11
The next day, I find myself once more pulled aside by Elysand.
His eyes sweep over me, taking in my injuries—the deep purple bruising around my eye and cheek. He shakes his head silently.
“Is there something you want to tell me, Nykander?” he asks softly.
“No.” I shake my head. “No.”
“Did anyone in the department do this?”
I shake my head again, more urgently. “No—no, please don’t think that. It was my fault. I was walking home yesterday and saw some people arguing. After one of the males was pushed to the ground, I went over and asked if he was alright, if he needed help. But he went completely crazy and started punching me. I’m not exactly sure what happened. His eyes were this strange mix of black and red?—”
He raises a hand, stopping me.
“Black and red?” he asks.
“Yes. And there were small black veins creeping into his skin. I don’t know if he was deranged or suffering from some illness, but he easily overpowered me.” I finish explaining, reluctantlybut honestly. There’s no point in feeling ashamed. Everyone knows about my lack of strength after all…
“I see. Was this in the mortal district, by any chance?”
I stare at him, wide-eyed. “How did you know?”
His lips press together. “Do you know what Zantrax is, Nykander?”
“Zantrax?” I repeat. The word is unfamiliar. “No. I’ve never heard of it.”
“Zantrax is a synthetic drug made from the essence of an immortal. There are dealers on the black market who hunt immortals, and harvest their essence to create it. Mortals use it to temporarily gain immortal abilities. It gives the user increased speed, strength, sometimes other abilities as well. But it doesn’t last long. Because of its synthetic nature, and the way immortal essence is processed into a potion, it’s highly unstable. The user becomes addicted very quickly.”
He looks at me knowingly. “You most likely encountered one such addict. You don’t need to feel guilty. But next time, learn to avoid them.”
I keep staring at him. “That’s possible?” I whisper. “Someone can harvest the essence of an immortal?”
He nods. “This isn’t only happening here in Tartareia. I’ve heard reports of similar cases in Aperion. Some even say the drug originated there.”
“It originated in Aperion…” I trail off.
“Yes,” he interrupts. “It is as you think. Aperites have far more stable cores than we do. If an immortal Aperite’s essence is harvested, the drug is still dangerous, but it doesn’t cause the same madness.”
He continues, “In Tartareia, our cores are unstable. When a Tartarian immortal’s essence is harvested, that instability is extracted as well. Over time, it drives the user further into madness.”
I frown. That isn’t what I was thinking about at all—but I don’t say that. I don’t want him to realize just how little I know about my own kind, or about Aperion.
I spent most of my formative years in seclusion, afraid to go outside at all. I had a library to occupy myself, but there were few chronicles on Aperion matters—and even fewer on the instability of Tartarian souls.
“When you say our cores are unstable,” I ask carefully, “what exactly do you mean?”
He looks at me strangely, then exhales. “Given your stats, I’m not entirely sure how this applies to you specifically. But once a Tartarian immortal reaches one thousand five hundred years—or achieves the third level—their core destabilizes. The only way to stabilize the soul is through the consumption of other energy sources—souls,” he adds. “I’m sure you’ve heard of that.”
Consumption of souls.
“Yes,” I say quickly. “Yes, I know about soul consumption.”
“You’ve never consumed one, have you?”
I shake my head immediately.
“You may not need to,” he says. “If you haven’t felt the urge yet, I doubt you will in the future. You’ve reached your majority too… But I do wonder how that will affect your immortality.”
