Page 47 of Red Demon
“I’ll be taking that post in Uyr Elderven,” she said, a bitter edge creeping into her tone. “The post is at the central hospital—implementing mods and following orders rather than researching—but at least it’s somewhat related to what I love. And I’ll be helping people again. That’s more than I’m doing now.”
Asher stared down at the table as if it held the answers we were desperate for.
“It’s for the best. I’ve made no progress at all. And…” she trailed off, her voice cracking. “I expected more from myself.”
I stepped closer to hug her. Asher remained a silent statue, his despair seeping toward me like smoke.
“It’s not your fault. You said it yourself, you could do more with other machines,” I said, holding her.
Mira wiped a stray tear. “I analyzed enough, Jesse. Honestly, there’s nothing to explain your immunity. That much I should find. And when I ran Asher’s code…” she trailed off, a hesitant glance thrown toward Asher’s still form. “There were no anomalies like yours. He’ll probably outlive us all by a decade, though. I’m glad.”
A bittersweet smile flickered across both her and Asher’s faces before vanishing as quickly as it appeared. Asher pushed away from the table and walked over to the window, turning his back on us. “I tried to tell her not to blame herself. If anyone messed anything up, it’s me.”
I didn’t understand what he meant by that. “Both of you need to quit the self-blame. Voids.” A knot of tension tightened at my temple. Mira’s frustration, Asher’s dejection, the growing sense of helplessness for what I came here to tell them. Oh right.
My anger rekindled. “Mira, we lost the barrack as a client, and I think your father has something to do with it.”
Asher walked back toward us, his gaze scanning the cluttered workbench, and then the wrapped sword on the ground. A flicker of a storm rekindled in his eyes. “We heard the news.”
I exchanged a worried glance with Mira.
“Why do you think my father interfered?” she asked.
“He threatened me at dinner,” I growled. “When he said he’d do what he needed to make sure I didn’t waste my gifts.”
Asher snorted. Both Mira and I looked up to see him unwrap the sword.
“Yeah, there’s that thing too,” I said, hand on my head. “A shitty gift from Mahakal that doesn’t even work. He writes that note like he can’t even remember my name.”
Asher read the note aloud, “To Galen’s Son, I look forward to working with you.” He let out a dark laugh.
I held my breath. “What is it, Ash?”
“Not everything is about you, Brother.”
With that, he opened the door and strode out with the sword in hand, leaving the burlap wrapping behind. In his grip, the sword hummed to life, a light blooming down the hilt.
“Ash?” Mira said, voice quavering.
A row of peach trees stood blooming by the greenhouse, and Asher swung at one of the fruits, shoulder muscles tightening as he followed through to dissect it in half, stone and all.
My mouth fell open. “That was dull as shit for me. How did you get it to work?”
He sliced again, eyes intense. “Standard issue in Mahakal’s unit, I’m told.” He flipped it, and as soon as the blade was in the air, the glow stopped, and I saw a shimmer of movement at the edge of the blade as it dulled. “Neat tech, isn’t it? The blade sharpens at my touch and only mine, reforming itself in battle to keep its edge.”
I blinked, dumbfounded.
“I’m the one whose name doesn’t matter—Galen’s son. He probably doesn’t remember my name. But—” He ran a finger down the fuller and turned the grip over in his hands. “At least I have a cool sword now, right?”
I stared at the blade in Asher’s hand, my mind reeling. “Mira,” I finally managed, “Did you know?”
Mira nodded, her face pale. “He volunteered a few days ago.”
“I don’t understand.” I inhaled, my breath stinging.
Ash picked up the scabbard and sheathed his sword. He laced it on his belt without answering.
“Ash?” Mira whispered.
