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The air hangs thick with the tang of old iron and stale sweat. It’s a closed-off, metallic smell that fills the back of Kraya’s throat. Condensation beads on the stone walls of the gymnasium, a cavernous space tucked deep within Rayviel’s southern quadrant, one of the few areas still standing after the rebels destroyed most of the monk-run buildings. The rhythmic clang of heavy plates echoes in the humid quiet, a sound like a hammer on an anvil.

A fine mist of steam lifts from the skin of Threx’s back and shoulders, each muscle group shifting under the surface like tectonic plates.

From the darkened archway of the entrance, Kraya watches. She keeps her body pressed to the cold stone, a sliver of her visible in the gloom.

She tells herself he doesn’t see her.

She tells herself she is only observing.

The weight plates slide onto the barbell with a grating shriek of metal on metal. He hoists it, settles it before his collarbones, and drives it upward. Once. Twice. The sinews in his neck stand out like coiled ropes.

Kraya wonders why he resorts to such primitive equipment.

“The shadows hold many things. I did not count a Commander among them.”

His voice isn’t loud, yet it cuts through the clamor of his own effort. He doesn’t look at her. His eyes are fixed on a point in front of him.

Kraya’s spine stiffens. A flush of heat creeps up her neck. She steps out from the archway, her boots silent on the padded floor. Her hands feel useless at her sides, so she clasps them behind her back. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

For a moment, she’s startled by how flustered she’s become. No one has ever made her feel like this, yet this… beast of a man… makes her feel strangely queasy.

He completes his set, his breathing a harsh, percussive rhythm. He ignores her. Kraya’s eyes trace the architecture of his form, the impossible contours of his deltoids, the broad expanse of his back. It’s a physique that does not belong to a mortal frame. At least none she has seen before. Are those my genes? The thought sends heat to her cheeks. She glances at her own shoulders: toned and lean, yet nothing like his. How the hell would they be?

He performs a dozen repetitions. The final press is as easy as the first. He reracks the weight with a deafening crash that vibrates through the floor. A sharp crack echoes through the subsequent silence as he pops his neck. Drenched in sweat that glints in the low light, he crosses to a bench and sits. He still doesn’t look at her, and it’s beginning to irritate her.

“What matter of importance requires the Commander’s personal attention?”

The directness is a wall she’s not used to. “I… I haven’t had a chance to speak with you. Personally.” Kraya’s words feel flimsy in the heavy air. “I felt you deserved an explanation.”

“You have no obligation,” he says. “I understand.”

A flicker of annoyance cuts through her unease. She narrows her eyes. “Do you?” The words are sharper than she intends. “You deserve the truth.”

He rises from the bench and walks to a water fountain against the far wall, the muscles in his back articulating with each step. He bends, drinks, then straightens, turning to a high, narrow window overlooking the distant peaks of the mountains, jagged teeth against the perpetual twilight. What did they call them... Singing Bellows?

Moving back to the barbell, he lifts another plate from the rack and slides it onto one end. As he reaches for a matching weight on the other side, Kraya steps in between them.

“C’mon…” she says, forcing a smile. “Don’t you want to find out about your past? I can answer any questions you’ve got.”

“No. Move.”

Kraya’s cheeks begin to flare purple. “You really don’t want to hear about why you’re on this forsaken planet? About your life’s purpose? About your son’s?”

Without another word, he hurls the weight at her face, leaving her no choice but to catch it. A strained whimper slips from her as she turns and slowly adds the massive plate to the already overloaded barbell.

Is he crazy?! That thing would’ve crushed me if I’d been a second slower.

Kraya notices the collar clamps lying on the floor. Aren’t those rusty old things supposed to keep the plates in place? Wait—doesn’t he need them? She bends to pick them up.

When she straightens, Threx is already deep into his next set. The plates ring as they sway and collide, the gaps between them widening with each rep as his struggle becomes unmistakable. By the twelfth rep, a grunt tears from his chest, echoing through the gym.

He slams the barbell back onto the rack. A plate flies off each side, crashing against the floor. He stands there heaving for air, steam rising from his skin.

“Do not pretend concern for what is meant to fall,” he growls, eyes fixed on his own reflection. “Even without support, it stands by its own truth.”

“Jeez, the bug really was right, you’re hopeless. You know what, fine. I’ll go.”

He exhales sharply.

“You believe you have the right to step into my life now? Into ours?” He turns and strides back to the glass, staring out. “It it true; I have no memory of my mother,” he begins, his voice low and irritated. “Nor my father. For all of my existence, I have been an outsider. Other children possessed a lineage, a history. Even amidst the degradations, they had a story to tell.”

She blinks in surprise. So it was that obvious, eh?

“I often contemplated her appearance. Whether she possessed kindness. Strength.” He turns his head slightly, his gaze finally meeting hers. “Courage.”

Her face betrays no reaction to the comment, yet she can’t stop the sweat trickling down her temple. She isn’t sure whether it’s the gym’s humidity or her nerves.

He looks back at the mountains and hesitates before continuing. “My origins trace to a village far to the east, a tranquil settlement in the desert heat. The Oracle there maintained strict dominion over its inhabitants. Departure was no simple feat. However, a small rebellion amongst paired couples presented an opportunity. Voices visited my dreams, whispering of my parents and that I would find them in Rayviel. And so, I took my brother—a mere infant—and we journeyed for hundreds of miles. I presented myself at the door of the Oracle here, dirtied and exhausted.”

He strips the plates from the barbell. Kraya is biting her bottom lip so hard she can taste blood.

“They did not refuse me entry. They offered a smile and spoke of a promising future. They provided sustenance and clothing, and placed me within the training camps, despite my advanced age. After my allocation to Malena, the voices ceased.” He pauses for a beat. “There were periods where I would vanish for days. I would take my brother south, through the Singing Hollow, even seeking answers in the eastern villages, past my home town. The heat intensified, the land grew ever more barren. In time, I abandoned the search.”

Kraya begins pacing, fidgeting with her hands.

“In Rayviel, there were tales. Whispers of a formidable renda-rendak pair who had fled west, into the dark forest. The journey was too perilous to attempt at that time. So I devoted myself to training. For years, I prepared to face the forest, to locate them. Malena remained unaware. The initial years of our pairing were marked by distance. It is a matter of regret for me, but no other path was open.”

Kraya wants to stop him there, but decides to let him finish.

“When I reached the appropriate age, just prior to Malena’s time of degradation, I deemed myself ready. I entrusted my brother, then a young adolescent, to Malena’s care and ventured into the dark forest alone. I confronted the beasts. I overcame every obstacle in my path, until a light appeared, deep within the trees. What I discovered there... ” His voice falters.

“—A baby renda,” Kraya says, cutting through his story.

Threx’s whole body goes rigid. A short, sharp laugh escapes him, a sound with no humor in it.

“And not just any baby renda,” she continues, her own voice gaining momentum. “Yeah. You were right to believe she was your sister. Because she was. It’s incredible, really. How you knew. That you were blood related, without any tests.” She takes a sharp breath, a lungful of the gym’s stale air. “There’s no need for the tough act, big man. Look, I need to come clean.” Her gaze drops to the floor. “We’ve been monitoring you since your birth. You’re... part of me. You must have pieced that together by now.”

He scoffs. “Surely you do not take me for a fool,” he says, walking back to the barbell and forcibly sliding the plate back onto the holder with a metallic clang that echoes through the space, making Kraya jolt. “Explain the circumstances of my origin.”

She clears her throat, willing away the rage creeping into her face at the command. “We took sperm cells from promising rendaks,” she says, squirming further with her hands. “And an egg from me. Put it in an embryo pod. Sometime later, you popped out.”

A single eyebrow raises on his otherwise impassive face, shifting his pale scar up with it. Looking outside, it reminds her of the snowy mountain’s peak.

“Well,” she admits, “it took years. Dozens of tries to get a living, healthy specimen. We mixed in different rendak genes. To get the best traits, naturally.”

“And what divine quality did you possess to be designated... how did you call it... catalyst?”

His mocking tone makes her shoulders stiffen. She shakes her head, unable to believe she’s even letting him talk to her like this. She draws in a deep breath through her nose and releases it slowly through her mouth, forcing a smile. “Simple, really. The synthetic catalysts all failed. They were genomes we injected, to modify the renda’s receptors so they vanished slower.” He gives her a blank look, a wall of incomprehension. She recognizes it it and waves a hand dismissively. “Anyway. Not that I’m the one who thought of it, anyway. The brilliant, bug-eyed Gerrik suggested we try a more... natural approach. I volunteered. Young, stupid. I regret it. It was supposed to be a restricted lab project on Taria, but they planned things behind my back.”

His face might as well be carved from stone.

Why do I even bother explaining the details?

“Whatever. So the deal is, when a renda hybrid is connected to an engineered rendak catalyst, the genomes don’t corrode. The ‘transcendence’ is more stable than ever before.”

“Hmph. Enlighten me, if I was meant for Rayviel, why the outer village? Why create Salex?”

Kraya hesitates, wondering how much she should tell him.

No more secrets... at least not here.

“We... uh, sent two specimens. In case one died. We kept you in stasis for the first few years, to see if you’d survive. We knew your traits would compel you to protect your brother. As for the deposit location... a minor accident with the pod coordinates. Sorry! The voices were our solution, to guide you to Rayviel. Closer to Syra. The main plan.”

He scoffs. “Which would explain why my memory is a void before the age of five.”

“Not my idea. Gerrik’s. He never should have sent your gene to this planet in the first place—”

“Yet that was the intent from the outset, was it not?” he slices through her excuse. Kraya starts to realize where his stubborn streak comes from... nobody else to blame but myself.

“Well, yeah. Probably. We created you much earlier than Syra, so we needed a... younger version of you. One more attractive to her—”

“Draxil.”

“You got it,” she replies, thinning out. “If only we knew that she would fancy S—” she stops herself just in time, clearing her throat as her eyes go wide. “Anyway... ”

A dry chuckle rattles in his chest. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to notice what she almost let slip. “It was all by design. Our lives were forfeit from the start.”

“For what it’s worth,” she says quietly, “I’m sorry.”

“Your apology is neither required nor desired.” His eyes hold hers, cold and clear. “I concede, upon our first meeting, I experienced a certain... resonance. A sensation I had not known since... ” His bear paw of a hand goes to his necklace. “But, akin to all else on Vesperaun... it was a deception.”

Kraya’s lips part. Whatever she wants to say dies on her blue tongue.

He turns from her, then walks to a heavy leather punching bag hanging from the ceiling. The first hit is a dull thud. The second is harder. He finds a rhythm, each strike punctuated by a sharp exhalation. Force radiates from him, a palpable wave of fury fuelled by his Rai.

“I don’t think I need to tell you about Reela, do I?” she asks, raising her voice to be heard over the impacts that now vibrate through the room.

He offers no response. Only the steady, violent rhythm of his fists.

Kraya takes the hint, turns, and heads for the archway.

“Did the Oracle know?” The sharp edge in his voice stops her. The bag’s chain creaks, swaying from the last blow.

The question stops her dead in her tracks. She chooses her next words carefully, keeping her back to him as her voice carries through the gym.

“They... believed their own origin stories. The ones passed down for hundreds of years. They thought they held the power to force the degradation, until their whole sense of self crumbled when they realized they were just a failsafe to get to Taria.”

The silence allows her to hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears for the first time. Why isn’t he saying anything? She feels his stare locked onto her from behind.

He chuckles. “I thought you came here to deliver the truth—I was a fool to expect honesty from your tongue. Leave.”

She feels herself shiver. But that was the truth... albeit not exactly detailed, but still. Maybe I should tell him...

No, it wouldn’t help anyhow.

She walks away, her footsteps swallowed by the gym’s immensity.

The punching starts again. It’s no longer a rhythm. It is a desperate, chaotic assault. Punches become kicks. A raw yell tears from his throat with each impact, a sound of something breaking. With a final blow she doesn’t see, he connects with the bag. The leather rips. The chain snaps. The heavy bag rips free from its hook, tearing apart as it crashes to the floor and spills its contents everywhere. She hears thousands of small beads tumbling to the ground.

He's trying to pull air back into his lungs as she exits the gym.