Page 23 of The Ascended
"Are we going to be compliant?" Lyralei asked.
I said nothing, but stepped back from the bars. It was answer enough.
The cell door swung open with a soft click, and I followed them out into the corridor.
The transition was jarring. One moment I was in a dank stone prison, the next I was walking through what could only be called a palace. Soaring ceilings supported by columns of crystallized light, floors of polished marble, paintings of the Aesymar in gilded frames the size of buildings.
I lowered my eyes and reached for Thatcher again.
And this time, he reached back.
A relieved sob almost broke from my throat. He was alive. Still alive. And for the first time since waking up in that cell, I could feel him clearly—his terror, his rage, his desperate worry for me.
I'm here,I tried to send through the connection.I'm alive. Hold on.
"My brother is not blessed," I said to Lyralei as we walked through the corridors.
"I understand your concern," she replied, her voice gentler now that we were away from the cells. "But the situation is... complicated."
"How is it complicated? He has no powers. If he’s meant to compete in some way, he will die."
"Those who oversee the Proving are not known for their mercy," one of the other Dreamweavers said quietly.
"But," Lyralei added, raising a hand, "they are also known for their... theatrical nature. They enjoy drama, unexpected turns, displays of power and beauty that capture their attention."
"What does that mean?"
"It means the best way to save your brother is to survive the Proving yourself. Gain their favor, their interest. Make them want to keep you around."
"It will be too late by then." I said desperately.
"The best I might be able to do is request you go early in the proceedings, give you a chance to make your case before..." She didn't finish the sentence.
Before they called Thatcher's name.
The idea of asking those monsters for favors made my skin crawl. "And you think they'll grant it?"
"Perhaps," Lyralei said carefully. "The Legends are unpredictable. Some might find the idea of sparing a powerless twin romantic. Others might see it as amusing. Others might refuse purely for the sport of it."
"So it's chance."
"Most things are, in the end." She looked at me, a soft smile gracing her lips. "But you have advantages. Your story has dramatic appeal. And once we're finished with you..." She paused, tilting her head to the side, really examining me. "You'll be impossible to ignore."
It wasn't much of a plan, but it was better than sitting in that cell.
"What if it doesn't work?" I asked quietly. "What if they refuse?"
Lyralei was quiet for a long moment. "Then at least you'll have tried."
She didn't sound convinced, and neither was I. But it was all I had. And while every instinct screamed at me to sprint in another direction and start searching for Thatcher myself, I could see it would be pointless. Metallic-skinned guards lined every passage and corridor, their strange eyes taking in everything.
The room they led me to was so extravagant it made my eyes water. Everything was gold and silk and crystal, with furniture that looked like it had been carved from single enormous gems.
It might have been impressive under different circumstances.
"Sit," one of the Dreamweavers commanded, gesturing to what looked like a throne.
I sat, and they went to work.
