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The white blaze in his eyes was gone, leaving only his wide silver stare. He looked down at his hands. Tried to summon a spark. Daven saw the muscles in his forearms tense, but nothing came.

“Did you think it was a work contract that brought you to Helion?” Milanov said. “You were summoned. And before you accuse us of keeping you blind, we were going to tell you once you were stable enough to hear it. Guessing wrong could have broken you faster than waiting.”

Ryneth stared at him, chest heaving. “Summoned?” he said, like the word meant nothing. “What the fuck are you talking about? Why would I be summoned? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Ryneth, I have no need to lie to you.” Milanov’s gaze didn’t waver. “I am the Imperial of Helion, and I have you exactly where I want you.”

Daven watched as Ryneth swallowed. The muscles in his throat jumped. “And… where’s that?”

“Home.”

Ryneth opened his mouth again, but Milanov raised a hand. “This is Zimeon. You met him in the medical wing. He is our family doctor and head of our lab.”

“Yeah, I know him. He was there when they brought me in.” Ryneth swiped sweat from his forehead and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear.

Zimeon smiled. “Oh no, youngling. We’ve known each other for twenty-one years.”

12

RYNETH

Ryneth could barely stand. The static had left his limbs trembling, his strength wrung out of him. He wanted a bed, sleep, oblivion, but he was still here in enemy territory.

Summoned.

The word kept hitting him. A golden device hissed in the corner, opium drifting through the air, and he dragged it in, chasing the sweet burn of it. His chest shook, breath leaving him in short, fast gasps.

“Let me explain. Please.” The doctor gestured to the couch. “Sit down. You are safe here, Ryneth. No one’s going to hurt you.”

Ryneth wasn’t so sure of that. The message on his multi-slate was proof that danger was looming in the darkness, but his legs gave out and he couldn’t refuse Daven’s outstretched arm as he was pulled back into his seat.

“You were born here, on Helion, and sold to the Imperial family as a baby.”

“I—what?” Ryneth nearly toppled down the couch. “I’m from Helion?”

Zimeon nodded. “People always want symbols, Ryneth. Someone to follow. Someone to worship. Someone to blame.”

Ryneth frowned. “What does that have to do with me?”

“In order to give the people what they wanted, we developed a serum,” Zimeon continued. “A biological enhancement designed to create figures people would follow without question.”

“We call those enhancements Dariux,” Milanov added. He’d lit a red-cinder cigarette, smoke curling from his mouth. “You are Dariux, Ryneth.”

Ryneth shook his head. “I don’t get it. What do I have to do with this?”

Zimeon gave him a small smile. “There is no easy way to say this, I’m afraid. We bought babies for testing and injected them with the Dariux serum before sending them off-planet into foster placements. We⁠—”

“Wait.” Ryneth raised his hand. “You kidnapped me?”

“Aethera.” Daven squeezed his thigh. “That’s what he’s saying.”

Ryneth watched as the doctor spoke but could only hear the words rattling in his own head.

Sold. You were sold. Like the trash you were.

“Why?” he heard himself whisper.

“Because survival was part of the trial,” Zimeon explained, not answering his question. “If the child lived, the Dariux matured with them. And once it matured enough, it created a pull toward Helion. Not by chance, and not by some holy design. By the body remembering where it had first been altered.”