone. “Do not, child. My companions will not overlook your impudence as I have.”

  Aiden froze, unsure of what to do. Her warning was clear. If he disobeyed, the Sovrans would kill him.

  Estephannia Veron raised her head to the Torch. The blue flame inside the crystalline sphere quivered, its elusive movements building momentum until it raged like a pyre in the wind. A solid pillar of light shot down from it, enveloping Irena, Dan, and all the Sovrans on the dais. When it was gone, not a sign of Aiden’s family remained.

  He fell to his knees and sobbed.

  Reasoning rang hollow. I just need to get selected next time. Even though Aiden tried to convince himself otherwise, he knew he faced long odds. Tears dropped to the gray stone below, giving it an even darker tone.

  “I hate them,” Aiden whispered to himself as he cried.

  He did not dare say it out loud for fear of one of the two Sovran overseers of the district catching wind of his words.

  “Do you? I suppose that’s only natural.”

  “Ah!” Aiden swung a fist behind his head with more surprise than anger.

  No one stood behind, but he had heard someone right next to him.

  “Bawling like a lost child. You’re disappointing, son of Korvax von Astrais.” The voice again. It sent chills running all over his back, for Aiden remembered whom it belonged to.

  Rolling away, he swung his head up to look at the speaker. His entire body froze as if Estephannia had once again used her powers to steal his freedom. The elderly man from before, once drenched in blood from injuries incurred in the Beyond, stood over Aiden with a frown of displeasure.

  He was taller than a miner but shorter than a Sovran. His clothes were plain brown, worn but without holes—the sort commonly sold at the fair. There was only one reason for one of them to wear such clothes.

  He wants to blend in.

  “It’s you.” Aiden directed all his bottled-up anger at the elder. “This is all your fault! All because you opened that damned gate—”

  “I wouldn’t go around spouting such careless words. You never know who might be listening.”

  Aiden swallowed hard. The elder was right. “Who in the abyss is Korvax?” he asked, redirecting the topic to less dangerous grounds.

  “Who else but your father? But I suppose he used a different name. Will, if I’m not mistaken.” The elderly Sovran scoffed. “The irony in that.”

  “You knew him?”

  “Yes.” The elderly man sighed, crossing his arms and closing his eyes as if to recall a memory—not a good one, judging by his souring expression. “In another life, he was a friend. It’s a shame he passed away before I could give him one more beating.”

  The elder stuck a hand in his pocket and brought out a simple black ring. “It was your father’s. Now it belongs to you.” He offered it to Aiden.

  The ring glistened with a dark light, as if someone had transmuted coal into metal. No scratches, not a single imperfection marred its fluid surface, which shifted with a black substance that neither felt wet nor stuck to the finger.

  Metal was a rare thing in their district, jewelry even more so. Will had been a miner, so it was impossible for him to afford something of this nature—not to mention Aiden had never seen his father wearing it.

  It’s a scam.

  Dad was not friends with a Sovran. You can go to the abyss, you decrepit geezer. Of course, Aiden did not voice his concerns in quite that manner. The elder, though more approachable than most, was still a Sovran who was plenty capable of snapping him in half.

  The elder raised a white eyebrow at Aiden, throwing a pointed look at the ring.

  “No thanks.” Aiden turned and walked away.

  What do I need a stupid ring for, to get stabbed and robbed at the midmarket? Shove it up your ass, geezer.

  “The life of those you hold dear will depend on this ring,” the Sovran said.

  Aiden stumbled.

  Rage filled him in an instant as he turned around, ready to fight the old man to the death. How dare you talk about my family! A shiver raised the hairs on the back of his neck, for emptiness was all he found behind him.

  He’s gone.

  The black ring alone remained.

  ***

  The Torch had dimmed to a dour orange by the time Aiden made his way back home. That’s what it used to be, anyway. His feet pushed through the streets as if weighted by heavy bags of dirt, but that did not bother him all that much. The longer it took to get there, the better—nobody waited for him there.

  It doesn’t matter if I get there at all.

  The shadows bent at every corner, the only company on his way back. All the miners were back at work, but he dreaded the moment Melissa and Tom sought him out. Aiden wanted nothing more than to be left alone. Today was a sacred day to many. A mourning day to a few. The worst day to him.

  He rolled the black ring between his fingers. It was smooth, pretty, useless—nothing more than a ticket to get into trouble. But the white-haired Sovran’s words had gotten to him, whether he liked it or not, so Aiden decided to hold on to it, even if the man spouted nothing but lies.

  Whenever he heard a voice or someone speaking, Aiden turned into an empty alley and kept going, head low. Some spoke of him, expressing their pity and dissatisfaction at not being chosen themselves. Some spoke of his mother, their words filled with poison and accusation.

  Aiden wanted to cut all the senseless gossip at the root—come swinging and talk later—but he was tired. Nothing makes sense anymore. Their words, cruel or not, held reason. If Irena isn’t my mom, then only dad knows the truth.

  Except he was dead.

  Their expressions, the terror and denial, had been real. Aiden knew when his mother lied, and that was not one of those times. How could Dad do this to us? To me? The way she screamed and begged the Sovrans, the rage that burned in her eyes, told him Irena might have been asking the same question herself.

  Ashes, Dad. What kind of mess did you leave behind?

  The skin on his face was stiff with dried tears. No time for self-pity. If the geezer is speaking the truth... But his words might as well be part of a cruel Sovran plot to deliver further torture. Aiden hated the doubt that made him second-guess every step he took.

  Not daring to put the ring on his finger, Aiden stowed it in his pocket.

  The sound of conversation caught his attention near his home. The door was wide open, and the clatter of things being thrown to the floor echoed amidst laughter. Bastards, picking the leftovers like rats! It was no wonder the Sovrans called them ratlings. Perhaps there was a measure of truth in it, though Aiden was reluctant to admit it.

  With gritted teeth and white-knuckled fists, Aiden entered his home, ready to spill blood. Not even hours had passed, and they already thought his belongings were up for grabs. At this moment, he wanted nothing more than to knock some teeth out, if only to relieve his rage.

  “Hey—” Aiden choked on the word as he saw them. As he saw him.

  Pristine white vestments, a giant stature that made them tower over adults. The two Sovran overseers. They had to bend their backs so their heads did not hit the ceiling, but Aiden only had eyes for the man in the back—the blond-haired Sovran with a sharply trimmed beard and blue eyes colder than a windy night.

  Hatred stole all reason as Aiden saw the man who killed his father.