Chapter 10

  Peace.

  Or at least, something close to it. For the past week, Xander’s world had shrunk to the size of his pillow and bed. He rolled over, clutching the pillow tightly to his chest. The fabric wasn’t the fine silk of the palace linens, but it was familiar—it smelled like home.

  Outside, Solari’s streets buzzed with life as always, the sounds of distant conversations and clattering footsteps filtering in through the window. The city’s restless rhythm had always been a comforting backdrop for him, but now it only added to the spiral of thoughts looping endlessly in his head.

  Xander was so over everything. The walk home from the palace had been a nightmare. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so exposed. People had stared at him, their eyes lingering a little too long, their whispers just loud enough for him to catch fragments of his name. The familiarity of Solari, the streets where he’d once slipped through crowds unnoticed, now felt foreign. Even the people he knew—neighbors, shopkeepers, old friends—looked at him differently. Their gazes were full of emotions he couldn’t quite name.

  By the time they reached the shop, Xander had practically bolted to his room, the comforting scent of paint and turpentine grounding him the moment he stepped inside. He collapsed onto his bed and stayed there, exhaustion pinning him down like a heavy blanket.

  At first, the lethargy could be explained away. The transformation, the shock of everything—his body and mind simply needed rest. But by the third day, it was clear there was more to it than that. He didn’t want to get up, didn’t want to leave his room. His prize money from the competition—thirty gold coins pouched neatly on his dresser—might as well have been a pile of rocks for all he cared.

  Even Eric reaching out didn’t move him. His parents had mentioned that Eric wanted to schedule their one-on-one time, but the thought of picking up a brush felt pointless. What did painting matter when he had this stupid card? What did anything matter when his future might involve a ship and an unknown continent no one dared to set foot on?

  The thoughts pressed down on him like stones, each one adding to the weight that kept him anchored to his bed. He barely ate, barely drank. His parents left food at his door every day, coaxing him to at least try, but even that felt like too much effort. A soft rumble vibrated through his stomach, making him debate getting up.

  Nah.

  He rolled over again, letting himself sink deeper into his bed, the world muted by the softness of his pillow.

  The faint creak of the door broke the fragile quiet. Without lifting his head, Xander muttered, voice muffled through the fabric, “Not right now Mom…”

  “Wow. This is pathetic.”

  Xander froze, his whole body stiffening at the unmistakable voice. He turned his head, glaring toward the doorway. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Jor’dan stood there, arms crossed and utterly unimpressed. His eyes swept over the room, taking in the chaos: discarded clothes strewn across the floor, empty food wrappers cluttering the desk, and an overall air of neglect hanging in the space.

  “Your parents told me you were in a funk,” Jor’dan said, voice dry as sandpaper. “But this? This is just sad.”

  Xander groaned, flopping back onto the bed and waving him off like an annoying fly. “Just leave me alone. I’m not in the mood for this right now.”

  Jor’dan didn’t move. Instead, he approached the bed, wrinkling his nose in clear disapproval. “Dude, when’s the last time you showered?”

  Heat rose to Xander’s cheeks, and he buried his face in the pillow with a groan.

  “Okay, that’s it.”

  Before Xander could protest, he felt himself being hauled to his feet, Jor’dan’s grip firm and unyielding. Xander stumbled, blinking up at his friend in disbelief.

  “You’re taking a shower,” Jor’dan said, his tone brooking no argument. He shoved Xander toward the dresser. “Then you’re coming outside with me.”

  Xander’s irritation flared. He turned back, jaw clenched. “I said, I’m not in the mood for this.”

  “Hurry up,” Jor’dan replied flatly, as if Xander hadn’t spoken at all.

  Their gazes locked, Xander’s defiance meeting Jor’dan’s unwavering determination.

  When Xander didn’t move, Jor’dan’s expression darkened, his patience evaporating. Without a word, he strode to the dresser, yanked it open, and grabbed the first set of clothes he saw. Tossing them over his shoulder, he turned back and gripped Xander’s arm, dragging him toward the door.

  “Let go of me!” Xander growled, digging his heels into the floor like a stubborn child being dragged to a punishment.

  Jor’dan didn’t slow. With a strength that felt more like a force of nature than a person, he tugged Xander along until they reached the bathroom. The tiles were cool beneath his feet as Jor’dan shoved him inside, his posture uncompromising. “Shower. Now,” he commanded, arms crossed, his glare daring Xander to argue.

  “I’ll do whatever the hell I want, and right now? I want you out of my goddamn—”

  Xander’s words ended in a startled screech as Jor’dan grabbed the hem of his shirt and yanked it off with ease. His face went crimson as Jor’dan’s hand moved toward his waistband, the horrifying realization of what was happening hitting him like a slap.

  “Okay! Okay! I’ll shower!” Xander yelped, his voice cracking slightly.

  Jor’dan let go, stepping back and crossing his arms again, his expression as stern as ever. “Five minutes,” he warned. His tone was low and threatening in a way Xander didn’t know Jor’dan was capable of. “If you’re not done, I’m coming in and washing you myself.”

  With that, Jor’dan turned on his heel, the door clicking shut behind him.

  Xander let out a long sigh, leaning against the wall to steady himself. That was way too close. Shaking his head, he peeled off his pants and stepped into the shower. The warm water hit his skin, washing away the grime of the past week.

  Still, he couldn’t help but grumble under his breath. “He really was about to strip me like a damn kid…” He shuddered at the thought, his cheeks still warm with residual embarrassment.

  Jor’dan had always been like that—hands-on and relentless. Ever since they were kids, he’d made it his mission to drag Xander out of his funks, no matter how stubborn he got. Being four years older seemed to have given him an inflated sense of authority, and Xander swore Jor’dan enjoyed bossing him around just a little too much.

  As he finished his shower, drying off and dressing with slow, begrudging movements, he tried to shake the irritation clinging to him like soap scum. Opening the bathroom door, he found Jor’dan leaning casually against the wall, a smug smirk tugging at his lips.

  “Wow. You don’t smell like shit now,” Jor’dan said, his tone dripping with mock approval.

  Xander’s eyes narrowed, his irritation flaring anew. “You think this is funny? You crossed the line, dude.”

  “The line?” Jor’dan snorted, pushing off the wall to face him fully. “The line was crossed when your parents asked me for help.”

  Xander blinked, the words finally sinking in. They asked for Jor’dan’s help?

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  “They were worried about you, man,” Jor’dan continued, his smirk fading into a more serious look. “You’ve been locked up in here, not eating, not moving… If your parents have to get me to drag your scrawny ass out of bed, then yeah, I’ll cross whatever line it takes.”

  “Tch,” Xander sighed, rubbing a hand down his face before leaning against the wall as well. “Whatever, I’ll bite.”

  Jor’dan grinned and pushed him gently down the foyer. His hands faintly kneaded the muscles in Xanders shoulders—the pressure somewhere between encouraging and insistent. Xander grumbled to himself, the soft creak of wood holding their weight as they walked down the stairs and into the main shop.

  The smell of burning sage and lavender incense greeted them in the shop below, mingling with the soft murmur of his mother’s voice as she performed a reading for a customer in one of the private rooms. The atmosphere was familiar, comforting in its way, but Xander barely noticed, his thoughts still tangled in the weight of everything he’d been trying to escape.

  When they stepped outside, the bustling energy of Solari Vale hit him full force. The sunlight made him squint as his eyes adjusted. There were still glances—curious, and fleeting in his direction. It was an improvement from the intensity of the week before, but the awareness of it still made his skin itch—his gaze firmly finding the ground.

  Jor’dan tugged at his arm, guiding him through the crowded streets. The man’s pace was steady, and Xander didn’t bother questioning where they were going; Jor’dan’s priorities were predictable—if they weren’t heading to food, then it would be food-adjacent.

  And of course he was right. They turned the corner, Xander catching sight of a restaurant’s weathered sign swinging gently in the breeze, its visibility flickering in between the throngs of people in the street.

  “I’m not really hungry,” he mumbled, though the low rumble in his stomach betrayed him. It wasn’t entirely a lie—he wasn’t sure if he had the energy for food, no matter how badly his body needed it.

  Jor’dan completely ignored him, steering Xander inside without breaking stride. The earthy, welcoming interior of the restaurant came into focus—the walls painted in soft greens and browns, accented by planters brimming with herbs. Vines were hung from the ceiling, some trailing down the walls, their lush greenery blending with the natural light streaming through wide windows. It was a pretty calming place.

  Xander glanced at Jor’dan, still surprised he’d picked this spot. For someone who usually thrived on meals that involved at least half a pound of meat, a salad-centric place like The Greenhouse seemed oddly out of character.

  The host, an older man dressed in olive-green overalls and a crisp white shirt greeted them with a warm smile. The surprise flickering across his face as he took in Xander’s appearance wasn’t lost on him, eyes obviously landing on the top of his head. He thankfully seemed to quickly recover, the mask of professionalism reasserting itself.

  “Welcome to The Greenhouse. Table for two, or are you expecting more to join you?” the host asked, his tone polite and friendly.

  “Just us,” Jor’dan replied gruffly, his hand lightly pressing Xander’s shoulder to guide him forward.

  The host nodded and led them deeper into the restaurant. Xander kept his head down, focusing on the polished light wood of the floors instead of the inevitable glances being cast in their direction. He could feel the weight of passing stares, their curiosity subtle but persistent.

  The booth they were shown to was tucked in a corner, half-shaded by the long, looping vines cascading down from above. The natural sunlight filtering through the windows created a soft, dappled effect on the table. It should have been calming, but Xander still felt an edge of discomfort.

  It was only a few minutes after they were seated that the waiter arrived. Jor’dan, without missing a beat, ordered for both of them before Xander even had a chance to open his mouth. The move grated on Xander’s nerves, but he bit his tongue, letting out a quiet huff.

  As the waiter walked off, Jor’dan turned his full attention to Xander, his dark brown eyes narrowing in assessment. “Alright, spill. Besides the—” He pointed toward the wheel hovering behind Xander’s head, “What’s got you all moped up?”

  Xander groaned, slumping further into his chair as he exhaled heavily. “It’s everything,” he admitted, running a hand through his short buzzed hair. “The wheel, the vision, the stares… It’s like this constant weight. I can’t even breathe without someone looking at me like I’m not me anymore.”

  Jor’dan nodded thoughtfully, his fingers scratching absently at the lined beard on his chin. “Yeah, I figured. I wanted to check in with you after all that palace shit, but guild business came up. Some of the men needed extra hands, and you know how it goes.” His voice softened as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Listen, Xander, I get it. Shit’s weird right now. Trust me. You remember when I was chosen?”

  Xander blinked, his mind flickering back to that chaotic day years ago. Jor’dan had burst into the shop, arms literally on fire, frantically waving them around like he was being chased by demons. It had been one of the only times Xander had ever seen his friend genuinely panicked.

  “Man, I was a mess,” Jor’dan admitted. “Didn’t sleep for days after. And it wasn’t just me, either. You remember that kid from your class? The one who got picked for a card?”

  “Jonathan,” Xander supplied. The memory of the boy was bittersweet—Jonathan had always been calm and collected, but after receiving his card, the pressure had broken him. He’d had to take counseling just to keep himself together.

  “Right,” Jor’dan said, his tone dipping. “It’s not easy for anyone. Everyone’s got their way of dealing. Some people fall apart, some fight it head-on. Me? I had to learn to lean into the chaos and make it my own. You?” He gave Xander a knowing look. “You’ve always been the type to bottle it up and keep it all inside. It’s not gonna work forever man.”

  He sighed as the salads landed on the table, the vibrant greens and roasted toppings gleaming under the light streaming from the windows. A quiet settled over them as they ate, the sounds of utensils clinking against plates filling the space between them. There was more to say—Xander could feel it—but for now, his hunger won out. And the truth was, the salad did look delicious.

  Minutes passed in silence before Jor’dan finally broke it, his tone soft yet edged with resolve. “You’re gonna need to learn how to fight,” he said, stabbing a forkful of greens. “Especially if what your mom said is true. I ain’t letting you get yourself killed out there, on some damn ship, because you weren’t prepared.”

  Xander froze mid-bite, his eyes snapping up to meet Jor’dan’s. “What? No. No way. Nope,” he said firmly, shaking his head for emphasis. “Hells, I’m not even leaving Solari! None of that bullshit can come true if I just dont leave.”

  Jor’dan’s gaze darkened, his fork clinking softly against the edge of his plate as he set it down. “I don’t care what you think,” he said sharply. “Anything could happen. You feel it, don’t you? The tingling coming off me?”

  Xander huffed before nodding reluctantly, memories of his conversation with Maurice surfacing—the way card holders could sense each other. The tingling he felt from Jor’dan wasn’t as strong as Maurices but it was there.

  Jor’dan leaned forward, his voice dropping an octave as his words took on a weight Xander wasn’t ready to bear. “You think we’re the only ones who feel that? Just humans? What about the animals outside the walls, huh? You think they don’t sense it too?”

  Xander’s stomach tightened as Jor’dan continued.

  “If you ever leave these walls—and let’s be real, something’s gonna force you to one day—you’re gonna get attacked. Some beasts are harmless, sure, but others... Others are hunters. They don’t just hunt for food; they hunt for energy, for power. And you—” He jabbed a finger in Xander’s direction, his voice hard as stone. “You’re prime prey.”

  Xander shuddered at the thought of facing one of the beasts outside the walls. “As long as I don’t leave the walls, then it won’t matter,” he muttered.

  Jor’dan snorted, his expression knowing. “Don’t think I didn’t do my research,” he said sharply. “What happens when you start getting some tugging bullshit you can’t ignore? What if the damn wheel forces you to go? What then? You’re just gonna roll over and die?” He started to scowl, his frustration palpable. “I’ll be damned if that happens, so you’re training with me. That’s final.”

  Xander’s irritation flared, the heat rising to his face. He opened his mouth, ready to lash out, but the waiter’s arrival interrupted him—the bill in hand. Jor’dan handed over the coins without another word, standing up and gesturing for Xander to follow.

  I’m not some damn dog, He thought while grinding his teeth, standing and clenching his fists as he trailed behind. His irritation simmered, building with each step. Xander was sick of Jor’dan bossing him around like he had no say in his own life. It was absolute bullshit.

  As they weaved through the bustling streets, Xander found himself marching with a scowl plastered on his face. He barely noticed the young girl approaching him, her wide eyes filled with innocent curiosity.

  “Hey mister—” She began.

  “Fuck off,” he snapped before he could stop himself. The words left his mouth like venom, and guilt hit him immediately, heavy and sharp.

  Jor’dan’s head whipped around, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. Without a word, he strode over, grabbing Xander’s arm with firm grip, and dragged him into a nearby alley.

  “What the hell is your problem?” Jor’dan growled, shaking him slightly as his glare bore down on him.

  Xander opened his mouth to retort, anger bubbling to the surface, when a strange sensation rippled through him. It was like a thread being gently pulled from deep within his chest. It tugged him, faintly but insistently, to the left.

  He tried to ignore it, his jaw tightening as he prepared to argue, but the feeling surged again, this time sharper and more forceful. A voice—his own, but faintly foreign—whispered into his mind: Move.

  Xander’s teeth ground together as he obeyed, stepping sharply to the left. The wheel behind his head clicked audibly for the first time, the sound echoing in his ears.

  Before he could fully register anything, a flower pot crashed down two seconds later, shattering against the ground where he’d just been standing. Dirt sprayed across the alley, shards of pottery scattering in every direction.

  “What the—!” Jor’dan jumped back, his wide eyes darting between Xander and the mess on the ground. “Dude you good?” he asked, concern and confusion clear in his tone.

  “I’m so sorry!” A voice shouted from above, he looked up—a young man leant out of his window, waving in apology.

  Xander’s stomach twisted in knots as his eyes flicked back to the shattered pot. His breath came short and shallow, his mind racing.

  What the hell was that?