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Territory of EverEmber: Lily Beach
22nd Day of Month 6, Year 1628 DG
An empty stretch of land divides the bustling human settlements and the gargantuan ore infrastructure of the Braver complex. The faerie facilities tower over human homes and markets, causing the early morning suns to cast a dark shadow over the igni.
Zakia recognizes a clear division between the human city and the faerie sector from the vessel, as it circles to the southeast corner of the island. As they approach the complex, the comforting buzz of the Radiance along her skin begins to die. She feels suddenly bare and unprotected.
“If all goes according to plan,” Symin says, “they’ll have no idea it was us.”
“If all goes according to plan,” Gina corrects him, “they’ll all be dead.”
Gina’s words arouse memories of Salessa’s hesitation.
The engineers, scientists, laborers. Mega with families, friends, lovers. They didn’t come to die.
Zakia shakes her head to push the words away. The mission comes first, the team comes first. Innocent bloodshed is an unfortunate reality of war. Empathy has no place in battle.
Or does it?
The ship reaches the intended ports. Wooden docks lead directly onto the sandy shore, which rises into a rocky climb up to the Braver complex on a stone plateau. The reconnaissance begins when Gina, Kruga, and Zakia step off the vessel and journey up the rocky island, a short but tedious journey.
The complex is predictable—a mirror image of the processing center on Panaerth. Tall buildings crowded together, the smells of oils and gasses permeating the air, and the controlled clangs of metalwork echoing around.
Bravers stand firm, guarding restricted areas, while scientists and engineers hurry about from location to location. Workers and foremen, dressed in thick black fabric suits, hustle like bees, running in and out of buildings as directed.
The odors pollute Zakia’s senses. “How do they work like this?”
Kruga inhales deeply through the Braver face mask, then moans as he exhales. “Brings back so many memories. We must be close to the labs. Should we start there?”
Gina shakes her head and whispers as she instructs, “If the goal is to cut off production, we need to identify the source of the sacristone and destroy it.”
“Won’t it be alarming to see three uniformed officers wandering around the factories?” Zakia suggests.
“Three, yes. Two, no,” Gina responds. “Patrols make rounds in pairs. You two head to the factories. I’ll try to gain access to the restricted areas.”
Zakia hesitates to split up, but when Kruga nods confidently, she follows. Light perspiration coats her palms when they stroll into one of the towering factories. She pays close attention to how Kruga behaves while undercover, capitalizing on the experience of her first infiltration.
In the center of the tall, wide building is an array of machinery and long metal tables with workers and scientists all around them. Large chunks of dark, raw stones rest on the tables until workers chisel them into smaller pieces.
“We’re in the wrong building,” Kruga whispers.
“How do you know?”
“They’re working on raw ore, the sacristone.” He pauses as his eyes linger on the scientists’ activities. “As fascinating as this is, we need to find the source. There must be a mine or something.”
“How would we find that?”
Kruga’s eyes move to the Bravers lining the walls and entrances. “We need an escort from another Braver—one familiar with the whole complex.”
Zakia rolls her eyes. “No Braver will break rank to give us a tour. Why don’t we just search each of the buildings on our own?”
“The longer we wander, the more unwanted attention we’ll attract. Speed, accuracy, and stealth are the foundations of reconnaissance.”
Zakia’s gaze travels the walls and floors and machinery, searching for a plan, until her eyes fall on a ceiling panel with a flashing red light.
“An emergency,” she whispers to Kruga, pointing to the panel. “If there’s an emergency in the mine, they’ll call Bravers, who will lead us right to it.”
Kruga’s brow furrows. “How do we manufacture an emergency?”
“We don’t. They just have to think there’s an emergency.”
Kruga’s eyes brighten and Zakia feels his smile through his mask. “Follow me.”
He leads her to a Legion Director standing toward the building’s rear exit. When they approach, he speaks to her quietly, but frantically. “Director, we need reinforcements to contain a contamination breach of the raw sacristone.”
“I can’t leave this assignment,” the Legion Director responds. She turns to a subordinate. “You! Go with them to Intake. Use the shortcut.”
“Yes, Director,” the Braver acknowledges, gesturing for Kruga and Zakia to follow. She leads them to a narrow doorway on the far right wall of the factory and down to a damp, semi-lit underground hallway.
“Where’s the contamination?” the Braver asks as they tread through the sticky tunnel.
Kruga clears his throat. “Intake.”
The Braver’s tone grows irritated. “I understand, but in which section of Intake? The hospital, the tunnels, the husking sections?”
Zakia’s heart starts to race, knowing neither of them have an answer. Her thoughts circle around the Braver’s question. A hospital? I thought she was taking us to a mine.
Kruga answers. “The orders weren’t specific. Take us to where Intake begins and we’ll secure each level.”
Their conversation continues, but the voices drown when a painful odor strikes the inside of Zakia’s nostrils. The smell of rot grows thicker and thicker until it becomes a sickening paste dripping down her throat.
And then she finds the source.
Cots, pushed up against the walls of the tunnel, piled high with igni corpses. Men. Women. Children. Stripped bare and dropped onto one another like logs in a forest.
Zakia’s feet freeze. The hairs on her arms and neck rise to attention. Liquid comes up into her mouth, and she purses her lips to contain it. She falls backward against something.
Another stack of rotting human corpses. She pulls her mask down and vomits onto the ground as the half-skeletal face of an igni appears in her mind and won’t go away.
Strong fingers wrap like tendrils around her arm and lift her. Kruga’s voice enters her ears but she can’t make sense of the noise.
“Are you alright?” his voice finally comes through, muffled. He gives her a light shake and repeats the question.
Her eyes move to the unconscious Braver on the ground by her pool of vomit.
“What happened?” she asks Kruga.
“You vomited and she grew suspicious. I had to knock her out.”
“What is this?”
The crimson pixie sighs. “We found the mine. The sacristone is exoskeleton, torn from igni corpses. The tunnels connect to the hospitals in the settlements. Unwell and elderly settlers are dispatched, then funneled here before being taken into the factories to make the sacristone.”
“Dispatched?” Zakia’s eyes grow wide as she realizes what he means.
“They’re killing igni, Zakia,” Kruga confirms. “And tearing the corpses apart.”
Zakia attempts to control her visceral reaction with deep breaths. “What about their families?”
Kruga pauses. “I didn’t ask, but I’d assume they’re told their loved ones didn’t survive their illness or old age, and were taken to be buried.”
Zakia shakes her head. “The igni don’t bury their dead. They’re thrown into a volcano on EverEmber. The families must think that’s where the bodies have been sent.”
“Instead, they’re here. Rotting in tunnels.”
“This is genocide.” The smell creeps back up into her nostrils and her stomach threatens to spill its contents again. “Is this the recon we needed?”
“Not entirely. I need to know how they turn the exoskeleton into ore. Somewhere in this process is the answer to why the ore cuts off our access to the Radiance.”
The infiltrating Mega ascend from the tunnels into another factory. The layout is identical to that of the first: workers and machinery in the center, Bravers patrolling the perimeter.
Kruga walks quickly with calculated attention, taking note of the various work stations, reading the signs to Zakia.
“Section One: Husking.” Cots are carried from the tunnels to a long metal table where the igni body is dropped. Here, faerie workers use an ore hammer and chisel to pry the exoskeleton open and loosen it from the igni body.
Once removed, they break it down further into smaller shards and gently compile it into a cart to be hauled away to the second section, while the gelatinous flesh and organs are dumped carelessly onto a platform labeled “Discard.”
“Section Two: Malleableizing.” The exoskeleton shards are further beaten down until they can be more easily shaped and molded.
The third and final section is populated, not by laborers, but by scientists. They place the fragments of exoskeleton into a machine that resembles an oven. The device melts the shards into a fiery liquid. By the time the exoskeleton leaves this section, it no longer bears any resemblance to its original state.
“Section Three,” Kruga reads the final sign, “Molten Ore Preparation.”
Zakia’s focus falls on the legion of scientists and the absence of Bravers. “Why are we the only Bravers here?”
“This section is a laboratory. It’s just for testing.”
He gestures to a smaller version of the superheating device sitting on the table next to them, shining fragments of raw exoskeleton littered around it.
“How angry do you think Gina would be if I changed the plan?” he asks, eyeing the fragments.
“Gina has one level of anger: extremely.” Her brows furrow. “Why?”
He pauses, gaze locked on the exoskeleton. “I have an idea that could change everything.” He waves a hand to attract a nearby scientist’s attention.
Zakia swallows hard. This is not a good idea.
“Is everything alright, officer?” the scientist asks when she arrives.
“I apologize for taking time away from your research,” Kruga begins politely, “but my colleague and I are enrolled in biochemistry courses in Larso University during the academic season. We’re working on a project that deals with ore and we were hoping to ask you some questions.”
The scientist’s face lights up. “Stuck on this island, we don’t often get the opportunity to impart knowledge on budding scientists such as yourselves. Please, ask away.”
Kruga places his hand on the small machine. “What does this do?”
“It superheats the exoskeleton.”
Zakia sees Kruga physically resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Sorry, I wasn’t clear. I meant molecularly.”
“Ah, yes. When heat is applied to the exoskeleton, the Radiant energy in the molecules polarizes and projects outward. It’s an exoRadiant chemical reaction.”
Kruga’s eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. “Radiant energy? Where do human molecules get radiant energy when humans cannot access the Radiance?”
“Well,” the scientist begins, pausing to gather her explanation, “modern humans do not connect to the Radiance, that’s true. But biochemically, there’s really nothing standing in their way. They still have the molecular structure to absorb, maintain, and project Radiant energy, the way their ancestors did.”
“I see,” Kruga responds. “So the superheating causes the molecules to completely change polarity and act as a negative Radiant energy, which blocks our Radiance.”
“Precisely,” the scientist confirms with a smile.
“What would happen if the exoskeletons underwent the opposite chemical treatment? If they were supercooled instead?”
The scientist strokes her chin. “Theoretically, the opposite polar effect.” She throws her head back and releases a hearty laugh. “Catastrophe! Imagine if the other clans discovered the truth and cooled the ore. We’d find superpowered nymphs and pixies ruling Larso in a matter of hours.”
The scientist asks if they have any more questions, but Kruga, lost in thought, doesn’t respond.
“That’s it for now, thank you,” Zakia interjects, before the scientist returns to her station.
Kruga’s gaze snaps to the rounded exoskeleton fragments on the table, and the superheating device. He whispers to Zakia, “Stand behind me. Don’t let them see.”
Zakia obliges, awkwardly attempting not to draw any attention in their direction, but it doesn’t work for long. Scientist eyes curiously peek up from their work at the two Bravers towering over laboratory machinery.
“Quickly, Kruga, they’re starting to notice.”
“One more minute.”
He continues working as the scientist they were speaking with, and a few others, get up from their stations and begin to move slowly toward them.
“What’s he doing?” come their voices.
“Are those Bravers touching equipment?”
“They told me they’re students.”
“Someone get a Legion Director.”
While the others continue to approach, one of the scientists runs to a nearby lighting panel and pushes it. It depresses under his hand and, when it pops back up, flashes red.
Zakia’s heart pounds in her chest. “Kruga, faster.”
“Almost done.”
Twenty Bravers appear, weapons drawn.
Zakia peers over Kruga’s shoulder. He has removed the back panel of the machine and rewired the connections within. He throws a pebble of exoskeleton into the machine and turns the dial to its maximum. Through the glass door, Zakia watches frost develop on the exoskeleton pebble.
Braver footsteps grow louder.
“Did it work?” Zakia urges him.
“You tell me,” Kruga says. He tears the supercooled fragment from the machine and places it into Zakia’s palm.
There’s an initial sting from the frozen fragment on her skin. Then, a familiar buzz erupts throughout her body; she feels it in every vein, every pore, every cell. Kruga’s theory holds true. The Radiance is born within her and the feeling of powerlessness melts away.
She’s whole again.
A Braver’s blade comes down toward her face. The pixie squeezes the fragment, drawing more energy from it, and the Braver holding the sword freezes.
She lifts her other hand and places her palm slowly and gently against the Braver’s chest. As soon as her flesh presses against him, the Braver’s body explodes, launching organs, flesh, blood, and other organic matter all over Kruga, Zakia, and the onlooking faeries.
But the pixie, miraculously, isn’t disgusted. She’s smiling.