Page 307 of Interion

“I love you… son.” Zion curled up like a pup at the revelation. He didn't want to hear that, not now, not when everything was falling apart. Still, those words carved deep into his soul. “You gave meaning to my life when I didn't deserve one… I know it's late for this conversation…”

“Don't say that,” he shouted through his tears, holding his father's body, which was beginning to go limp in his arms.

The psychic's eyes softened and shone with warmth, despite the violent rain and the death already lurking.

“Promise me you'll live a life without regrets, boy.” Serguei coughed, and his whole body shook in a spasm. Then his hand traveled up Zion's chest and came to rest over his heart. “Live by the desire in your heart… Protect our people… Protect our Kyller.”

Zion grabbed his hand against his chest and squeezed, unable to make any sound but sobs.

“Promise.” He coughed again, and his chest barely moved. There were no stars, no moon. Only the storm raging above, reflected in his eyes.

“Without regrets,” Zion answered, feeling shattered. He watched Serguei's chest rise one last time.

“I have nothing more to teach you, child…”

Zion felt it. He felt death lurking in the forest shadows, could see the tendrils clinging to Serguei's body. Time had run out. His father had always warned him it would. The psychic looked at him through half-lidded eyes.

“My…” His voice faltered, barely a whisper. The sound of raindrops drowned out the words, and lightning still cut across the sky, making the life in Serguei's eyes shine as if it weren't ending. “Son.”

The strong hand went limp, and the body slackened in Zion's arms. He watched it all in a state of profound horror and grief.

“Father,” he called, squeezing the man's cold hands. “FATHER…”

Something clicked in his mind. Again, Zion screamed at the force with which the memories returned. Not only his own stolen memories, but also a massive flood of information from the psychic's mind, a final transfer: Serguei was passing on the knowledge of an entire lifetime.

Abruptly, Zion locked that door; he didn't have the headspace to deal with it now. Trapped in his spiral of pain, he continued calling for his father, for his trainer, for his protector, for his master, but time had run out.

The rain continued to fall, and Zion remained hunched over the lifeless body, crying and calling for his father like the child he once was. He didn't scream, as Serguei had when he lost Ravena, because screaming was the way of storms, and Zion was not a storm. He was an ocean.

So he just stayed there, begging for the man who would never return. He felt like waves breaking on the shore, calling to the sand in hopes of recovering all the particles lost to time. He let the salt of his tears carry everything away.

“Father…”

He had discovered the weight of the word, but it was too late.

Chapter 75

After what felt like an eternity of tears, grief, and mourning, the rain stopped. Zion regained enough clarity to understand that all the tears in the world wouldn’t bring Serguei back—and that Kyller was alone in the house, vulnerable and still unconscious. He forced himself upright, sliding his arms beneath his father’s back and knees. Then he rose from the mud, screaming at the agonizing pain in his torn muscles, and carried the psychic. Step by step, he crossed the small forest as dawn began to break and made his way to the cabin.

He laid Serguei’s body on the rustic wooden table in the kitchen and stood motionless in the center of the room for a long moment. His mind and body seemed unable to communicate. He searched for some feeling within himself, but he was numb to everything—as if some malignant god had disassembled him and put his pieces back in the wrong places. Perhaps it had locked his nerves in a lead box and thrown it into the ocean.

He turned and, breathing deeply, walked toward the stairs. With each step, drops of rain mixed with blood and mud fell from his clothes and splattered on the floor. He opened the carved wooden door and saw his partner unconscious on the bed. He approached, listening for her heartbeat. All he could do was pray that heart would keep beating—and that when she woke, she would still be his Kyller.

Defeated, he walked to the foot of the bed, then stopped, paralyzed by what he saw: sunlight streamed through the stained glass, illuminating her body. The arm that had once been a stump was now whole. But it was different—the skin there was darker. The freckles had disappeared, and golden-glowing runes covered it everywhere.

Anxious, he tried to reach his partner’s mind through the bond, but the bone barrier held fast. It would be impossible to break through, and the only person who could have managed it... had died. He pulled back and tested his own shadows. Nothing. Not a single tendril under his command. Zion felt powerless without his abilities. The shadows were part of him, and being without them after everything that had happened felt like having vital pieces of himself torn away. He didn’t know how to live without them. He felt like a child learning to walk, to speak, to be… to exist.

He had no way of knowing how many more hours she would sleep. But one thing was certain: time was not on their side. At any moment, the king could send a squad to search for him or to seal the destroyed section of the wall. They had to leave the city, and if Kyller didn’t wake up, he would have to carry her. With that in mind, he set about preparing.

He ran through a quick mental list of everything he needed to do. He grabbed a painkiller from the first aid kit Serguei kept in the cabinet and swallowed it. Then he gathered anesthetic applicator pens and used them on his thighs and arms to dull the pain from his wounds. They were emergency medications designed for soldiers in battle—a stopgap to keep them walking or fighting even when gravely injured, until medical attention was possible.

Soon he was downstairs, shovel in hand. His father deserved far more than he could give him right now, but the only thing he could manage was to dig a grave and bury him with dignity. He had to keep his mind focused on the work to avoid thinking about the psychic’s death, or what Kyller had faced, or Kiara suffering mutation, or the meaning of Kaori’s betrayal—let alone the shadows that no longer answered his call. He didn’t know how to deal with all those problems at once, so he avoided dwelling on them. In the end, the work helped him focus on what was necessary, not on what was beyond his reach.

After burying his father and covering the grave—not as shallow as he would have liked—he climbed back up to Kyller’s room, limping and groaning. The stillness of the situation was beginning to terrify him, especially since he was injured and no longer had powers to defend her. She needed to wake up soon.

He took a quick shower and, hissing with pain, wrapped bandages around the cuts and wounds from the battle. Everything still burned like lava and didn’t look good at all, especially since Zion wasn’t giving his body time to heal. He had been awake for two days straight, and sleep was the last thing he could allow himself. Ignoring the pain, he searched the house for supplies. Luckily, there were weapons in the basement, where he used to train when he was younger. He found bags and old clothes in the closet: uniforms belonging to Serguei and Ravena, from the late Night Squad. Finally, he added the canned foods stocked in the pantry.

He was searching the bookshelf for the red volume Serguei had tasked him with delivering when he heard fabric rustling. An anxious chill ran down his spine as he turned toward the sound.