I am alive. Rowen inhaled and exhaled, savoring every second. He let himself get lost in the softness of the hospital bed, not closing his eyes at a sudden flash of light raying at his eyes from the window. The sun was rising.

Alive, alive, alive! He didn’t dare tell anyone of his fears. Ever since Torosian had put him in charge of the group, God knew why, Rowen had dreaded the inevitable failure somewhere, somehow. What if he fails to update his group or keep an eye on troublemakers, and they’ll fail because of him? Or what if the fear takes hold of his limbs and this leads to his friends being injured? It was only natural, right? He almost ruined his life before; his stupid, irresponsible choice brought nothing but pain and suffering to the one person he cared about the most…

A body lay at his feet, its limbs and arms twisted under unnatural edges. The boy thought he should know the cog; others in the gang warned him not to mess with the law, but he had no choice! His body trembled, every nerve ached, begging, pleading, demanding a fix to make it all okay again. And if the damned cog would’ve taken his haul…

He’d die. He’d die and never experience ecstasy again. The thought frightened him even more than the fever and cold fighting over his body. Could a dude die from emotional deprivation, from the absolute silence that came with a missing dose? Nothing helped in those moments; he cut and gnawed at his fingers, drawing blood and scratching at the wall until his fingers broke, and still he felt nothing! No pain, no terror, nothing. Absolute numbness, so thick and unnatural that he couldn’t even sleep. He can’t go through that again, he just can’t!

The boy lingered, clutching a bag of chemicals to his chest. Citizens stirred in the morning town, awakened by the rage unleashed by his power. A nervous giggle left his lips, and the street exploded into several large slabs, and he made them circle around him. A world with its own gravity. And a world afraid no one’s! He is the strongest forever and ever!

So why is he still here? Fix, he needed it; he earned it; his body won’t hold; numbness; please, no. The boy bit his lip, examining the lying body. The cog tried to say something rather than pull a gun like the others. And the man’s face looked familiar. Where did he see him before? Their town wasn’t big.

Oh. He kicked the man onto his back. It’s his face! That’s how he knows the man! His face, his face — the bastard wore his face and had the same pale hair. Wait, it can’t be right. The trembling fingers touched the boy’s face. It was right here, and smoother; not a single wrinkle caught a spot in the corners of his eyes! But the face… The face…

What has he done? The boy named Rowen fell to his knees and screamed. Numbness washed over him, and the cracking bark of a stun rifle and the energy whipping at his back came as unexpected bliss.

Rowen blinked, forcing the memories deeper. He didn’t dare to banish it and refused Dad’s offer to have his memory altered. He didn’t deserve a clean start. It took a long time and enormous support from his father, but Rowen had gained some semblance of confidence to move ahead, one step at a time, never forgetting and seeing the same nightmare at least once a year, a fact he lied about to his therapist. The lady helped him with a lot of things, but this was one part of him he needed to remember.

Fears can wait. He reached for a table nearby and found no notes or his terminal. Confused, Rowen rose from his pillows. He distinctly remembered reading his messages at night and approving the group’s schedule for the next month’s festivities. It should have been his job, but Edward and Esmeralda contacted the rest of the trainees, and they brainstormed the problem and came up with a rather cheap and effective plan to celebrate National Unity Day.

A bowl full of soup, now cold, still sat on a table near his legs. Get Well Soon cards almost hidden the opposite wall, signed not only by his and Elina’s group but also by the Avengers. Rowen saw his reflection in a small mirror in the corner. The bags under his eyes had disappeared; the eyes themselves were bloodless and bright; his ears no longer resembled water-soaked, swollen doughnuts; and the nurses had washed his body of all dirt and blood. There were some faint scars under his robe, marking the spots where emergency care had taken care of the damage, but nothing that a scar-removal procedure or two couldn’t take care of. By the time he met Dad, he’d be as good as new.

He panicked at the still-working TV and grabbed the acoustic device, a bean-sized black orb, and two remote hearing disks. Once he placed the disks onto his temples, the orb activated, collecting the surrounding sounds and transmitting them in a binary code to the disks, where they stimulated his brain through harmless electrical impulses, keeping him up-to date in real time and letting Rowen to hear sound again.

The buzz of the TV’s anchor filled the room, reporting about the coming ceremony, and he turned off the TV, wondering if the surgery to repair his deafness would still happen today. Even through the half-closed window, the streets outside boomed as the fireworks went off, tinting the sunny day in purple and green, the official colors of the Oathtakers.

“You were supposed to be sleeping and not daydreaming, Trainee Rowen,” an icy voice said, and an oversized soft plushie in the shape of a pony landed in the teen’s face, catching him off-guard. “Your father asked me to pass it to you. Said it helps you sleep. He’ll arrive either tomorrow or a day after.”

“Lightbringer, sir!” Rowen tried to stand at attention, and a force pushed him back into his bed. “It is an honor, sir! Why are you here?”

Lightbringer, the youngest, weakest, and most dedicated Elite of Iterna, stopped at his bed, looming over Rowen. He wore a blue bodysuit lined with silver stripes. His helmet was on, its visor open, revealing stern features that looked as if someone had carved them out of stone and slapped them on a human face.

“I am not here as the Elite. Call me John. As the person who authorized the release of the criminal lot like yourself, I am responsible for whatever happens next,” Lightbringer said. “The Academy had informed me about your chosen field of work. Why?” he asked plainly. “Has something happened? Did some runt mock your past, and so you decide to turn tail and run?”

Rowen closed his arms around the plushie, swallowing nervously. He ignored Lightbringer’s narrowed eyes. He is old enough to do as he sees fit, and if he wanted to calm his nerves by cuddling a toy, he would do so.

The Elite demanded monthly updates, scrutinizing the successes of each ex-criminal and being involved in their lives far more than other Elites who were involved in the release program. It was both a blessing and a curse. Rowen’s acquaintance, who got flushed out of the Academy for stealing, had received therapy to deal with her kleptomaniac tendencies, and Lightbringer had vouched for her to help her get a job at a shopping mall.

On the other side of the coin lay sleepless nights and the Elite’s dry mocking of the trainees’ inability to learn a subject. He never even entertained the possibility that they might not be smart enough; his motto was: Here’s the material, here’s the test; if you can’t pass it, it means you’re not trying hard enough. No ifs or buts; those who couldn’t pass were forced to take remedial courses or study with a private tutor, paid for by the Elite himself.

“I’m not fit for field work, sir,” Rowen said.

“My name is John Rowen. Speak freely. Why do you think that? Who put this thought into your head?” Lightbringer demanded.

“No one, sir… John,” Rowen answered honestly. “It’s just… I get scared all the time. I react slower and never came up with a proper plan like other group leaders…”

“I was told you performed your duties adequately.” There wasn’t any hint of emotion on Lightbringer’s face.

“Official duties, yes. Ensure no one forgets about the meeting; kick Jumail out of brooding; tell Esmeralda or Edward to stop when they accidentally start messing with someone else’s emotions; make sure Ratcatcher…”

“Eliza Vong,” Lightbringer cut him off. “You will address the girl by a human name or not at all, Rowen. I will not tolerate any racism in Iterna.”

“Yes, forgive me, sir…” Rowen lied. Ratcatcher really was right; people in Iterna are crazy about what racism is and what it is not. “… Make sure Eliza doesn’t get lost in daydreaming after a training session and gets back to class, help Elina and the rest of the student council organize a parade or something. This I can do. And did. And will do. I like it. I like studying, having parties, helping other students solve their problems, guiding the greenhorns around the halls, showing them the best spots, telling them which teacher is a softie and which one is a pain in the ass… Sorry, sir.”

“Don’t mention it,” Lightbringer said. “I understand. Done it myself.”

“Yeah… But in a fight… fear clutches my balls, sir!” Rowen spoke his mind. “I always either overuse my power to show off, ending up being more tired than I should be, or I miss something crucial. Worse, in several of my trainings, I have had to rely on other group leaders to come up with a plan for me and my group. What leader does that? I should know how to lead others; why else am I in charge? Their lives and well-being are my responsibility. And in my personal fights, I panic, often thinking of death.”

“As a soldier should,” Lightbringer said softly. “You have no doubt heard legends of fearless warriors. Ravager is one such example. She lives knowing no fear and will die rather than surrendering or asking for help in a hole somewhere, forever forgotten. If you ever want to see someone who has squandered every ounce of their obscene natural talents and gifts, look no further. A brave man is not someone who doesn’t know fear; it is one who acts to do the right thing in spite of it. A good soldier is unafraid to surrender and live to fight another day. Fear can be mastered and turned into a strength that heightens your awareness. There are very few born natural leaders, Rowen. Most gain experience in this field by making mistakes, learning from them, and following the example set by others. As you’ll fight more, you’ll naturally grow more confident, banishing the fears of inadequacy and learning how to wield your power.”

“But I don’t want to fight!” Rowen argued. “I like helping in the hospital, administering cures to kids, cracking a joke or two to lighten their mood, helping to roll a patient from one side to the other, cleaning up the mess left by the immobile, helping to write messages to the families of those who temporarily lack arms — that sort of thing. I enjoy helping people get better.”

“Sometimes we have to do things we do not enjoy in life,” Lightbringer said. “It could be for myriad reasons. In my and your cases, it is because we are given so much.” He raised his gloved hands, and light erupted from his palms, bending over his head to form a horseshoe connecting his palms. “I could’ve lived a normal life, uncaring for anything. And how many people would’ve died, left their families fatherless or motherless, for it to be so? Consider, Rowen. You blocked a shock wave from an S-class. Had you not been there, they’d be dead. Muscles can be improved, organs replaced, a brain accelerated, and a new Elite, a new manufactured S-Class Abnormal, one stronger than me, can rise. Imagine thousands saved by your hand. Given your past actions, isn’t it fit to serve as your atonement? Servitude need not be enslavement or blind adherence to an ideal. Often, protecting others is the noblest duty a person can do.”

Rowen tightened his grip around the plushy. It was stupid and childish, but he had to seek refuge somewhere because Lightbringer’s words rang true. He saved his team. His power did, and his body endured the strain.

His dad once told him he’d like for Rowen to choose a profession where he could help people. He said it once, before his son turned everything to shit, and after that, his father tried his best to help his stupid son overcome what had happened, never piling up any expectations for him. And who can blame him? Who’s to say that Rowen won’t mess up with the drugs again and won’t bring ruin into their lives?

In the two short days he helped here, and in the time he spent assisting in hospitals back home, he truly felt at home. From pediatrics to emergency care, from passing a message of love from a nurse to a doctor, to the grim duty of escorting a family to the morgue, Rowen had a sense of calmness and belonging. He knew exactly what he had to do, what he had to study to get better, and not once did he feel anxious, except for a little confusion when the requests piled up in Stonehelm. Then a Barjoni doctor called him over and taught him how to sort out the emergency cases from the nothingburgers, pointing out exactly which Abnormals could recover or could endure their problems and wait for treatment.

Maybe he didn’t deserve it. The calmness, happiness, chatting with the medical staff, clarity of everyday life… Did he really have a right to any of that? After everything he had done? After all the pain and suffering he had caused to the person he loved the most, because of a selfish desire to get high and experience pleasure? He raised a hand and found it shaking at the thought of having to fight again. He clenched his fists, trying to brave himself with the memories of the dead soldiers. The good his power can do…

“Hey, what’s up?” a cheerful voice asked.

Carlos stepped into the room and tried to lean on a doorjamb, but his legs missed a step and he almost fell face down into the room. Lightbringer was already near him, but the debonair youngster waved his hand and shook the imaginary dust off his jacket. Someone had shoved Carlos into a crimson jacket, a blue vest, and a black shirt with matching pants. Every inch of his costume showed expert tailoring, but the cheapness of a blue bodyglove underneath the clothes ruined the exquisite appearance.

“Carlos Barjoni,” Lightbringer said. “Weren’t you supposed to be at the ceremony?”

“Eh, Lord Steward is still giving his initial speech. I bet you can hear the dull thing from all over here if you flung the window open. I won’t be needed for at least an hour.” He threw an apple in the air, and his new arm failed to catch it, forcing the boy to drop his smugness and dive after it. “Anyway, a little birdie told me an Elite paid us a visit. Sure could’ve used your help a few days earlier. Why are you here, sir? Is Rowen in trouble?”

“Birdy? Shall I tell your father how you address him?”

“You can try; the asshole got me into this…” The Barjoni tugged at his collar, showing two golden serpent emblems. “…sad excuse for a fashion, so he deserves every profanity coming his way. No chains, no amulets. Not even jewels to adorn my skin and celebrate the glory of my soul. Pah! I am dressed as a commoner, or worse, as you! Still not answered my questions, by the way, very rude.”

“I have received the government’s permission to arrive here on an unofficial business,” Lightbringer replied. “Please keep my presence in secret.”

“Why’s that?”

“Hive is in Stonehelm. I’d rather avoid my godfather. Rowen is not in any trouble,” the Elite said.

“Funny, I’d happen to think differently after hearing your sermon, sir.” Carlos tossed an apple over the room, and Rowen blinked, wrapping it in a telekinetic field and preventing the red apple from hitting his nose. “A fruit for better recovery!”

Carlos streamed into the room, his legs tangled, and he cursed, walking more slowly. He waved for Rowen to remain seated, approached him and took him by the shoulders, struggling to move his cloned arm at the same pace as his biological one.

“Rowen, buddy, the stuff you heard here? Bull crap.” Carlos went serious. “You slipped and did nasty shit. Won’t lie, it isn’t nothing; it was a shitty thing to do.”

“I know.” Rowen gulped. “I am a scum…”

The apple moved. Carlos’ good hand propelled it at full speed, driving it between Rowen’s lips before the boy could continue.

“Oh, shut up and chew on the apple. My sister tormented me all night, and unless I am allowed to speak without interruption from the lowborn, I cannot vouch for your safety, pal.” Something in Carlos’ eyes warned Rowen that he wasn’t kidding. The trainee followed his advice. “Always hold a grip to stay as awesome as you are now. Never hurt an innocent person. You want to atone. Capital!” Carlos slapped his cheeks. “But you won’t atone for the pain and suffering you’ve wrought by living a life of misery.”

“Service to a country is not misery…” Lightbringer began.

“Have I interrupted that little speech of yours, mister Elite?” Carlos snapped. “But if you are such a chatterbox, riddle me this. Iterna aims to build a utopia. Or as close to it as possible. What kind of utopia uses guilt-tripped youth to do its dirty job, huh? To even try that… How very… Oath-taking of you, sir.”

“Watch your words, Barjoni.” Not a muscle moved in the Elite’s face. Carlos waited, but the man said nothing more.

“Thanks for letting me speak, sir. Almost confused you for an adult, implied threat to a minor aside.” He turned to Rowen. “Atonement is not a zero-sum game; it is not a balance to be maintained. One person doesn’t have to be miserable for another to be happy. Ideally, you should strive to make both sides happy. Tell me, would your father be happy to see you serving in a job you hate, or would he rather see you living a life you want?”

The realization struck him like a thunderbolt. All these years: the days in rehab when he asked his father to leave, later his insistence on jumping at the first chance and joining the Academy, even with his fear, and him choosing to evade Dad at every opportunity, thinking himself guilty, unworthy, a dead weight. Yeah, he was a dead weight.

But through it all, Rowen had missed one thing. His father wanted him to be happy. Dad had forgiven some of the worst crimes possible; he never gave up on him, and what did Rowen do? He sought redemption, something that would magically make everything all right, and let him look into his father’s eyes without shame. And in doing so, he forgot how to make them both happy.

Rowen breathed and straightened his shoulders as if the weight of a thousand mountains fell from them: “No. No, he wouldn’t be glad about me being miserable. And I won’t be either.” He bit into the apple, chewed and smiled. “Sorry, sir. But I have made my decision. I want to be a doctor. Thank you, Carlos.”

“Hey, that’s what friends are for, big guy.” Carlos patted him. “And I hate it when people are denied choices. But you still owe me a full rematch, got it? Next time, there won’t be Vasily and Elina to save your sorry ass.”

“Want to have your face buried in sand?” Rowen raised a brow. “Suit yourself. Bet.” He floated the remains of the apple into a trash bin.

“Ho-ho, someone’s confident. Well, as the saying goes, healer, heal yourself. And boy, you are going to need healing once I set the record straight, so polish your knowledge, and I expect to see you in the arena next New Year’s. No cheating. Your ass is all mine. Huh. It sounded less cool than I envisioned.” Carlos turned around and stopped near the exit. “And one more thing, Lightbringer. See, my family has rather nice lawyers, and our mental health care is excellent. If Rowen somehow changes his mind, I dare say we’ll sue you on his behalf for putting him under psychological pressure. Never again dare to discuss my friend’s career choices without his parent or legal guardian present. Got it, lightbulb?” Carlos tried to stand on his toes to look into Elite’s eyes, but his legs gave way. Lightbringer caught him and helped the trainee to his feet.

“A body adjusts to new limbs in two to three weeks, not several hours, no matter what your doctors say. Go slow, don’t overdo it,” the Elite said dryly. “Go on, child. As I said, Rowen is not in trouble.”

Carlos dusted off his jacket, coughed, and stepped out, crying out in a high-pitched voice as the sound of running legs approached the door, accompanied by the drumming of marching boots.

“Ah! A gremlin! Oh, it’s just you, sis…”

“Carlos! Why did you run away?! We’re going to be late!” a girl’s voice demanded to know.

“Fashionably late, little squirt. A Barjoni arrives precisely when…”

“What happened to your hair? It’s all tousled!” Rowen heard a stomp in the hallway. “And after I helped you set it properly! M… Lady Logen, please pass me a comb; my dearest brother needs to look presentable.”

“I am magnificent… Hey! Why are you dragging me by the ear, you barbarian? Undertakers, you are supposed to guard me, right? Save me from this menace!”

“Guard you all, Sir Carlos,” a male voice answered jovially.

“Traitors! I am surrounded by traitors and… Leave my hair alone, already!”

Lightbringer closed the door, cutting off the sounds. He shrugged and asked.

“Which?”

“What do you mean, sir?” Rowen asked.

“Which university did you choose?” Lightbringer asked in a calm voice.

“Redlands, sir.”

He had dreamed of this place even in the juvie. The best, the greatest university in all Iterna, right next to the old capital, built in the medieval style with the slightest touch of modernity on its outer walls. Redlands was one of the oldest universities in the entire Iterna, built before the Industrial Revolution, unleashing various students from prominent architects to field medics. As the years went by, its facilities only grew, but the university’s leadership kept its sturdy appearance, only removing the dread gargoyles and replacing them with the majestic angels, and painting the walls in softer tones.

Aside from these changes, the place has been almost unchanged since the pre-Extinction era, serving as a monument to Iterna’s stability. Lush forests surrounded it, and a small, crystal-clear lake nearby served well to relax its students in its cool waters. But none of it interested Rowen. Compared to the other universities, Redlands’ medical programs lasted for ten years, instead of the usual nine, and the extensive field practice they offered was second to none.

The place had no less than forty underground levels, each perfectly tailored to house students or conduct classes. Genetic laboratories, extensive libraries, some of the fastest computers and terminals in the entire Iterna, holodeck simulators, and first-rate teachers worked hard to release the best specialists in their respective fields.

On the main road leading to this place stood a memorial stone plaque listing every student banished from Iterna during the Culling, and the University vowed never to fail its students again. The chancellor of the university tried to contact the victims or their families to make amends, but most of the time, no one answered. 

And Lightbringer studied there, earning himself the rank of an officer.

The Elite whistled. “Rowen. I do not wish to discourage your choice, yet it is the most prestigious university in Iterna. Meaning it is the best medical education facility in the world. Even the doctors here…”

“I am aware,” Rowen stopped him. “This is why I’m sending applications to thirty other places. But I am gunning for Redlands, sir.”

“The name’s John, Rowen.” The Elite’s lips broke into a smile. “At least you take it seriously.” He nodded at the soup. “Eat up and let’s fill out the papers.”

“Sir? John?”

“Because, judging by how you lot prepared your papers for the release, I’d rather not have you embarrass yourselves. The university accepts recommendations. I’ll be giving mine.”

“Sir, but this won’t be fair!” Rowen raised his voice. “A recommendation from an Elite… There are dozens of better kids, kids who committed no crime and don’t have the same privilege.”

“Rowen. The world is not fair. Not everyone gets the same opportunities. Learn not to fret about it and accept the good things coming your way.” Lightbringer hesitated. “Tell me. If a hospital where you will work is attacked…”

“I’ll protect my patients with my life,” Rowen promised.

“Then it is enough for me.” Lightbringer sat. “Eat. And let’s work. Time tends to fly fast.”