Chapter 10. Reflections

The train car hurtled along one of the Lower City's main transport arteries, racing above the chasm. Sumarel pressed against the window, watching a small section of the abyss where strange flashes of multicolored light kept appearing. Each flash briefly illuminated stone outcroppings and ledges vanishing into darkness, creating an eerie play of shadows.

"I lost the coin, but it's probably not much of a loss, considering the rebirth. I wonder if I'll meet him in this life too?" thoughts raced through her mind as she tried to distract herself from the suffocating smell inside the train car.

The windows here didn't open, and the people inside weren't exactly fragrant.

As she'd learned, her escort, Four thirty-three, apparently wasn't just an ordinary dog, but possibly a high-ranking inspector. After making a circuit in his personal transport with a private driver, he'd quickly visited several outposts, collecting young people along the way. Then they were loaded into this tightly packed train car designated for the dogs' use.

Kiarien apparently wasn't a simple person either—no one but him dared address Four thirty-three casually, without fear. Moreover, the higher-ranking the dog member, the more carefully they treated Four thirty-three. The only explanation forming in her head was that he belonged to some political faction, which inevitably emerged in every large organization, even one as regimented as the dogs. So she assumed they hadn't given her their names without reason—possibly recruitment. And she didn’t mind taking advantage of this.

"If I'd known about the magical talent earlier, maybe I should've tried for the Great Academy on the Right Bank, at least one attempt. If the talent really is that extraordinary, wouldn't they be interested?" the unpleasant smell invaded her consciousness again, and she shifted her fleeting gaze to those who, like her, would have to go through this nightmare.

Her companions were young people as well. Each stood out somehow—ugly and beaten down by life in the Lower City. Each unique in their own way. Besides Sumarel, there was only one other girl—she sat in the far corner, clutching a brooch and constantly squinting—obviously poor eyesight. Thin black hair fell over her narrow face, hiding sunken cheeks. Her frail, undernourished build suggested weakness, but her posture hinted at a hidden strength.

"Should I build relationships with anyone?" she pondered, studying the smallest movements on their faces. "Who knows who's who. On one hand, socializing with many maximizes the chance of luck; on the other, it disperses time, which I have little of. Plus, getting involved in the drama of their turbulent lives isn't always good, and it will inevitably happen."

She inhaled, examining one boy's nails—they were bitten down, and he couldn’t help putting them in his mouth again and again.

"You can't just keep your distance while getting involved in their lives. People aren't stupid—they sense insincerity, even if they're still young. Is it possible to imitate friendship, to make them think I'm invested in their lives?"

Her mind raced through experiences from her previous life, where the most obvious answer was—no.

"If magic exists with its energy permeating everything, is it possible that besides mind and emotions there's another cornerstone element, hidden from view—but working deep within us and revealing relationships? How can people sense falseness and detachment if on the outside everything's performed perfectly?"

Her gaze caught on Four thirty-three, who stood motionless, as if not human at all. Not to mention, even his breathing was measured and precise, like clockwork.

"I need to try different approaches. In my past life, my relationships were chaotic, aimless. This time—everything will be different. I need to try various approaches—with some, perhaps, stick to strict principles; with others, conversely, be different, unpredictable."

Only now did she notice that Four thirty-three's fingers, clasped behind his back, constantly moved, as if counting either seconds or numbers.

"Sociability, how I hate it," she took a deep breath. "Whatever happens, happens."

A flash from below the enormous chasm illuminated the space outside the window. Many tales were told about what might be happening below and why the city was built over this rift. Some said it was a natural energy source, others spoke of magical resource mines there, and her father had even said it was a passage to another world or an abyss of worlds. She certainly didn't know the right answer, but somehow the version about an abyss and passage to another world seemed quite plausible to her.

"Mages must spend a lot of time there," she thought, looking down.

Once, using her favorite tricks, she'd managed to persuade her father to tell her and Auriel a story about how below was a passage to another reality, accessible only to those who could fold and unfold the world—she had no idea what that meant. And as a child living in poverty and squalor, as she now understood—she gladly escaped into mysterious stories, memorizing them and replaying them in her head again and again. Because of this, she didn't remember many events from her life, but her father's stories always stayed with her.

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"But how did he know? I never heard anything like that from others."

Again and again, recalling her father's behaviour and habits, she gradually built a complete picture—now she knew the most important thing was in the details. It was a kind of Glass Bead Game, where interaction builds across many levels—levels you can access with keys that people themselves give away; you just have to see them, interpret them, use them. An extremely difficult task, at least for a child from the slums.

"But their desire to reveal themselves, to show the world through others, is even greater."

For a moment she even felt muscle tone, as if remembering something long forgotten, old but very important—something that needed not just to be remembered, but used.

"Father behaved strangely. It can't be that we're in a story where a poor family is actually of noble blood, and father's a mage, can it?"

A barely perceptible note of contempt crossed her face.

"Illusions. I'm mediocre—that's key. As for being chosen..." she shifted her gaze to her fellow travelers, examining their faces. "Everyone is chosen and not chosen at the same time, but is there a difference?"

Their transport had crossed the major part of the journey, heading toward their destination. The Right Bank—as they called the part of the city on the other side of the rift—was considered much more prestigious, because far more mages lived there, and infrastructure was created for them. That's where the Upper City was located.

In her past life, she couldn't have even dreamed of getting there. Now, in the company of similar failures, in complete silence, she was on her way—not to the surface, unfortunately, but to one of the lower levels. Still the Lower City, but with at least minimal growth in social status. Or perhaps a fall. But it didn’t matter.

"Art Deco skyscrapers, lush parks, nature reserves, and all of it on a mountain," her gaze slid over the Right Bank's surface. For a moment she thought about the Upper City. "Like another world. They say it's paradise for living."

Sumarel, of course, hadn't been there. She could only see from afar the enormous structures that took your breath away with their inaccessibility. Their great city-state was a special entity—immensely huge and diverse, it attracted different peoples and races from vast territories, like a whirlpool pulling everything into its orbit.

Endlessly turbulent in recent decades—it was simultaneously both curse and blessing. You had to move forward quickly, constantly climb higher—or you'd be swept down to where life was hell. To put it mildly.

The face of the only girl besides her, sitting in the far corner, was constantly lowered.

"Amusing," flashed through Sumarel's thoughts, "rarely raises her eyes, but when she looks—it's at the most vulnerable points, as if considering how to strike."

"Need to develop a solution for hiding my intentions," Sumarel noted, turning away to the window.

Pondering the situation with her magical talent, she methodically went through options. There were three, and each carried its risks.

First option, something awakened in her, and it might be connected to Auriel. If she received from her sister the seed of those strange abilities she had, then Auriel's gift would never awaken. Her sister would be safe. There can't be two chosen ones in one city, can there?

While Sumarel—quite the opposite. She had no idea if they could detect her as an anomaly that threatened Imperial order.

“On the other hand,” she thought, watching the first fortifications appear in the distance, “couldn’t I trade my chosen status for a higher price? Win the Council’s support—become their instrument?”

She remembered all too well how her sister’s desire to side with those she saw as downtrodden had ended. But this situation held too many unknowns—and Sumarel didn’t trust a world full of uncertainties. The world was cruel to anyone who didn’t control all the variables.

"Second option," she squinted her eyes, "father lied for some reason, and I always had abilities. That would be the best scenario."

"Or..." and here something inside tightened, "it's connected to the rebirth. To that reflection."

Her face remained impassive—an amusing achievement of her lived life. But in her soul, which she'd long considered dead, unease was born.

"And that would probably be the worst option," she concluded.

Sumarel wasn't a fool expecting heaven's blessings from bad and tangled situations. Gods, if they existed, didn't hand out gifts just like that. Everything had its price, and the more valuable the gift—the more terrible the payment. Only what was gained by one's own strength, torn from the world with claws and teeth, was a true blessing.

"This whole situation with reflection..." The thought broke off, unwilling to form completely. Because at the end of that thought awaited acknowledgment: that she was going to kill Auriel. That she'd almost done it. That only this cursed reflection in the shards of time had stopped her.

Strangely, right now, sitting in a stuffy transport among potential Empire recruits, she felt... alive for the first time in a long while. As if the apathy that had hidden in her soul's shadows for years, illuminated only by bloody flashes of violence, was beginning to dissolve. Revealing something frighteningly real.

And the cards' strange behavior interested her no less, but she knew it wasn't time yet.

"What's needed isn't thinking—it’s action. That's how I'll get things sorted out," she concluded.

In any case, she had talent, and she couldn't wait to use it. The transport slowed, and through the dirty windows the first fortifications appeared. On the horizon, the outlines of the Imperial dogs' base clearly emerged—grim silhouettes of watchtowers rising above massive walls. Barbed wire encircled the perimeter, and between the rows shimmered magical barriers, rippling in the twilight with every shade of threat.

"Welcome to hell," Sumarel thought, feeling her lips stretch into a smile on their own, "let's see how this life turns out."