A Few Hours Later…
Carter finds himself in a place that is both a hospital and a sanctuary.
Lady Seraphina’s ward is nothing like the sterile, chaotic emergency rooms he is used to.
The air here is clean, not with the harsh chemical smell of antiseptic, but with the gentle, calming scent of lavender, mint, and something else.
Something that smells like fresh rain and ozone.
The vast, open room is lit by a soft, ambient light that comes from large, glowing crystals set in the high, vaulted ceiling.
They pulse with a slow, rhythmic light, like a steady heartbeat.
There are no beeping machines or tangled wires. Instead, healers in simple white robes move between the beds.
Their hands glow with a soft, turquoise light as they work. Carter watches as one of them hovers her hands over a sleeping Yulian.
She murmurs a string of melodic Greek words, and a visible warmth seems to flow from her palms into the big Russian’s body. It eases the tension from his brow.
Another healer is tending to Paige. She uses a small, clear crystal to scan her body.
The crystal leaves a faint, shimmering trail in the air, like an afterimage.
Carter sits in a comfortable chair against the far wall, a silent observer. He, Ruby, and Akira were sent here to wait for the others to recover.
They hadn’t gone through the Gate-opening trial. The five recruits who went through the ordeal are resting in comfortable-looking beds.
Their faces are pale and drawn, their bodies limp with a profound, soul-deep exhaustion. They are hooked up to IV drips.
But the bags hold not saline, but a faintly glowing, silver liquid that seems to hum with a quiet energy.
He feels a strange sense of detachment, like an outsider looking in. He didn’t share their trial, their pain.
He glances at Akira. He sits a few chairs down, his arms crossed, his eyes closed.
His expression is a mask of bored indifference. But Carter can see the faint, tight line of his jaw, the subtle tension in his shoulders.
He remembers the look on Akira’s face at the end of the trial. Raw, vulnerable fear. Whatever the prodigy saw in his own illusion, it had clearly shaken him to the core.
A new figure enters the ward. He is a tall, slender man with skin the color of rich, dark earth and a face of sharp, chiseled angles.
His long, thick dreadlocks are the color of dark jade, tied back from his face in a high ponytail that cascades down his back.
But it’s his eyes that capture Carter’s attention. They are a startling, vibrant green, the color of new spring leaves.
They hold a deep, ancient calm. He wears simple, olive-green shamanic robes that seem out of place in the clean, white infirmary.
Yet he moves with a quiet, confident grace that commands the space around him.
“Ah, Ruby, good to see you,” he says. His voice is a smooth, melodic baritone with a distinct, rolling Kenyan accent. “How are our new arrivals faring?”
“They’re stable, Anansi,” Ruby replies. A respectful warmth is in her tone. “Just exhausted. The trial took a lot out of them.”
The man, Anansi, nods. His expression is one of gentle, professional concern.
He walks over to Nico’s bed, his movements fluid and silent. He is Anansi Nkomo, Lady Seraphina’s branch assistant.
He hovers a hand over Nico’s forehead, and a soft, emerald-green light comes from his palm.
Nico, who had been stirring restlessly in his sleep, calms instantly. His breathing evens out.
“The soul is a resilient thing,” Anansi murmurs. His accent makes the words sound like a line from an ancient proverb. “But it bruises easily.”
“They will need time to heal, not just their bodies.”
The silence stretches on, thick and awkward. Carter feels the need to break it, to ground himself in something other than his own swirling thoughts.
He turns to Ruby. She is sitting next to him, idly flipping through her Lexanomicon.
“So,” he begins. His voice is a low murmur. “What were you two doing in that meeting when I first came here? The one with the Director.”
Ruby looks up. Her pink eyes sparkle.
“Oh, that? Well, Damien is my supervising instructor for this training block. So, I’m required to be present for any high-level briefings about new recruits.”
“It’s part of my… assistant duties, I guess.” She shrugs.
“Basically, I’m here to make sure you guys don’t accidentally blow anything up and to provide backup for the instructors.”
“So, the people in charge are the Director and the three Branch Heads?” Carter asks. He’s trying to piece together the structure of this place.
“Yup! Okay, so, Library 101,” Ruby says. She leans forward conspiratorially.
“At the very, very top, you’ve got the big boss, Commander Gabriel. He has the final say on everything, but he’s not a dictator or anything.”
“Below him is The Council.”
“The Council?”
“Yeah, it’s our democratic check on power, I guess you could call it. They vote on all the really important stuff, like approving major missions or allocating resources.”
“It’s made up of the Director, the three Branch Heads, their three Branch Assistants, and all the Regional Directors from our safe houses around the world.”
“The whole place is basically built on three main pillars, the three branches,” she continues. She ticks them off on her fingers.
“You’ve got the Scholarly Branch, run by the big, fluffy, and super-smart Sir Agamor. They handle all the research, history, and teaching.”
“Then there’s the Medical Branch, which is Lady Seraphina’s domain. And finally, the Combat Branch, run by General Wulan. They’re the real muscle.”
“Each of them has a right-hand person, a Branch Assistant. You’ve already met the stoic and scary Damien Crowley; he’s Agamor’s assistant.”
“And you just met the super-chill Anansi Nkomo, who works with Lady Seraphina.” She pauses.
A grin spreads across her face. “And then there’s General Wulan’s assistant, Gendric Valhallor.”
Carter’s mind immediately flashes back to the man on the terrace. The mountain of muscle, the web of scars, the booming laugh, and the surprisingly gentle hand on his shoulder.
The Berserker, Killian had called him. It was hard to imagine that friendly old man as the second-in-command of the entire combat division.
“Below them, it gets more specialized,” Ruby continues. She pulls him from his thoughts.
“Under Agamor, you have the Scholars, who spend all their time tucked away in the Great Archive, and the Researchers, who do all the cool, sometimes-exploding experiments.”
“Under Seraphina, you have the Internal Healers, who work here in the main infirmary, and the Emergency Teams, who are like field medics for the combat squads.”
“And under Wulan?” Carter asks.
“That’s where people like me come in,” Ruby says with a proud smile. “The Combat Branch is made up of teams.”
“Each one has a Team Leader, and under them are the Field Agents—the ones who go on missions, fight the Order, and rescue new recruits like you guys.”
“Who’s team are you on?
“Currently none, while I’m assisting Damien. I’m told I’ll be placed in a team after training is over.”
“And at the very bottom, but honestly, the most important level, are the Branch Workers. They’re the non-combat people—the quartermasters, the blacksmiths, the engineers, the cooks…”
“they’re the ones who really keep this place from falling out of the sky.”
“What about Killian?” Carter asks. “He said he had a special status here. He doesn’t seem to fit into any of those roles.”
Ruby’s expression shifts. A look of genuine awe is in her eyes.
“Yeah, Killian is… different. It’s not an official title or anything, but he’s basically a legend around here.”
“That’s why he gets away with being so messy all the time and skipping mandatory meetings that even Branch Heads have to attend.”
Carter remembers the whispers in the council chamber when Killian first walked in.
“Killian Faust! Woah, I’ve never met him. He’s a legend…” The words were filled with a kind of reverence.
“Why is he a legend?” Carter asks.
“Well, he was the only one to…”
“Are they stable?”
Damien’s crisp, business-like voice cuts through their conversation. He has entered the ward.
His presence is a stark, cold contrast to Anansi’s warm, earthy aura. The other recruits, who had just begun to stir, now sit up.
They are groggy and disoriented.
Lady Seraphina enters from a side room. A gentle smile is on her face.
“Ah, Anansi, good to see you,” she says to her assistant before turning to Damien. “They are stable.”
“Their physical energy is depleted, and their minds are shaken, but there is no lasting damage. They are strong.”
She gives Damien a nod. “They are clear to proceed.”
“Good,” Damien says. His focus is not on their well-being, but on their readiness.
He turns his gaze to Carter, Ruby, and Akira. “The rest of you, on your feet.”
“It is time to determine if any of our other new recruits share the same gift as Mr. Cross and Mr. Kendo.”
Damien leads the group out of the infirmary and through a series of pristine, white corridors that branch off from the medical wing.
The air grows warmer here. The quiet, sterile atmosphere is replaced by the faint, musky smell of feathers and hay, mixed with a surprisingly familiar, almost cat-like odor.
They arrive at a large, ornate door made of a dark, unfamiliar wood. Damien pushes it open, revealing a vast, sun-drenched chamber.
They have entered a special aviary. The room is immense.
A soaring, crystalline ceiling allows the pure, unfiltered light of the Sky Dimension to pour in.
The space is filled with the sounds of chirping, cawing, and the rustle of wings.
Dozens of perches, trees, and rocky outcrops create a lush, vertical landscape.
Carter sees magnificent creatures with the bodies of lions and the heads and wings of eagles—griffons—soaring through the open air or resting majestically on the highest ledges.
“Whoa,” Nico whispers. His eyes are wide with wonder.
The others are similarly awestruck. Their earlier trauma is momentarily forgotten in the face of such impossible beauty.
“This is where we house and study many of the Library’s allied magical creatures,” Damien explains. His voice is a flat counterpoint to the vibrant life around them.
“Today, however, we are only interested in its smallest inhabitants.”
He leads them to a secluded section of the aviary. It’s a smaller, enclosed habitat filled with miniature trees and sparkling streams.
Here, smaller creatures, about the length of a man’s forearm, flit through the air or lounge lazily on sun-drenched branches.
They are a bizarre and captivating fusion of two creatures Carter knew well.
They have the sleek, muscular bodies and long, tufted tails of housecats. But their heads and front paws are those of a parakeet, complete with sharp, curved beaks and vibrant, colorful feathers.
“Pygmy griffons,” Damien states. “A mix of parakeet and feline.”
“They are not very powerful, but they have a unique and very useful trait: they are extremely sensitive to the flow of magic.”
“More specifically, to a mage’s spiritual frequency. They can sense a person’s Affinity with a single touch.”
“Each kind of Pygmy griffon has been trained to detect certain language affinities, with almost perfect accuracy.”
“Depending on how they react to you, it can tell not only your affinity but if you are a Resonant.”
“Akira, you will sit this out,” Damien says. “Your status as a Resonant has already been confirmed.”
Akira merely leans against the wall, his arms crossed, looking thoroughly bored.
Damien turns to the rest of the recruits. “Each of you will step forward, one at a time.”
“A pygmy griffon will land on your outstretched arm. Do not be alarmed. They are harmless.”
Yulian, ever the brave one, steps forward first. He holds out his massive arm.
A pygmy griffon with plumage the color of a blue jay and the soft, gray fur of a Russian Blue cat swoops down and lands gently on his wrist.
It tilts its head. Its beady black eyes study him for a moment.
It then lets out a series of sharp, chirping sounds. It begins to rub its feathered head against a small, leather pouch tied to Yulian’s belt, purring like a contented kitten.
“Affinity confirmed: Russian,” Damien says. He makes a note on a small datapad.
One by one, the others take their turn. A small, brown-furred griffon with the bright green head of a lovebird lands on Paige’s arm.
It immediately begins to nibble gently at a woven clover charm she wears on a bracelet. A sleek, black-furred griffon with a vibrant, tropical-colored head lands on Nico’s arm.
It lets out a soft, melodic chirp. Amy’s griffon, a creature with pure white fur and the pale blue head of a budgerigar, simply sits on her arm, perfectly still and silent, as if recognizing a kindred spirit.
Then, it’s Keyona’s turn. She steps forward.
Her expression is a mask of cool confidence. She holds out her arm.
A pygmy griffon with the fur of a black panther and the striking, iridescent head of a starling lands on her wrist.
It looks at her for a moment, then lets out a loud, piercing shriek.
It puffs up its chest. Its tiny wings spread wide.
A faint, shimmering aura of pure white light surrounds both the creature and Keyona’s arm.
The other recruits gasp. Damien’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly.
“A Resonant,” he says. His voice is a low, analytical murmur.
He makes another note on his datapad. The griffon, its job done, flies off.
It leaves a stunned Keyona staring at her arm.
Finally, Damien’s gaze lands on Carter.
“Mr. Cross. Your turn.”
“But… you already know I’m a Resonant,” Carter says. The words leave his mouth before he can stop them.
“I do,” Damien replies. His eyes unblinking. “Your display in the council chamber was… conclusive.”
“However, the pygmy griffons are not limited to sensing a mage’s affinity or their resonance with magic. They also have a keen sense of a being’s fundamental constitution.”
He pauses. His gaze intensifies. “Consider this a simple confirmation of the baseline data. Step forward.”
Carter’s heart pounds in his chest.
Constitution? What the hell does that mean?
He feels a sudden, prickling sense of unease, as if he is about to be exposed in a way he doesn’t understand.
He holds out his arm. His hand trembles slightly.
A pygmy griffon with fur the color of a stormy gray sky and the simple, dark head of a sparrow swoops down and lands on his arm.
It is heavier than he expected. Its tiny cat-paws grip his forearm with surprising strength.
It looks at him, its head cocked to the side. Its beady black eyes seem to peer right through him, into the very core of his soul.
It doesn’t chirp. It doesn’t nuzzle. It simply stares.
Then, a voice, clear and distinct as a bell, echoes not in his ears, but in the deepest parts of his mind.
It is a voice that is neither male nor female, but ancient, and powerful, and utterly alien.
You wear the skin of a man… but you are not one of them.
Carter stumbles back as if struck. A gasp escapes his lips.
He stares at the tiny creature on his arm. His mind reels from the profound, terrifying meaning of the words.
Not one of them?
The griffon lets out a single, soft chirp, as if nothing has happened, and flies away.
Damien is staring at him. A strange, unreadable expression is on his face.
It is not shock, but something else… something that looks disturbingly like confirmation.
“The test confirms what we already knew,” he says. His voice is carefully neutral. “You are a Resonant.”
He looks down at his datapad. His fingers tap a quick, silent note.
“But your case remains… anomalous.”
He pockets the datapad and turns to address the whole group.
“Your Affinities have been recorded. Our two new Resonants have been identified. That is all for today.”
“Your next lesson will be tomorrow morning. Be ready.”
Akira pushes himself off the wall. His expression is one of pure, undisguised annoyance.
“Do I have to sit through any more of this? I’ve already been through this entire process. I would rather be training.”
Damien turns to him. A slow, cold smile spreads across his face.
It is the first time Carter has seen him smile, and it is a deeply unsettling sight.
“Oh, I think you’ll enjoy our next lesson, Mr. Kendo,” Damien says. His voice is a low, almost predatory purr.
“Tomorrow, we move from theory to practical application. Tomorrow… I teach you how to properly fight.”