Page 6 of Interion

“No, you filthy little slut. Not yet. We haven't even started the best part.” The torturer took a few steps closer, and I heard chains moving. Like snakes, they climbed up my legs and coiled around my thighs, tightening until they buried themselves in my skin. “I wanted to break more bones, but I think you'll leave me before that. I don't want you to miss the fun.”

My consciousness came and went. My body was limp, my heart beating like a hummingbird's wings. The pain in my wrists was unbearable, but worse still was the pain in my lung, radiating through my chest. I began to cough. At first, just a weak fit. But soon blood started coming up between the spasms. The broken rib had punctured my lung, and now I faced a slow death by asphyxiation.

I heard sounds of battle, and above my head, the wooden slats creaked. The man approached and carved a word into the skin of my right thigh with the blade. I didn't feel it. I was already beyond pain. Death had spread its mantle over me.

“Now, the final act.” He grabbed my dress and tore it from the waist down. “It will be a beautiful work of art when I'm done with you.”

His large fingers gripped my waist to hold me in place, pressing against my hip bone. I closed my eyes. I felt no pain, but I didn't want to watch my entrails spill across the floor. I had witnessed this kind of torture before, and it was the worst way to die. I felt him positioning the knife and…

A devastating power crashed against my body.

It was like a thick, black avalanche covering the world. At first, I thought it was death itself, and my relief was so great that I relaxed into it, let it take me over. I opened my eyes. Tears ran down my cheeks, but there was nothing in front of me but shadows. They seethed around me, seeming to watch with countless eyes. It was as if the universe itself had exploded in the cellar. I still felt blood leaking from my nose and soaking my half-torn dress, but the pain was gone.

In all my imaginings of death, I'd never pictured it being so gentle. So I claimed it and surrendered in ecstasy. Dying was easy; life was nothing but endless complications. In the distance, I heard the sounds of a fight: bones being crushed, blood spurting, a body falling. Then the chains released me. The world struggled to come into focus, and a man caught me in his arms before I hit the ground.

Despair seized me with full force when I realized I wasn't dead. Where were the shadows? Where was the absence of pain? I wanted to scream, but my lungs wouldn't let me. Footsteps echoed on the stairs—from the murmur of voices, it sounded like a group of soldiers.

“Let me handle this one, General,” a woman said, stepping closer.

“Stay back!” the soldier warned. Some shadows surged toward the woman, and an unnerving silence filled the air.

“Who are you?” the stranger asked, turning his attention to me. He watched me, but my vision wouldn’t focus. His hands cradled the side of my face, his touch full of anguish. “What’s your name?” There was urgency in his voice, a deep and immediate terror.

I reached out to touch his face. Since I couldn’t see clearly, I wanted to feel the shape of his features, the texture of his skin. It was smooth and warm, a stark contrast to my icy hands.

“What did they do to you?”

I couldn’t quite place the emotion in his tone, but it sounded like sadness, which made me wonder why he hadn’t ended my life—since that’s what he was there to do. Still, it was a pity to meet him under circumstances like these. The stranger radiated a powerful aura, but not a wicked one. On the contrary, it was gentle. He pressed me against his chest.

“Tell me your name,” he pleaded, his whisper almost desperate.

My eyes rolled back as I fought to keep them open. Summoning every ounce of willpower, I managed to move my lips, remembering who I was before I became nothing.

“Ky…” I whispered breathlessly, unable to finish. I tried once more. “Kyller.”

That would probably be my last word, and I liked that it was my name. Remembering who I was felt like a final act of resistance.

The man brushed his hands over my cheek and wiped away the tears cascading down. In that moment, something unusual happened. My eyes managed to focus on his, and what I saw was perhaps a parting gift. They were the most exotic colors I’d ever seen. Blue eyes flecked with green. Beautiful as the deep ocean. Fearless as war.

The stranger stood, carrying me in his arms and pressing me against his chest.

“Please, Kyller. Hold on.”

As I passed out, the shadows exploded around me. His eyes of war were the last thing I saw.

Chapter 2

Five years later.

I hurried across the plaza, bag tucked under my arm. I was late for work, and the central hospital was always slammed on Saturdays.

Around me, the nation of Interion blazed with color, hummed with sound, and swirled with scents. As my heels clicked across the white stone pavement, I tried to clear my mind of what had happened at dawn: another episode of post-traumatic stress. When would this ever end? Terrible dreams about the past still burned through me, and even though I'd been seeing psychologists, the nightmares kept coming back to haunt me. That was why my eyes were swollen from crying this morning, even after I'd spent an hour trying—and failing—to cover it up with makeup.

I crossed the street toward the hospital and got honked at—I'd been too distracted by thoughts of the night terror. The driver of the electric car was a blond fae, an Interian. The moment he spotted my red hair, he shouted:

“Go back to the forest, savage!”

I lowered my head and pretended not to hear. Over the years, I'd gotten so good at this that sometimes I wondered if I should've studied acting instead of medicine. I took a deep breath and tuned out his look of disgust. I knew I shouldn't let it bother me—after all, it was just another normal day for a descendant in the nation of colors.