Paragon

by Rowan Rook

  World of Word

  Paragon

  Rowan Rook

  Paragon

  Copyright © 2020 by Rowan Rook.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce or transmit this text in any form.

  www.rowanrook.com

  Current Edition (1st) Published in June 2020 with KDP.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Body font is Georgia.

  Title font is Space and Astronomy by J0hnnnie.

  Cover image by BetiBup33.

  Cover edited by Rowan Rook.

  Book design by Rowan Rook.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to the coffee shops that put up with me loitering for hours as I wrote and edited, including SoulFood CoffeeHouse and Fair Trade Emporium, WiFire Community Space, and D&M Coffee.

  This book is also dedicated to my Patreon followers,

  including Joaquín Ceballos and Geri Meyers,

  and my newsletter subscribers.

  Thank you for your support!

  Content Warnings

  Major Content Warnings:

  Villain Protagonists, Strong Violence (including Gun Violence and Captivity), and Prejudice against a Non-Human Species (as well as references to real-world Prejudice).

  Full Content Warnings: https://www.rowanrook.com/content-warnings

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  Some say the world will end in fire;

  Some say in ice.

  From what I've tasted of desire

  I hold with those who favor fire.

  But if it had to perish twice,

  I think I know enough of hate

  To know that for destruction ice

  Is also great

  And would suffice.

  —Fire and Ice, Robert Frost

  Prologue: End of Summer

  "Tell me, what is it like to die?" she hissed, so close her hot breath brushed his ear. "I've always wondered."

  The Lyrum couldn't breathe. Pain pulsed through his spine and tied chains around his lungs. He lay on his stomach, the wet grass cooling his dry tongue.

  Every instinct told him to rip out the chakram embedded in his back, but he couldn't. His body wouldn't work anymore. The wound itself wasn't deep, but it burned. It burned like he'd been gouged by fire instead of a blade. It burned until it was cold. Cold like there was nothing left of his tingling skin. He shuddered, fresh blood trickling down his sides with each tiny movement.

  Memories from the last few moments flickered in and out through black haze. Even as his fellow soldiers had fled, he'd stayed. He'd charged that woman—that wretch who'd sliced his brother nearly in half—out of anger. Blind, desperate, stupid anger.

  Her circular blade had blocked his dagger before coming for him. His armor had already worn away through the hours of combat, and the chakram sliced into him without mercy.

  What a childish mistake. A Lyrum should never confront a Human, not physically. He should have guarded his distance and relied on Translation instead, if only he hadn't exhausted his strength to summon it. He'd let his rage take hold of him. He'd die a fool.

  The Human straightened above him, the fallen leaves crunching beneath her boots signaling the end of summer. Her paced movements belied the chaos of just minutes earlier. It seemed the skirmish was nearing its end.

  "I suppose it's foolish to ask you about something so frightful as death when you don't feel fear the same way Humans do," the soldier's voice was as calm and dissonant as her body. "You're lucky, really, even if that means I'm not."

  She yanked her blade from his back, spurting blood splattering her stained armor.

  The Lyrum snarled, "You're the one who feels nothing! I don't know what kind of soul you have that lets you do this, but it's one that has much more to fear from death than mine."

  The Human smiled in a way that wasn't really a smile at all, "Why would I be afraid when I have nothing to lose?"

  Her boot slammed into his skull.

  The Lyrum's teeth clamped shut on his tongue. He barely held in his cry—she'd savor the sound if he let it out. He refused to give her the satisfaction.

  "Tell me," the Human ordered, "what are you and your kind after? This stand of yours was futile from the start. Surely, you're at least intelligent enough to realize that."

  The Lyrum glowered up at her, the embers of his hatred hot in his eyes.

  "Tell me!" she growled. "Tell me, and I'll end this quickly. Otherwise, I'll hear you beg." Her nostrils flared. "I know how to make you suffer."

  The Lyrum remained silent.

  The Human's fingers clenched around her chakram. "You—"

  "Johanne, that's enough!" a voice ordered from somewhere behind her. "There's no need for this."

  A Human general strode toward them, a scowl on his face. The gold accents on his armor gave his title away, shimmering under an afternoon sun as beautiful as any other during the first days of autumn.

  The woman didn't look at him. "For creatures that live on instinct, Lyrum make so little sense. It should have fled with the others." Her dull face lit up, "Still, it's offered us quite the opportunity."

  She stomped down on the Lyrum's back, and this time, he couldn't swallow the pain splashing through his bones. A scream begged for release. Only a series of sputtered coughs escaped.

  "Stop!" the general spat. "Shakaya Johanne, I order you to stop. It's not going to talk. They never do."

  Shakaya hesitated, but her narrowed eyes didn't leave the Lyrum.

  The general's face hardened, "Have at least a little honor. Put the poor thing out of its misery and call it done. It's the last of them."

  It seemed he would be heading out for Heaven early. The Lyrum thought one last time of his family in Riksharre, assuring himself they'd be just fine without him. Just fine...

  Shakaya glanced up at her general with the gaze of a scolded child. Something flickered behind her blue eyes—something cold—but it faded just as quickly. A smirk took its place, "With pleasure."

  The Lyrum smiled. The second squad should have arrived at the Academy by now. If his allies succeeded...if they succeeded, then everything would be worth it. He might be a fool, but so were the Humans standing over him...

  He closed his eyes. He never saw Shakaya raise the chakram a final time and slam it down where his head met his shoulders.

  Chapter One: Auratessa

  Amaranth glided across the Academy's tiled floor. His boots clicked through the research hall, tapping in time with the frantic keyboard clatter bleeding through the walls. His long black ponytail and its red ribbon waved like a flag in the wind behind him. The corridor was alive with voices and bodies, but as always, his colleagues showed little interest in him. That was just as well. He snaked around the crowds to steal a glance at the clock. It was already a quarter to three. Damn, he was going to be so wretchedly late. Rickard had told him to come to her office at precisely half-past two, and hi
s boss was one woman he didn't want to disappoint.

  He crashed into one of his colleagues, his chest ramming into her shoulder. He held in a hiss and staggered for balance. Strands of hair came loose and clung to his brow.

  The woman whirled on him, dusting off her lab coat and readjusting her safety goggles. "Watch it!"

  "My apologies," Amaranth bowed before hurrying off.

  Laughter followed after him. A pang punched his stomach before he dismissed it with a snort. Sometimes, he swore he was surrounded by children. The Academy would turn into a damned circus one day if Rickard didn't up her standards.

  Amaranth's eyes wandered to his right wrist. In all likelihood, the meeting would be about the Not: the ornate metal cuff hidden beneath his lab coat's sleeve and the weapon on which he'd focused his research after graduating from student to scientist.

  The day's work had left him exhausted. His head throbbed from chemical fumes and his hands burned with sterilizing chlorine. Normally, he would be in the middle of a much-needed lunch hour, but he'd already wasted too much of the afternoon buried in the Not's same old problems. How had he lost track of time so horribly?

  Rickard was going to be furious as it was, but no matter how relentlessly the clock ticked, Amaranth couldn't meet with his boss until he'd read over his notes from their last meeting. If he tried to talk with the Head Scientist without remembering what he'd previously told her...he'd get himself into much worse trouble.

  He stopped in front of Lab 2 and scanned his ID card. The door slid open with a mechanical hum and exhaled a tangy melange of chemicals and blood. Inside, a body lay on an examination table, its arms dangling limply with fine, frail fingers. A Lyrum...and judging from the stillness of the sheets, a dead one. Another Lyrum rattled straps tying him down beside his lifeless neighbor, his drugged defiance meek. Adolescents in student uniforms watched with curious eyes.

  Amaranth shuddered, in spite of himself. It wasn't an abnormal scene, but it was hard to keep his already queasy stomach from curling. The Academy used Lyrum as lab specimens in research ranging from medical studies to more sinister experiments at the behest of its army. As a scientist who specialized in the species's abilities, however, he preferred not to partake in the school's...more deadly projects.

  He tried not to look at the doomed Lyrum, but couldn't quite stop himself. He'd heard plenty of discussion about this study. The two specimens would soon share a selection of organs in the name of medical resurrection research that was too macabre to convince even someone like him. His eyes met the bleary ones of the Lyrum in chains. The Lyrum looked Human enough —like a man in the chains of an animal—but Amaranth knew all too well that he wasn't.

  I'm sorry, he swallowed, I'll do what I can to make sure Auratessa isn't like this forever.

  Humans and Lyrum... While similar in appearance, the two species were vastly different.

  The weak Lyrum matured swiftly and remained beautiful until the day they died, but while Humans often survived one-hundred years or more, no Lyrum had ever lived beyond age twenty-five. In exchange, they were blessed with the ability to manipulate the atmosphere's elements at will through a process called Translation. They used this gift to enslave Humans for history's first seven-hundred years, forcing them to build the cities and supplies they themselves lacked the physical power to create. Lyrum had ruled until Humans used their own gifts of physical strength and supposedly-inborn scientific skill to secretly develop weapons beneath their captors' gazes.

  Barely over two-hundred years ago, history changed course. Humans overthrew their captors and rose to rule in a war coordinated around the world—in the Inversion. In some ways, the war had never ended. Most Lyrum now lived in small clusters, far away from Human eyes. Those who didn't usually found themselves on lab tables. As Humans had once pushed Lyrum society forward as living tools, it was now Lyrum who aided Humanity's rapid progression as nothing but tools themselves. Sometimes, Amaranth swore fate had a dark sense of humor. Or perhaps that was too generous. Perhaps fate was simply cruel.

  He turned away and walked to the shelf where he kept his personal storage box. Not all Academy scientists used one, but he needed a way to keep some of his projects more...private. It looked the same as all the others but for the image of an amaranth bloom on the lid.

  Amaranth wasn't his real name, of course. But as far as he was concerned, it was the only one he had now. The amaranth was a long-lived flower, symbolizing eternal beauty and everlasting life. The perfect muse. Seeing the image sketched across his research solidified the goals he reached for with it, and somehow, that brought him comfort. He smiled, taking the box from the shelf. He couldn't bring these particular notes with him to his boss's office, but all he needed was a summary of the story he'd spun thus far.

  A colleague looked up from his keyboard and glowered through kempt red bangs. "Weren't you supposed to be meeting with Rickard right about now?"

  Amaranth grimaced. In Elavadin Academy, both employees and students were assigned to mandatory dorms of six people, and Lucillo was, quite unfortunately, part of his. Also unfortunately, it seemed rumors about Rickard's unusual request to meet with him had wormed their way around.

  Ryn, another of his roommates, glanced up from his computer screen. He offered a sympathetic smile but didn't say anything.

  "It isn't fair," Lucillo droned on. "You can make up whatever nonsense you want in those so-called reports of yours and Rickard soaks it in, while she won't even look at the rest of us who actually work hard every day."

  Amaranth turned, mouth open, but stopped himself before any sound escaped. He didn't need to dignify that—nor the twinge of guilt—with an answer. Instead, he punched in the code that unlocked his storage box and revealed a collection of files, tools, and an extra copy of the Not. All right where they were supposed to be. His nightmares about his colleagues digging through its contents had thankfully never come true. Lucillo was only making up stories, himself. He moved for the door.

  "You're barely even subtle!" Lucillo rose from his seat. "If you didn't have anything to hide, you wouldn't sneak around with your precious projects under lock and key."

  "Can't you ever stop it, Luc?" Ryn growled beside him. "You can't accuse someone of forgery without evidence. You're jealous, and you know it."

  Lucillo's voice oozed poison, "As if I'd ever envy a fraud."

  Fraud. The word hit like a stone. Amaranth froze in the doorway.

  Other scientists turned to look at him from across the room, faces awkward and curious. Whispered gossip passed between ears.

  Amaranth reddened, clenching his box to his chest as if his colleagues could see the secrets buried inside. A fire he usually suppressed smoldered in his stomach. It was rare that he reported his roommate's behavior to Rickard, but this time, he would.

  Lucillo stepped closer—precariously close to the box—his breath icy with mint. "Even your stalker will turn away when she sees what you really are." His eyes turned icy, too. "I'm surprised you're not afraid. After all, she's more man than you and more beast than Human. I hate to think about what she'll do to you."

  Amaranth's palm smacked Lucillo's face, and silence splashed across the room.

  Lucillo froze, then turned to leer back at him, gaping.

  Amaranth's right hand trembled in a clammy fist, his own eyes wide. He'd barely left a mark. The shock on Lucillo's face came from surprise, not from pain. Such childish behavior wasn't like him. Lord, it wasn't like him at all. What in the Author's name had he just done? He flushed beneath the stares of his colleagues, his heart thudding, wishing he could melt into the floor. Lucillo's jabs were only words...but he'd just offered them weight.

  Lucillo grinned wider. His hand cradled his bruising cheek as if it were a treasure. "I wonder what Rickard will say when I report you for assault."

  Amaranth's nails dug into his palms.

  Ugly. The world truly was ugly.

  What he desired was an Auratessa that had finally found
peace. A world where Humans and Lyrum shared what once divided them—a world where every individual possessed technology and Translation, strength and spirit. A world where people could be who they were—free from the fates society ascribed to their bodies. A world with no need for war. A beautiful world. A paragon.

  But if the world would ever change, it was science that would chart the course and serve as the catalyst. That realization had drawn him to the Academy so many years ago. He'd nearly discovered a way to offer Translation to Humans. He might still find a way to lengthen Lyrum lifespans. There was so much more he wanted to do. He was there to make Auratessa better. Lucillo, however, was only there for the Academy's auspicious pay. He was a jealous gnat, and despite his accusations, he understood nothing. Amaranth reminded himself of that as sweat beaded on his brow.

  A metallic screech split the air.

  Amaranth gawked up at the siren as its red lights filled the room like tendrils of fire. Its wails stung his ears and pulsed in time with his quickened heart. He'd passed posters depicting that sound in images and words every day, yet he'd never heard it before. It was the intruder alarm.

  Gasps cut through the sirens as scientists jolted from their seats. A beaker shattered on the floor.

  "T-that's... That can't—" Lucillo's voice cut off like he'd been choked.

  Shouts seeped into the room, spilling beneath the door and bleeding through the walls. Frantic footsteps pounded like drum beats. The first few gunshots cracked like cymbals.

  Intruders. There really were intruders. Amaranth only stood, watching the sirens as if he expected them to stop at any moment—as if the rest of the school would fall silent in turn. As if he might jolt awake, sweaty and shaken, in bed. Unreality tingled in his temples.

  The spell broke when a woman dashed for the door, nearly tripping over her lab coat. She shoved Amaranth aside with an elbow to the chest. His held breath pushed out in a gasp. He staggered back to keep his balance.