Chapter 21

It’s fairly common for adventurers to be idolized like rock stars. The field has been heavily romanticized, largely because some adventurers began recording themselves in recent decades. These Adventure Recordings, or AdRecs, are released to the public like a cross between a movie and a sporting event. Combining recordings from party members’ therra-nodes and accompanying camera drones is the most common style. Sadly, because of this romanticization, tens of thousands of unwitting daredevils line up for the work only to die in the field or realize that constant near-death experiences aren’t nearly as glamorous as they look.

Day 120, Quenchenday

“Why didn’t you tell us your uncle was THE Thallos Kiem?!” Rose exploded as we made our way to the medical center.

“I didn’t know he was that big of a deal,” I rushed to defend. “He’s just been my uncle to me. I hadn’t even met him until he tracked me down to bring me here.”

“You mean you’ve never heard the stories about Mystagogue Kiem? How he stopped an entire gang of bandits single-handedly? How he toppled a thief’s guild over a month? Or how he was part of a party that took down a stigmagaunt?” Rose listed off these stories as if I was supposed to have heard them half a dozen times.

“Not ringing any bells.”

Nel stepped in. “How about the adventuring party, Pale Shadow? The party that hunted down a pack of wraiths that had been attacking Whitestone City every week when the moon Secca was new.”

“Yeah, no,” I said. “Still haven't heard of any of this.”

“Have you been living under a rock this last quarter?” Rose teased.

I scratched my neck with my good hand, the action aggravating my wounded shoulder and causing me to wince. “Well, I don’t really listen to a lot of hearsay since most of my free time is either training or tinkering.”

“Gee, you don’t say,” Ferris’s tone was dripping with sarcasm. “It’s almost like the only times we see you without a tool or weapon in hand is when you’re eating.”

“Technically, isn’t a fork a tool?” I pointed out.

“That’s not the point, bolts-for-brains,” he snapped back.

“Wait,” Nel caught my attention. “Are you saying you listen to nothing that goes on around you while you’re working?”

“Other than you guys, yeah. Most of the whispers are from people muttering about me.” I ground my teeth. “‘Oh, look at his horns.’ ‘Why is his skin like that?’ ‘Aren’t his eyes freaky?’ ‘I wonder if he could kill someone with his tail?’” I made the quotes in a derisive tone. “By the fragments, I’m so sick of people muttering about me that I tune out the world so I can focus and not want to knock out some teeth.”

“You? Knock out teeth? Iver, if I hadn’t just seen you decimate four opponents, I would have called that a serious bluff,” Rose flashed me a smirk.

“What are you talking about? Wasn’t he just as much of a badass when he saved my ass from those thugs?” Ferris asked.

Rose burst into a gale of laughter that was only stemmed by an elbow to her ribs from Nel. She shot Nel a glare, and Nel gestured to me with her chin. Rose turned, her anger curdling to shame as she saw the hurt on my face. “Sorry, Ive,” she muttered toward her feet. “I was laughing at who you were, not who you are.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” pressed Ferris.

Nel answered. “For most of the year, Iver’s had problems with fighting.” She turned to me. “I’m sorry, Ive, but I need to be brutally honest to get the point through his head.” She turned back to Ferris. “His fighting talent was on par with a dying fish desperately trying to slap you with the side of its head.”

“Hey!” I shouted in offense.

“I’m sorry, Iver, but it’s true. That’s why Rose was laughing so hard.”

“Was he really that bad?” Ferris asked as we reached the medical center’s doors.

We passed through the entrance, and I checked in at the front desk. I made my way to the waiting area and took a seat in an uncomfortably sterile-looking chair, worried my blood would mar the pure white fabric. I tried to put the thought out of my mind as I used my therra-node to fill out the forms. Meanwhile, the talk of my lack of talent continued.

“Oh, yeah,” came Rose, some pep back in her step. “He was terrible, losing every fight he started.” Her expression turned pensive. “Although those fights were always with the same five thugs.”

“Well, those five are always making trouble. Iver is just trying to get the trogs to stop screwing with people,” Nel chimed in.

“You mean those same five that tried to ice me?” Ferris queried.

“The very same,” I answered, finishing the paperwork and hitting send.

The talk went on, but I zoned out, my mind fading as I tried to ignore the throbbing, burning, aching pain. My wounds pulsed red-hot in time with my heart. My fingers ached with a dull but searing pain, like leaving your hand in snow for so long the cold burned.

I was shocked out of my mental void by someone jostling my bad shoulder. I let out a growl of pain, turning to snap at whoever touched me. I found Rose looking at me with worry. “What is it?” I said with a barely contained snarl. Wordlessly, she pointed to a nearby healer.

“Umm, Mr. Maverick?” asked a gnomish girl timidly. Her skin was a light mint green, her hair a deep royal blue held back in a ponytail, and her eyes a bright magenta. She was tiny, but a normal size for her people. I was hypnotized for a moment by her triangular pupils—a regular trait for Gnomes, but I had never met one in person.

I shook myself free. “Y-yes, sorry. I’m in a bit of pain and feeling kind of light-headed.”

She flashed a kind smile, a flickering blue-green light displaying across her right eye from her therra-node. “No worries, Mr. Maverick. I am Trainee Healer Tessa, and I will be happy to remedy that. If you would be so kind as to follow me.”

I stood and trailed behind her, feeling drained. I took short steps out of fear of accidentally stepping on her. Tessa led me down hall after hall and up a flight of stairs before stopping at a door. She keyed in a code, and the door slid into the wall. She gestured for me to step inside. “Feel free to make yourself comfortable. The doctor will be with you shortly.”

I stepped into the room. The walls were a sterile white. To my left was an alcove with a holo-display and a wheeled stool. In the back corner on that side, a holo-platform projected a rotating 3D rendering of an Elven skeleton. To my right was an examination table made of mythril, with a full-body scanning apparatus mounted to its side.

I took a seat on the table. Sure enough, I had to peel my hand off the faux leather with a slight sucking sound. As I waited, the hologram shifted through several species, displaying everything from skeletons to nervous systems. After a bit, Tessa re-entered, followed by a familiar face: Dr. Brooksheen, the Elven doctor who had performed my physical.

“Ah, I remember you, young mister,” the doctor said with a gentle smile.

“Y-you remember me?”

“Of course. Not many Darklings come through here, and I have never met one with your skin pattern. I am rather interested in how that came to be.”

“I was just born like this, as far as I know.”

She had me lie on my back while she used the scanner. “As far as you know? Did your parents never tell you?”

“No. I’ve never known my mother, and the man who raised me wasn’t my biological father.” The correction brought back the old pain. “The way my father told it, my mother dropped me off in the dead of night before fleeing. He never even knew I existed until I was in his arms.”

Dr. Brooksheen pulled back the scanner and started typing at the archive display. “Well, I’ve never heard of any birth defect that causes your skin to manifest like that. But if you don’t know the details of your birth, maybe it was caused post-birth. Do you have any other abnormalities that may be connected?”

“Well, there are my eyes. I’ve met no one with eyes the same shade as mine or with pupils shaped like mine.”

“I did notice that. He does have rather striking eyes,” came Tessa from the corner. “His eyes almost seem to glow, and with those diamond-shaped pupils, it gives a rather unsettling effect.”

“My pupils are normally this shape, but in bright light, they narrow to a plus sign,” I commented.

“I had noticed the eyes, but Darklings and Brightlings can have their pupil shape inherited or even actively shaped by an alien parent if they are a fresh-gen.”

“Fresh-gen?” asked Tessa. I silently thanked her.

The doctor spun on her stool. “As you know, a Darkling has infernal or demonic lineage, just as a Brightling has angelic. Most have their otherworldly ancestor several generations back. A fresh-gen is a Darkling or Brightling whose direct parent is an angel or devil. It’s not unheard of for otherworldly parents to mark their children, normally an alteration to the eyes or a brand-like birthmark. I would blame your skin pattern on this, but these marks never span the entire body and are normally the sigil of the parent.”

“Having a devil as a father sounds terrifying, but it might explain why my mother left. Also, doctor, I’ve always referred to my pattern as my marbling.”

“Marbling?” asked Tessa. “Like on a steak?”

“I always thought of it like marble. My father said it looked like I was covered in thick spiderwebs.”

“I can see the comparison. But back on your bloodline, what breed of Darkling are you?” Dr. Brooksheen asked.

“I… don’t know,” I admitted, embarrassed.

She pinned me with a quizzical stare. “Do you not know what you are, or do you not know the different breeds?”

I winced and gave a shy answer of “both.”

“Then I’m guessing your father taught you nothing. Well, let’s start with the basics. There are four breeds: Devil-bred, Fiend-bred, Drude-bred, and Oni-bred.”

“Okay?” was all I could manage.

“Each has unique traits. They all have horns, serrated pointed ears, and can have a range of skin tones. A Darkling’s horns are as unique as fingerprints.”

The doctor used her therra-node to alter the holo-display to a nude Darkling man with deep royal purple skin. “Devil-bred Darklings can have any shade of purple skin. Their horns tend to be smallest and sprout from the brow or hairline. If they have a tail, it’s normally simple and serpentine. Their eyes tend toward shades of red or yellow. Their personality tends to be patient and reserved.”

The image shifted to a female Darkling with ashen gray skin. I blushed and looked away.

“Fiend-bred Darklings can have skin tones from light gray to coal black. Their horns are normally curved, curling, or twisted, at the temples or just ahead of the hairline. If they have a tail, it almost always has a spade- or arrow-shaped tip, much like yours. Their eyes tend toward purple or green, like yours. Their personalities are prone to be impulsive and mischievous. This breed is a large reason Darklings have such a dark reputation.”

The image flickered to a burning-red-skinned man, horns sprouting from the back of his head, running in line with his jaw. His hands, forearms, shins, and feet looked painted with dark swirls.

“Next, we have the Drude-bred. Their skin can be any shade of red, normally with designs in gray, black, or purple. Their horns can grow from their temples, brow line, or the rear of their head. Their eyes can be vibrant orange or bright electric blue. Their personalities can be calculating, with a penchant for wordplay and loopholes.”

The display changed to a truly massive Darkling. His skin was brick red with blood-red tiger stripes. A single horn grew from his brow. Tusks sprouted from his jaw.

“Lastly, the Oni-bred. This breed is rare. They can have any exotic skin color from the other breeds. They are always born larger than most. They can have one horn or a pair. They never have a tail but are always born with fangs and tusks. They have skin markings, either stripes or swirls. They tend to have short tempers and aggressive rage.”

The doctor set the display back to its cycle. “I gave you this explanation because your traits are baffling. You have horns akin to a Devil-bred, eyes and tail like a Fiend-bred, and a pigment design that aligns with Drude- or Oni-bred if it weren’t for the fact the color and pattern have never been seen. Regardless, I’ve gone off track. Tessa, you should be mending him.” She snapped her fingers twice. The trainee stepped up.

“Mr. Maverick, if you would remove your uniform top. Do you need help?”

I nodded, fumbling with the buttons. She stepped up and helped. The process went much faster, though no less painful. She didn’t bat an eye when she saw I needed help with the T-shirt underneath.

“Now, Tessa, what can you tell me about the injury without the scans?” came Dr. Brooksheen.

The girl adjusted her stool. “The first thing is the puncture to the left shoulder, on the lower edge of the clavicle but not through the scapula. I bet there are bone fragments. The pectoral muscle was cleanly punched through, but given the lack of excessive bleeding, my guess is the attack barely missed the cephalic vein.” As she spoke, she prodded the wound, drawing a groan from me.

“Very good. Now, the hand.”

She picked up my arm, pressing her nose almost to my swollen purple hand, my fingers malformed. “Looks like a shattering of proximal phalanges two and three. Again, expecting bone fragments, but this shouldn’t be too hard to mend.”

The doctor raised a finger. “You forgot something.”

“What am I forgetting?”

“Check the metacarpus.”

She turned back and gently prodded the top of my hand. I hissed at both knuckles and again halfway up the middle of my hand.

“Prognosis?” Dr. Brooksheen queried.

“My best guess is the knuckles are jammed and halfway up the third metacarpal, there’s either a bone bruise or a hairline fracture. I’d need to scan.”

“A reasonable conclusion. I’ll forward you the scans. Then I’ll walk you through the healing.”

Tessa gave an enthusiastic “Yes, ma’am.” She took a few minutes to look over the results. “It’s exactly as I thought. Bone shards in both locations, jammed knuckles, and a hairline fracture.” She turned to me, flashing a confident grin. “I’ve got this handled. You’re in good hands, Mr. Maverick.”

I gave her a grin with a sliver of her confidence. “I hope so. This throbbing is getting old, and I’m getting pretty tired.”

With that, I let out a weighty sigh. It was meant to show I was being a good sport, but it came out with the weight of months of pain, emotional and physical.

“I’m going to need you to lie back down,” Tessa said, pulling her stool beside where my head would be.

“Let’s start with the shoulder. How are you going to remove the bone shards?”

She laid her hands on either side of my wound. “I’ll enhance his body’s natural absorption rate and elevate the local pH level while enhancing his resistance to the acidity.” Her hands began to glow soft green. My shoulder heated uncomfortably.

“Good,” cooed the doctor. “Now, mend the bone.”

“Simple. I’ll stimulate bone growth and overlay a myst framework to prevent deformity.” The glow dulled, then intensified. This time, the heat was less, but my collarbone ached awfully.

“Well done. Now, the tissue and skin.”

“Easy. I’ll tie a myst latticework to either end of the wound and accelerate muscle growth while I guide the process.” The light intensified, and my wound tingled insanely, like hundreds of ants racing under my skin.

Once the healing was complete, I sat up and tested my shoulder. Good as new.

“Excellent work, trainee. I don’t think you need my guidance for his hand,” Dr. Brooksheen said, visibly proud.

The hand wasn’t nearly as bad. Once it was done, I pulled back on my torn and bloody shirt and jacket. I thanked them profusely before leaving to meet my friends and hide in the woods, trying to forget about the day.

Little did I know, things were about to get a lot more complicated.