PROLOGUE
FIFTY-SEVEN YEARS EARLIER
Sylvar was a cold,bitter place in Naylen. Ice pierced the air, and snow didn’t shy from the sunlight. The mountains were stained white, and the wind screamed in the ears of all who inhabited this frigid corner of the planet.
Deep within the thick blizzard, a structure was hidden in the snow. The dome resembled a hive, with an intricate weblike structure spanning the walls. Masked guards stood outside with machines ready to respond at the first sign of any vegodians—the human-like beings who could pull magik from the earth and wield it.
Through three thick steel doors, countless security codes and laser fences, roamed dozens of white-cloaked humans. Wires crackled with static, monitors beeped, and keyboards clattered in the main lobby of the high-tech laboratory.
Dr Elsher waited for the elevator. Green lines above the doors flickered, then stabilised, and counted down. With a quick glance at his watch, he straightened andpushed back his layered, oil-slicked blond hair with the palm of his hand.
The elevator doors opened, and he waited for the group of white cloaks to leave before stepping inside. None cared to look at him. None were there to interact. They had jobs and no time for idle conversation.
It was quiet in the elevator, and Dr Elsher enjoyed this part of his workday the most. Inside, with only one camera in the corner watching his every move, he could at least close his eyes for a moment and find some peace.
Just get through today, then resign. They told you that after twelve months, if you don’t like what you’re doing, you can walk away. You don’t want anything to do with this fucked?—
The doors dinged and opened. Dr Elsher opened his eyes and exhaled slowly. A woman entered, exchanged a brief glance with him, then he stepped out into a narrow corridor.
Green lines of light from the scanner passed over his body as he approached the iron doors. Stiff shoulders and prickled hairs revealed he didn’t like the process, as if those very lines stripped him bare, seeing through the facade he had to wear in this place.
Dr Elsher lifted the retractable keycard attached to his belt and tapped it against the security lock. With a deep breath, he stepped back and waited.
The doors didn’t open.
Dr Elsher glanced at the security camera in the corner—at least, the place he suspected it would be—one of the countless hidden throughout this suffocating place.
He stepped forward and scanned his card again. Sweatfrom that brief touch now coated the plastic. As the cord securing the card snapped back to his belt, the doors finally opened.
The murmur of conversation hit him as he took in long wires woven seamlessly across the ceiling—a trail of red, orange, blue, green, and white—towards the cloning tank in the centre of the room. Dr Elsher could never look inside the tank for more than a moment at a time. The man floated with wires fixed to his naked body, his black hair floating in the bubbled liquid that was rich with nutrients to keep him alive.
“Dr Elsher, you’re late.” Clipboard in hand, Dr Hill stood by the tank, her glasses pushed up high, dark hair tied in a bun, and eyes shining as she studied the man floating in the tank.
He approached, eyes fixed carefully on her rather than the tank. “Woke late.”
“Again?”
“Again,” he grunted.
Her hazel eyes narrowed. “Humans thrive on habits. Routine. And when someone breaks routine, it’s hard not to notice.”
Say it. Tell her you’re resigning.
“It won’t happen again,” Dr Elsher murmured.
“Good,” she said in a flat tone. “Now, tell me, what do you think of him?”
He stared at Dr Hill. “He hasn’t rejected the nutrients, and his vitals have stabilised since the horm?—”
“His appearance,” Dr Hill interrupted. “Does he frighten you?”
She wanted him to face the cloning tank. She wantedhim to face what he avoided whenever he entered the room. So, he turned on his heel and looked athim.
He regarded him as alien. Not charming. Not beautiful. His appearance unsettled him, and he just barely kept the instinct to curl his lip in check. The creature had translucent skin that revealed every organ, the pound of its slow beating heart, and the way veins weave through fleshy muscle. Its unique camouflage ability allows it to blend in with the fluids inside the tank, almost out of sight, but once seen, is hard to look away from. But perhaps his most horrifying features were the vicious cuts slashing out from the corners of his mouth—a mutation of unknown origin.
“No,” he lied. “Did you want him to?”
Dr Hill snorted a laugh, stepped away from the tank, and headed to her station. He followed, knowing she would continue speaking. “I suppose he doesn’t have to be. All he needs to do is follow orders. The vegodians are closing in, and with our goddess no longer answering our prayers, we are on our own. This experiment can help us win.”
