Chapter Five: Retla (Continued)

  "Thank you..." I accepted the cup of warm tea she offered, wrapping my hands around the ceramic. The heat seeped into my palms, grounding me.

  We sat in a private office on the second floor—simply furnished with a desk, two chairs, and a window overlooking the city's main thoroughfare. Tela settled into her seat with practiced grace, but her eyes never left me. Specifically, they never left my chest.

  "I'll answer your questions," she said, "but first—your heart. Why is it like that?"

  The directness caught me off-guard, though perhaps it shouldn't have. She'd examined me with her leaf energy. She'd felt what lay beneath my skin.

  "Miss Tela, I already told you—you won't believe my words." I set the tea down untouched. "I died. I'm certain of it. An erratic wolf decapitated me. When it happened, I was missing my right leg entirely. Four deep gashes had shredded my back. My head was separated from my body."

  Her expression remained neutral, listening without interruption.

  "Yet when I woke up, I had this scar." I touched my chest where the bark-like tissue covered my heart. "Everything was in place. My leg had returned. The wounds had vanished. As though none of it had ever happened. I don't know how, sincerely. But I was dead, and then I wasn't."

  Tela took a slow sip of her tea, considering my words with visible skepticism—but not outright dismissal.

  "It's difficult to believe you," she admitted. "When I examined you minutes ago, I felt something... unusual. No one can survive the Revolution process while dead—the transformation requires a living body, a beating heart, flowing blood. For you to have undergone Revolution posthumously..." She shook her head. "There must have been extraordinary circumstances that intervened. Something beyond normal awakening."

  She set her cup down with deliberate care.

  "But that mystery can wait. Now it's your turn to ask questions. Please, whatever you need to know."

  I'd been thinking about this since our conversation outside. One statement in particular had lodged itself in my mind, refusing to be ignored.

  "You mentioned the Emperor earlier—that he dissolved the nobility system. When did this happen? And... how?"

  Tela's expression shifted subtly, taking on the quality of someone preparing to recount recent history that still felt raw and unresolved.

  "Almost eight years ago, the Emperor underwent Revolution. The transformation changed him fundamentally—not just physically, but in perspective, in priority, in purpose. Within three months of his awakening, he systematically dismantled the nobility system that had governed the empire for centuries."

  "Three months?" The timeline seemed impossibly short.

  "He moved with absolute conviction. Massive wealth confiscations from noble families. Redistribution of lands and resources. Many were furious—some nobles even raised private armies to march against him." Her lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "He subdued them almost instantly. Alone. The Emperor's power after Revolution was... is... beyond what most people can comprehend."

  I tried to imagine that—one person standing against armies and winning through sheer force of awakened abilities.

  "Since then," Tela continued, "he's transformed the empire into something based on merit rather than birthright. You receive rewards, wealth, position—but only when you achieve something genuinely valuable. Scientific advancement. Economic innovation. Or as an Awakener who's performed exceptional service." She gestured broadly, as though encompassing the entire empire beyond these walls. "Everything changed. He built academies where anyone can enter, regardless of birth. Both boys and girls from poor families can study for six months, then take an examination that determines whether they continue or are expelled. This would have been unthinkable before."

  "Everyone has the same opportunity?" The concept seemed almost fantastical.

  "In theory, yes. He also established dedicated academies for Awakeners—places where they can study their abilities, grow stronger, learn to control their power properly." Tela's voice carried genuine admiration now. "He became... like a different person. Yet he claims he acts and speaks as he always did. Perhaps whatever the old way of ruling represented—whatever he saw from his position before Revolution—convinced him that fundamental change was necessary."

  She paused to drink more tea, gathering her thoughts.

  "In three years, he successfully removed what he called 'concentrated wealth' from every branch and rank of nobility. He confiscated it himself—personally, in many cases—and made those resources the foundation for everything happening now. The entire progress of our civilization." Her eyes met mine with intensity. "The rules are straightforward: if you respect nature and improve how people live, you will be rewarded. Contribution matters. Results matter. Nothing else."

  "That's..." I struggled for words. "That's like a dream for every poor family."

  "Exactly." Tela nodded. "Now everyone can become someone. Birth means nothing. Power—whether of mind, craft, or leaf energy—means everything."

  The implications spiraled outward in my mind. A world where the powerless could rise. Where a nameless man from a forest could potentially matter as much as anyone born to privilege.

  "But it's created new problems," Tela added, her tone darkening. "When you overturn centuries of established order, those who benefited from the old system don't simply accept their loss. There are factions—noble families who've gone underground, merchants who lost monopolies, military officers stripped of inherited rank. They work in shadows now, trying to destabilize what the Emperor built. And some Awakeners..." She hesitated. "Some abuse their power, believing might grants them the right to take what they want."

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  "Is that why you were so cautious with me?"

  "Partially. Retla sits near the border, far from the capital's direct oversight. We're vulnerable to both monster attacks and human corruption. An unknown Awakener who can completely suppress their energy signature?" She raised an eyebrow. "That's either an innocent anomaly or a dangerous infiltrator. I needed to determine which."

  "And your conclusion?"

  "You're either genuinely ignorant of your own capabilities, or the most convincing liar I've ever examined." A hint of humor touched her voice. "Your green blood is so unrefined it practically screams 'novice.' No experienced Awakener would allow their circulatory system to remain in such a crude state. Either you awakened very recently, or you're playing an impossibly elaborate game."

  "I awakened less than a week ago," I confirmed. "I'm still learning what any of this means."

  Tela studied me for a long moment, then seemed to reach some internal decision.

  "Then you'll need guidance. Training. Left on your own, you'll either waste your potential or accidentally kill yourself trying to advance too quickly."

  "I'll be careful."

  "See that you are." Tela moved toward the door, then paused. "You're welcome to stay in Retla as long as you follow our laws. We're a small city, but we take care of our own. Rest if you need to."

  "Thank you, Miss Tela, for explaining everything. Now I have a clearer picture in mind." I bowed my head respectfully as I rose to leave.

  She nodded once, then returned to her desk as I made my way out of the office.

  Walking out of the building, a strange thought crossed my mind.

  I remembered that nobility existed—not as a vague concept, but as concrete knowledge. I knew the structure of aristocratic houses, the protocols of courtly behavior, the weight of inherited titles. Yet I had no memory of learning these things. And more troubling, I somehow knew that the system was still changing, still being dismantled piece by piece. This kind of transformation couldn't happen overnight—it required years of sustained effort. But the Emperor was doing something concrete, something that allowed more people to smile rather than simply suffer under hereditary rule.

  "These memories... why can't I—aaarrgghhhh!"

  Sharp pain lanced through my skull like a blade driven between my eyes. My vision blurred. My legs buckled, and I caught myself against the building's outer wall, breathing hard as the agony slowly receded to a dull throb.

  "If I gain knowledge, nothing happens," I muttered, pressing one hand to my temple. "But the moment I try to examine where that knowledge comes from, I get punished for it. Seems like a curse."

  VVVRRRUUUUMMM!

  A deep, resonant sound suddenly reverberated through the entire city, emanating from one of the tallest buildings. The vibration was so powerful I felt it in my chest, competing with my wooden heartbeat.

  "What's happening?" I asked a man passing by.

  "Oh, that sound?" He glanced toward the source without apparent concern. "It's from the Blue Bell. Signals strong underground activity. Wait—you've never heard one in your city?"

  "No. What do you mean by underground activity? Monsters?"

  "Yeah, the Nightcrawlers seem particularly numerous tonight. When that bell rings, it means we shouldn't venture outside after dark. But when it's silent, the streets are safe even at night." He shrugged casually. "That sound means tonight will be quite lively."

  "And you're all so calm about this?" Disbelief colored my voice. "Aren't those monsters capable of annihilating everyone?"

  "Well, sure, if we had no protection." The man chuckled at my expression. "But we have defenses. And we have Awakeners who fight them. Don't worry so much—just enjoy the evening while you can!"

  He walked away before I could respond, leaving me standing alone with my confusion.

  "It seems my perception of danger isn't entirely accurate," I murmured, wondering if seventeen years of solitary survival had warped my understanding of what was truly threatening versus what was merely dangerous but manageable.

  Still, I decided to observe. To see how a civilized settlement dealt with the nocturnal horrors I'd spent nearly two decades fleeing.

  As the twin suns began their descent, painting the sky in shades of amber and deep violet, activity at the city gates increased. Guards moved with practiced efficiency, sealing the entrance with heavy wooden barriers reinforced by iron bands. They inspected the perimeter carefully, checking for structural weaknesses or signs of previous damage.

  Then the woman I'd noticed earlier—one of the two Awakeners from the registration building—approached the wall. She walked with the confidence of someone who'd performed this ritual countless times. Her hand pressed against a specific section where a deep groove had been carved into the stone.

  My enhanced vision activated instinctively.

  I watched as her leaf energy flowed outward from her palm, spreading through the entire wall like luminous veins. The energy traveled along channels I hadn't noticed before—intricate pathways carved into the stone itself, invisible to normal sight but clearly visible when active. The network extended around the city's full circumference, and when it reached certain junction points beneath the wall's foundation, something awakened.

  Roots.

  Not natural ones, but constructs grown and shaped through years of careful cultivation. They responded to the woman's leaf energy like soldiers answering a call to arms. Thick brambles of thorns erupted from the earth outside the wall, growing with impossible speed. Some thorns glowed red, others violet—different colors suggesting different properties or functions. Within minutes, the entire outer perimeter had been covered by a dense barrier of luminescent thorns, each one as thick as my arm and sharp enough to pierce steel.

  It was a spectacular display—a living defense system powered by leaf energy, a perfect fusion of nature and human ingenuity.

  As the last rays of sunlight vanished completely, a cold breeze swept through the streets. My revolutionized body registered the change immediately—not just temperature, but something deeper. A shift in the ambient energy. Beneath us, far underground, things were stirring. The monsters, the erratic animals that had evolved alongside humanity, were waking from their daylight slumber. Hungry. Ready to hunt.

  The people around me, despite their earlier assurances of safety, began retreating indoors. Families called to children playing in the streets. Merchants closed their shop shutters. Within twenty minutes, the thoroughfare that had bustled with activity was nearly empty. Only guards remained visible, walking patrol routes with weapons ready and eyes scanning the darkness beyond the walls.

  I knew those thin house walls wouldn't stop a determined erratic animal. A single evolved beast could tear through wood and plaster as easily as I'd swing my branch through air. But the gesture mattered—the psychological comfort of shelter, the illusion of safety, was better than nothing.

  "It reminds me of my own cave," I said softly, watching a young family disappear through their doorway. "When I'd run toward it as soon as the suns began going down."

  But there was a crucial difference. In the forest, I'd been alone. Isolated. Every night had been a personal battle for survival, with no one to rely on but myself and the trees that seemed to protect me.

  Here, in Retla, people faced the darkness together. They had walls, thorns, Awakeners, and each other. The danger was real—I could sense the rising presence of Nightcrawlers even now, circling the city like predators testing a fortified position—but it was managed danger. Controlled risk.

  Perhaps that was what civilization meant. Not the elimination of threats, but the collective effort to face them with better odds than any individual could achieve alone.

  I found a quiet corner near the wall where I could sit and observe, hidden in shadow but able to see the thorn barrier clearly. My curiosity demanded answers. I wanted to understand how these defenses would hold. Whether the Nightcrawlers I'd fled for seventeen years were truly containable, or if the city's confidence was misplaced.

  As full darkness descended and the three moons rose into the impossible sky, I settled in to watch my first civilized night—and to see whether humanity's answer to the Nightcrawlers was wisdom or hubris.