17. Sariel

17

SARIEL

I stand at attention, my wings folded neatly behind me as I face my superior officers. Their faces are stern, devoid of any warmth or compassion. Not that I expect any – we're xaphan, after all. Emotions are for the weak. For humans.

"We've been quite disappointed," the General begins, his voice strong and hard. "The bloodshed hasn't been quite as intense as we had hoped. The final trial approaches, and we need to ensure that all the humans fail. Spectacularly."

His guards move among the overseers, handing out rolled parchments. None of us dare move, keeping our eyes forward as we wait for orders.

The General paces a few steps before stopping, his golden eyes gleaming with malice. "We've designed a series of... let's call them 'enhancements' to the trial. Your job is to implement them without raising suspicion. Take a look."

We shift, unrolling the parchments. I scan the contents, my eyebrows raising slightly as I take in the details. This is… There's no hope of surviving this.

"Impressive," I murmur, though the word feels heavy on my tongue. "This will certainly crush their spirits."

"That's the idea," another overseer chimes in. "We can't have them actually succeeding, can we? Imagine the chaos if humans started sprouting wings."

The General nods. "Exactly. But remember – subtlety is key. We need to maintain the illusion that they have a chance. Hope is what keeps them coming back, what makes them entertaining."

"And we don't want to lose one of our most profitable games," a soldier next to him adds.

"Precisely," the General agrees. "Humans are simple creatures. Give them a glimmer of hope, and they'll endure anything. It's what makes them so... useful."

"You'll need to adjust these on the fly," another soldier explains, and I assume he's one of the ones that made the adjustments. "Watch for any humans showing promise and... discourage them."

The General rocks back on his heels, a satisfied look on his face. "Excellent. Now let's make these games one to remember," he says in way of dismissal.

As I turn to leave, my mind races with the possibilities. The thrill of orchestrating their downfall should excite me.

Instead, an uncomfortable knot forms in my stomach. Not for the humans or the games or even my disloyalty.

For Lyra.

At the thought of anyone trying to harm her. Violence claws up my throat as I consider that one of these overseers will delight in her pain, and I'd rather slaughter them all tonight rather than give them the opportunity to do so.

I storm down the corridor, my wings twitching with agitation. The parchment in my hand feels too heavy, each word a death sentence for the human candidates.

For Lyra.

I put as much distance between me and the other overseers as possible as the rage builds. Once I'm finally alone, I spin toward an alcove, letting my anger out.

"Fuck," I growl, slamming my fist against the wall with all the force I can muster.

The stone cracks under the impact, splintering like ice, but I barely notice the pain. My knuckles throb, a dull ache that can't compare to the rage burning through my veins.

"Someone's tense," a voice calls out, dripping with amusement.

I whirl around, wings flaring instinctively, to see Zephyr leaning against the opposite wall. Her smirk, that infuriating, knowing curl of her lips, makes me want to rip her wings off and watch her fall.

"What the fuck do you want?" I snarl, my voice low and dangerous. My hands clench at my sides, itching to lash out again.

She pushes off the wall with graceful ease, sauntering closer like she hasn't a care in the world. Her wings, pristine and white, twitch slightly as she approaches.

"Just wondering which human has you all worked up," Zephyr muses, her violet eyes gleaming with curiosity. "That blonde one, perhaps? The one with the fire in her eyes?"

Her words hit too close to home, and I fight to keep my jaw from clenching as I fight to maintain control. Snapping was already too much of a sign that she was pushing me the wrong way.

I want to reach out, to grab her by the throat and squeeze until I feel her windpipe break. The urge is almost overwhelming, but I manage to restrain myself.

Instead, I give her a malice-laced grin, my golden eyes narrowing. "She's good for warming a bed. Don't confuse that with anything more." My gaze deliberately tracks over Zephyr's body, lingering just long enough to make my point. I have no interest in her, and I don't want to start that idea in her head. "Common problem for you?"

Zephyr snarls, her pristine white wings twitching in agitation. "Don't think I haven't noticed that you've been training her, almost like you think the little human has a chance." I raise an eyebrow, my only answer to her taunt. Her violet eyes glitter dangerously as she leans in closer. "I'll be sure to make her death... memorable."

Red flashes across my vision, and for a moment, I'm certain I'll snap. But I wrangle it in, forcing my face to remain impassive. I refuse to let it show, refuse to let anyone see how much Lyra means to me. It's the only way I can keep her safe .

"I think that's the goal," I drawl, injecting as much boredom into my voice as possible. "But I'm glad to see you can listen. It's a rare quality these days."

Huffing, Zephyr storms away, her wings flaring out behind her. She's clearly upset not to get a rise out of me, but I'm no fool. I won't play into her hand.

As I watch her retreating form, I can't help but clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms. Standing in the silence, I'm left alone with the crushing weight of my orders and the knowledge that Lyra - vibrant, determined Lyra - is marching towards her death.

And I'm supposed to ensure it happens.

I stalk back to my quarters, my wings twitching with barely contained rage. The parchment in my hand feels like it's burning through my skin. I slam the door behind me, not giving a damn who hears.

"Fuck!" I roar, hurling the scroll across the room. It bounces off the wall, unrolling as it falls to the floor. The orders mock me from where they lay.

I pace the length of my room, running my hands through my hair. My mind races, searching for any loophole, any way to give Lyra a fighting chance without outright defying my superiors.

"There has to be something," I mutter, scanning the parchment again. My eyes catch on phrases like "adjust as needed" and "discourage promising candidates." Maybe... maybe I could interpret those loosely?

I grab a quill and some blank parchment, scribbling down ideas. If I'm subtle enough, I might be able to soften some of the harsher elements. A slightly less potent poison here, a fractionally wider safety margin there.

But as I work through the list, my heart sinks. Every potential loophole I find is too small, too insignificant to make a real difference. The trial is designed to be insurmountable, and any changes I could safely make wouldn't be enough to save Lyra.

I crumple the paper in my fist, frustration boiling over. "Dammit!" I slam my hand against the desk, leaving a splintered dent in the wood.

The consequences of outright defiance flash through my mind - stripped of my rank, my wings, maybe even my life. And for what? A human who might not even survive anyway?

But then I see Lyra's face in my mind, her determination, her fire. The way she looks at me like I'm more than just another cruel xaphan. The thought of that light being snuffed out...

I slump into my chair, the weight of my impossible situation crushing down on me. There's no way out, no clever solution that will save her and keep me in the clear.

For the first time in centuries, I feel utterly helpless.

My wings twitch with agitation. Lyra's face haunts my thoughts, her determined blue eyes boring into my soul. The weight of my knowledge - of the sabotage, of the impossibility of her success - threatens to crush me.

Especially when I lied to her face about it yesterday.

"What the fuck am I going to do?" I mutter, running a hand through my hair. I should be reveling in the upcoming carnage, in the inevitable failure of these pathetic humans. Instead, all I can think about is how to keep her safe.

I slam my fist against the wall again, wishing the pain would fucking ground me. I do relish in the sharp pain that shoots through my knuckles, but it doesn't provide the clarity I wish it did.

"Get it together," I growl at myself. "She's just a human."

But even as the words leave my mouth, I know they're a lie. Lyra's not just a human. She's... something else. Something that's crawled under my skin and into my chest.

And I want to keep her there.

I could warn her. Tell her about the sabotage, about the impossibility of her task. But the moment the thought crosses my mind, I see the betrayal in her eyes. The disgust when she realizes I've been complicit in this farce all along.

And beyond that... What then? Even if she believes me, even if she forgives me, what good would it do? She'd still be trapped here, still be forced to participate in a trial designed to kill her.

No, warning her would only serve to ease my own conscience. It wouldn't save her.

I sink into a chair, my head in my hands. When did I start caring more about a human's safety than my duty to the xaphan? When did her life become more important than my position, my standing among my own kind?

The realization hits me like a physical blow. I care about her. More than I should, more than I ever thought possible. And now that care might get us both killed.