Page 55 of Blinding Light

Cyprian couldn’t take it anymore. Freeing his hand from Moargan, he got up from his seat. “Whatever it is you think, I’m not. I am?—”

“No mistake.” Aviel stood to his full height, but it was his words that made Cyprian bare his teeth to protect himself. “You are Dariux, I can feel it in my wicked heart.Brother.”

15

“Dariux?Brother?”

Moargan felt Cyprian tense up at those words. Brushing a hand through his raven strands, he knew his possession’s mind was racing. He could feel it in the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Moargan inhaled deeply, unable to resist.

“You’re not my brother.” Cyprian eyed Aviel suspiciously, snorting when the other guy pouted his lips into a kiss. “Or is he?” The question came out as a hush, a private whisper, and Cyprian shook his head, yellow eyes wide with surprise and confusion. He discarded Moargan’s hand and stumbled to the door.

Vandor stepped in front of him, blocking his way out. “Please,” Cyprian’s voice had turned to a soft plea. “Just let me go.”

“Cyprian,” his father boomed. He still stood by the fire next to Zimeon. “I know this might be overwhelming but come and sit down. We haven’t finished our meeting yet.” He gestured to the couch. “Let me explain a few things. Dariux are people whoreceived artificially designed injections to enhance special abilities.”

Cyprian slowly sank back onto the seat next to Moargan.

“It started as clinical experiments from social beliefs,” Milanov continued. “Helions see their leaders as immortals, as favorites of our beloved nature. Wise in spirit and generous in life. We have countless tales of the Imperials, of how they can fly, shoot fire from their eyes, create visions in their mind, create ice with the tips of their fingers, and much more. When we die, we are buried under the trees we were gifted by birth. It is believed that we dedicate our afterlife to breathing through those trees. That way, we continue looking after our people and provide them with enough air and energy to prosper.”

Moargan’s father paced in front of the fireplace. “We have lived like this for centuries. But when my great-great-grandparents came to reign, they wanted to give the people something in return. Something far more real than tales. It started with experiments. They wanted to create those heroes the people dreamt of, and so they started testing with artificial supplements.”

“On people?” Cyprian asked.

Milanov hesitated. “...Yes. Eventually.” The Imperial blinked. “You must have noticed how we can sense your heartbeat. How we revel in fear.”

Cyprian blushed at the words, and Moargan smirked as they visibly shared the same memory. “What else can you do?”

“We have night vision that allows us to see in the dark. We can cool our fingers to soothe wounds. Over generations, the Imperial family became the perfect type of predator to keep the balance between right and wrong, artificially insinuated. We became the typical hero figure, the way Helions dreamt of them. And although they were left in the dark as to how we had obtained those skills, they loved them. Lovedus. You see, Helions need to admire and to fear, they need to be kept in line.We feed their respect but keep the true existence of the Dariux hidden.” Milanov gestured to Aviel.

“We became better and better in our experiments.” His eyes flashed. “After the success of the first generation of Dariux, my parents wanted more. More power, more abilities. The crazier, the better. Because of the political climate back then, they even wanted more elite. So, they started actively looking for newborns.” He gave Cyprian a sad smile. “You wouldn’t want to know how many people were ready to give up their baby for a good sum of money.”

Cyprian’s lips parted in shock. The horror of the truth only trickled slowly to his awareness, but every drop felt like acid. He turned to Aviel, who stood tall, black curls a lush mop on his handsome face, those golden eyes already on Cyprian. “You were adopted?” Cyprian stammered.

“He was,” Milanov replied instead. “You are. They all were.”

Cyprian’s tongue felt dry inside his mouth, and he swallowed thickly. “How many?”

“There were over fifty babies.” Milanov paused and turned to his right hand.

“There was an incident,” Zimeon revealed. “Something went wrong with the injections. In one night, we lost over half of the newborns. It was awful.”

The room fell silent.

Moargan felt his Royal Consort’s heart thud.

“What happened to the other babies?” Cyprian finally asked. “Those who survived?”

“They were sent off-planet,” Aviel said and smirked sadly. “And the great leaders sat back on their lazy chairs as they waited for us to come back.”

Cyprian narrowed his gaze, visibly trying his best to ignore the way the other guy was trying to provoke him. For anything remotely annoying, Aviel was your man. “What do you mean, for us to come back?”

Aviel’s smirk widened, but he didn’t reply. Cyprian looked around for anyone who would answer him.

Milanov held up a hand. “No more explanations for now. I see the pain in your eyes and didn’t want to leave you empty-handed, but I can’t say more. We will all need to trust the process. But I can tell you this—I can feel it. I have trust. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t give you my son and Imperial Prince of our beautiful planet. Now, I don’t have to tell you that this entire project is classified, so keep it within the family.”

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