Morgan Hudson – the shining star of our community, has released his treatises this morning. In his writing, he details all of the ways the Council has failed us in their leadership. Morgan and his followers believe in a non-violent approach, but it is clear that the Council must change. With a leader like him, political change in inbound. – Julia Nash 676 Anno Imperi Ortu

“Your power is quite incredible,” Dante praises me. He’s been pacing around the room since we arrived, seemingly trying to work up the nerve to speak. For the entire car ride, he had remained silent. I’m surprised that this is what he finally says, and I don’t know exactly how to respond.

“Um, thanks,” I respond slowly, looking down and feeling inexplicably embarrassed. I don’t know why I’m so uncomfortable, but something doesn’t seem right about the entire situation.

I was ready for him to tell me how Battle School will begin or give me a lecture about the secrecy of my new role. I was prepared even to defend my position although I’d earned it. Seeing Dante look this weak and confused, however, was not something for which I had planned.

“You know,” he sighs, sitting in a chair next to me. He straddles the chair backwards, resting his arms on the back and leaning forward against it. “I grew up powerless.”

“What?” I cough. The surprise tears away any discomfort or even sense of etiquette. I lean forward and await his explanation. He solemnly laughs and nods.

“I know. It was so long ago I almost forget myself. When I was your age, I didn’t know I had a power. I couldn’t feel pain, but that was a medical condition. It was different then, of course. Inheriting powers wasn’t as much of a guarantee as a possibility. There were so many like me – unpowered children of powered parents. No one thought it odd.”

“But you’re the Deathless,” I mutter as if he isn’t aware.

“Yes, exactly,” Dante agrees. “What do you think it takes for someone to learn that they can’t die?”

I stare at him silently. It takes a moment for me to realize that his question wasn’t rhetorical, but by the time I process that fact my mind is unable to formulate an answer. Finally, he comes to my rescue and continues his explanation.

“You have to die,” he answers. “You can’t know your power before it’s activated.”

“Of course,” I stammer. I don’t know what his intention is behind the story, but I also don’t want to interrupt him to ask. I try to quietly absorb all information possible from Dante.

“We couldn’t have expected your power. No one would have tested for it. We didn’t see until now,” he continues, finally drawing the parallel. I stare blankly at him, unwilling to reply. If I agree with him, I would be scolding my leader. If I disagree, I would be undermining him. Neither option seems particularly enticing, so I abstain from speaking at all. Instead, I choose to allow him to present his own conclusions while I actively listen.

“We’ve told you that you were Powerless for your entire life. I can’t imagine what stress that put you under. We should have wondered. We should have pressed – searched for the power. We should have accepted the possibility of something external You’d be surprised how easy it is to get caught in one’s ways.”

“You couldn’t have known,” I stammer, finding myself trying to comfort him. He’s right. As my leaders – as people I admired – they should have taken an interest in developing my power. They shouldn’t have let it go unaddressed for so long. However, Dante doesn’t need me to tell him that.

“That’s the easy excuse, isn’t it? I’m truly sorry, Carson. I should have mentored you. I swore I’d never make this mistake again, but here I am.”

“What?”

“I should have been there. This is why we only assign Class I status to those who have a direct Council mentor. The status is meant to be applied to the most powerful of each class. It’s an easy way for us to see who needs help understanding their powers.”

“It’s fine,” I stammer. I’m beginning to feel extremely uncomfortable as Dante seems so vulnerable. I also feel a confusing amount of anger welling up within me. He’s supposed to be powerful – someone I admire. I’ve adored the Council for my entire life, and Dante is their flawless leader. I don’t want that perception broken.

“I’m going to help you from here on out, Carson. I’ll get you into any school you’d like,” he promises. Suddenly, the realization crashes down upon me. This is why he’s acting so strangely – he isn’t accepting me into Battle School.

He’s been walking on eggshells as he tried to get to that point. Is he afraid of me? No, that’s ridiculous. He’s just treating me like a child. After everything they’ve put me through. I need to breathe. I try to calm down. Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions.

“What do you mean?” I ask, biting back my anger. I have to give him a chance to explain.

“Your test results came back,” he answers slowly.

“I failed?” I snap. I don’t care about etiquette or composure anymore. I was beaten and bleeding in that Arena as I tried to prove my place. Now, despite my victories and my struggles, they’re telling me I don’t deserve it.

“No, no of course not. There are so many variables – this isn’t about you at all.”

“Why did you put me through Phase 4 if I’d already failed?”

“The results were being analyzed and discussed among our top psychiatrists. It took time. I promise, I’ll get you into any school –”

“Except Battle,” I cut him off.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs.

“Leave me alone,” I growl. I need space. The Council is wise, and I know they wouldn’t do anything without a reason. Still, it’s hard to justify that mindset right now. I just need to breathe and digest this information without his condescending attitude. I’m sure I’ll eventually see the wisdom of his decisions. Except that Dante is admitting it was a mistake. How am I supposed to believe the mantra that the Council doesn’t make mistakes when Dante tells me otherwise?

I’m too confused to process all of the information. I want to have faith in my leaders – why is Dante trying to make me question it? Is this another test? Is there a secret Phase 5? Maybe I have to prove I can handle rejection.

“Calm down, Carson,” he soothes.

“Calm down?” I scream, laughing bitterly. Dante’s chair shakes. The walls clatter and a painting falls to the ground. I can’t control the energy anymore. My mind is too cloudy. If this is another test, I know I’m failing – but that knowledge only serves to create more panic.

“Carson…”

“Get out!” I scream. The door flies open and Dante’s chair is flung through it. He reacts quickly, stepping up before he’s swept away.

“I’ll let you process,” he sighs. He turns to walk away but looks over his shoulder to add, “I’m truly sorry, Carson. I wish it hadn’t come to this.”

As he closes the door behind him, I notice a strange smell. Something is wrong, but I can’t figure out what it is. I’m tired suddenly. I want to stand and leave, but my muscles won’t cooperate.

I blink and suddenly everything is different. Krista Mullen, the Council Intellect, sits across from me. I feel lethargic and confused. Had I been dreaming?

“Oh, you’re awake,” she chirps. She sounds happy, but I think I detect the slightest twinge of fear in her tone.

“What’s happening?” I ask.

“We’re just getting your paperwork ready,” she tells me. “I need a blood test.”

I glance toward her and see a syringe full of a clear liquid. I’m still tired, but I try to formulate coherent thoughts. I resolve to avoid telling her about the dream. No benefit could come from me telling her that I thought Dante Amar had apologized to me.

“That’s a full syringe,” I manage to tell her, staring at the liquid in the needle. I haven’t had many blood tests done, but a simple understanding of physics informs me that she can’t take my blood without first emptying the liquid present. I don’t think that’s standard practice.

“It’s a contrast agent. This will change color when it binds to your powered cells within your blood to show us your true potential. It’s standard procedure for all Battle School applicants.”

“So I am going to Battle School?” Confusion getting the best of my rationality.

“Of course, why wouldn’t you be? You won round 4.”

“Yeah,” I mutter. I’ve already broken my resolve to keep completely silent about the dream, and it’s wavering further. I need to know if any of that truly happened. Maybe I can be subtle about it. “Dante just seemed to feel differently.”

“Oh, that was a misunderstanding,” she consoles. So it wasn’t a dream. “He thought you didn’t want to attend Battle School because you left after the match. Your reaction convinced him otherwise.”

“Why did he say he didn’t want it to come to this? Come to what?”

“To choosing you a different school, of course,” she replies calmly. “It’s okay, Carson. Not everything is a conspiracy. I know it’s been hard. Now, can I proceed with the blood sample?”

Mindlessly, I offer her my arm. My mind is still hazy, but Dante’s tone had in no way implied what Krista claims. In fact, he had explicitly said the opposite.

I feel the needle prick my arm and the contrast agent enter my veins. As my brain starts to work again, I try to piece together the confusing conversation. She needs a contrast agent to measure my powered cells. That doesn’t make sense. They would have tried this earlier if it were true. There is no way to detect power or potential from DNA. Power cells in itself sounds ridiculous. Dante may not have been lying, but Krista is. Why is she fabricating some explanation?

I feel myself growing fatigued once again, and my strength begins to fade. I don’t know what she’s put into my body, but I know I don’t want it there. Focusing with every ounce of brain power I can muster, I push against the flow of blood. A single drop of red liquid emerges from my arm, but she calmly presses a cloth over it.

“You’re lying to me. What is this? Why do I feel weaker?” I spit.

“Carson, this much power is a danger to you and others. After examining your answers in Phase 3, we have our concerns. We doubt you can adequately control your impulses. This is better for everyone.”

I catch a glimpse of the now-empty syringe. A label on the side reads: “Omega Protocol.” Those words trigger a foggy memory. When I was unconscious, someone had mentioned this serum.

“We can’t use it on a citizen. What if he talks?” Someone had said.

“Who will believe him?”

“It isn’t right,” Dante had contributed.

“I thought the only right was protecting your people?”

“And you’re sure there’s no other way?”

I can’t make sense of it. My flashes of memory don’t make what’s happening to me more clear. All they do is serve to infuriate me even more. I feel as through my strength is dissipating – but somehow it isn’t a muscular fatigue. Mentally, I’m growing tired.

I try to move. I try to shake the room as I had when Dante angered me. I try to blast Krista away with a surge of energy. My power isn’t responding. I don’t understand how, but whatever she had done is draining my power. This shouldn’t be possible – I’ve never heard of such a serum. Maybe that’s what they were talking about, though. This is what they were trying so hard to keep secret.

“You’re simply not capable,” Krista taunts.

“I am! I am powerful!” I argue futilely. I feel my heart racing. This is exactly what she wants. The faster my heart beats, the more quickly this serum will circulate through my bloodstream. I have to keep my composure. She’s clever, but I won’t fall for it.

“It’s inevitable, Carson. You can’t separate the molecules. Trust me, it’s better for all involved if no one holds this kind of power.”

She’s wrong. I can handle it. I can fix this. My body is already reacting to the foreign objects. I may not be able to feel the individual particles, but I can trust my own body. It’s already isolating the molecules and trying to bond to them in order to prevent their spread. All I have to do is allow it to function as it should. Once my blood cells isolate the molecules, I can simply pull them through my pores. I try, but my brain is pounding. I begin sweating profusely from every pore.

“Just sleep,” she soothes, clearly forgoing the approach of angering me when she sees its lack of efficacy. I don’t know how she’s able to read me so quickly, but maybe a perk of her inhuman intelligence is the ability to register microexpressions with ease. “Tomorrow, all of this will feel like a bad dream.”

I don’t want to sleep. I can’t give in. Still, it’s a tempting offer. I’m tired, and this entire day has been a horrible experience. I am comfortable with life without my powers – even if it is a miserable one. I could drift back into that.

I don’t want to sleep. I can’t let them take my power. Why would the Council do this? They must have a reason.

“I’m sorry, Carson,” she whispers.

I don’t want to sleep, but I can’t stop it.