THE UNRANKED MONARCH

Chapter 3:

The hunger returned before consciousness did.

Kael awoke to the familiar ache behind his sternum – not the spiritual void of the void, but the simple craving of his body that had been deprived of nutrition. IV fluids for three days were enough to keep him alive, but his body had memories of starvation, and they were angry. It demanded food, real food that would fill Kael's belly.

Kael lay on his bed for a while, staring at the ceiling tiles. Each tile had the same off-white color and the same pattern of tiny holes in them. Kael counted them to keep his mind from thinking about the thing inside his chest.

It was there.

Kael was sure about that since he could feel its presence each time he breathed too deeply – not the pain, but a sense of the thing's presence. A dense, cold knot in somewhere between his heart and his spine. He tried to think about it and felt as if the world tilted slightly, colors distorting around the edges like ink in water. But Kael didn't focus on it. He had spent the last two days pretending that what he experienced was the side effect of medication, fatigue, and trauma.

Kael was learning to lie to himself.

The scar on his left cheek started to itch. He scratched it – another one of his nervous habits that he had acquired after the c***k – and felt the familiar wrongness of his smooth skin under his fingernails. Too smooth, like touching glass warmed by a fever.

A knock at the door.

"Mr. Ve—" The nurse stopped, glancing at her tablet. "Mr. Ve—Veiron?"

"Veyron." Kael corrected her, though the name felt strange to him. "Kael Veyron."

"Right." She offered a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. A civil smile given to a c***k survivor. Too soft, too careful, as if Kael could shatter if she talked too loud. "There is someone who would like to talk to you. Are you up for visiting?"

Kael's stomach clenched. Not due to hunger.

Wardens.

Kael knew about that without the nurse saying so. He could hear it from the way she had straightened her posture, her tremble when adjusting the IV bag – civilians always got nervous when Wardens were nearby. Power radiated off them like heat from a road. Even F-Ranks made civilians feel small.

"Sure," Kael answered roughly. He tried to sit up and winced as his spine popped. The hospital gown was thin, drafty, and smelled of industrial detergents. Kael drew the blanket closer and realized how pathetic he had become – sunken face, greasy hair, body wasted away from self-cannibalization long before the c***k even appeared.

The nurse nodded and stepped back.

Two men entered the room.

The first one moved with the ease of the owner. Not arrogantly – efficiently. Each move calculated, shoulders back, head slightly tilted in such a manner that it seemed he was constantly assessing possible exits and angles of attacks. He was tall, maybe six-two, with muscles that had come from battles and not from working out in the gym. He had dark hair, combed back, with premature gray strands at his temples, giving him an appearance of distinction rather than old age. He wore a charcoal coat over his slate-gray uniform, and on his lapel, there was a small golden pin that reflected the fluorescent light.

A-Rank.

Kael's throat constricted.

The second one was bigger, younger, with a shaved head and a hard jaw that reminded of concrete. He lingered near the door with his hands clasped behind his back, eyes sweeping the room with professional detachment of a bodyguard. Or an executioner. His collar had a C-Rank pin gleaming with danger sufficient to snap Kael's neck without a blink.

"Hello, Mr. Veyron." The first man's voice sounded smooth, cultivated, with an accent of private education and expensive whisky. He pulled out a small black card from his coat and presented it to Kael, holding it in his hands as if performing a magic trick. "Lucien Varek. Inspector, Warden Association, Eastern Division."

Kael took the card. The paper was thick, textured, embossed with a silver seal that seemed to change positions depending on the angle at which you looked at it. Kael ran his thumb over it and felt a faint buzz – some sort of security enchantment, probably. Wardens didn't distribute common business cards.

"Seems like you are fully healed," Lucien said, scanning Kael's face. Not unkindly, but analytically. Categorizing. "Great." Kael felt like a specimen enclosed in a glass. "I won't take much of your time. I have some questions regarding the incident at Transit Station Seven."

Kael squeezed the blanket. In his chest, the cold knot twitched once. A warning? A reaction to the proximity of the Warden? Kael couldn't tell.

"Oh," Kael answered, his voice neutral. "Regarding the gate."

"Yes." Lucien moved a chair from the corner without asking, though in such a polite manner that Kael felt it was a courtesy. The man's movements were calculated, controlled. A-Ranks possessed reflexes able to catch bullets. Kael had watched the footage once. He hadn't believed it to be real. "I won't waste your time. I just want to ask you about the event in the c***k gate."

The scar on Kael's left cheek itched again. He scratched it harder, feeling the warmth coming under his nails. The gesture was helpful, distracting – the behavior of a traumatized civilian, harmless and pathetic.

"I don't know," Kael said, looking at his hands that were shaking. He didn't have to pretend that. "I had fainted… because of fear. I thought I was going to die, and then I woke up here."

Silence.

Lucien didn't blink. Those pale gray eyes scrutinized Kael's face with the patience of a man who had interrogated a hundred survivors and knew every flavor of lie. Kael felt sweat running along his hairline. Could Lucien sense it? The thing in his chest? A-Ranks had aura perception – ability to read the spiritual pressure of other Wardens. But Kael wasn't a Warden. Not really. The detector had never recognized him as one.

And the Vessel was sealed. Buried under layers of darkness too deep to call it anything else.

"Okay," Lucien said finally, moving back and relaxing. The atmosphere in the room changed – from an interrogation to something else. Disappointment? "If you remember anything – even the slightest detail – please let us know. It might be crucial."

"Okay," Kael answered quickly, nodding. "Will do."

Lucien held Kael's gaze for a moment and then glanced at the man near the door – Venn, Kael assumed. The inspector nodded.

"Mr. Venn," Lucien said. "Please bring the device."

Venn moved for the first time, reaching into the metal case Kael hadn't noticed by the doorframe. He took out something round, about the size of a dinner plate, matte black, with concentric rings of soft glowing runes engraved in its surface. It resembled a compass created by somebody who had never seen a compass or a mirror forgetting its reflection.

Lucien took it and turned to Kael.

"Can you place your hand on this?" he asked, though it was close to the order.

Kael looked at the device, then at Lucien. "Can you explain what it is for?"

"Of course." Lucien smiled, professional and patient. "We suspect you are a Warden. This is a resonance detector – it measures the dimensional energy of a person's core. It is standard procedure for all survivors of c***k exposure."

Awakened.

The word hit Kael like a fist. Kael had been tested three times in his life. Three times, the chambers had declared him a Null – a human devoid of aura and potential. And now, after being exposed to a c***k, invaded by the black Vessel, and talking to creatures of shadow and monsters, they believed Kael was a Warden?

What would the detector show? Would it detect the flicker of an F-Rank power of an ordinary scared boy? Or something else – something sleeping in Kael's chest?

"Oh," Kael said, his voice small. "Okay. I'll try."

He placed his hand on the device. It was thin, pale, with blue veins clearly visible through transparent skin. A hand that had never held any power. A hand that had pleaded for scraps and had been spat on. He placed it palm-down on the device.

The runes glowed.

Kael closed his eyes.

For a second, nothing. Only the cool surface of the metal, the beeping of the heart monitor, and the faraway murmur of the hospital behind the door. Kael concentrated on breathing – in, out, in, out – trying not to think about the cold knot in his chest.

Then he felt it.

The detector scanned his body. Not painfully, but invasively – like a tongue probing a loose tooth. It touched Kael's surface – his fear, his hunger, his fatigue – and probed deeper, searching for his core. The place where the dimensional energy of the Warden lived.

Kael's heart raced. Don't find it. Please, don't find it.

The Vessel shifted.

Without awakening. Just… moving slightly in its sleep. Like a predator turning in its den due to some disturbance above the ground. Kael sensed it curling slightly and felt the pressure of darkness pushing against the seal Vael and Veyr had built around it. For a terrible second, Kael believed the seal would break – that the detector would start glowing brightly and Lucien would see the truth, taking Kael to a lab to be dissected.

But the seal held.

The detector probed against the outer layer of the seal, mistaking the leakage of power for what it really was, and then withdrew. It found only that could be found – a thin, trembling thread of energy, fresh, just awakening.

Beep. Beep.

Kael opened his eyes.

Lucien was looking at the device, his face unreadable. The runes glowed softly in the dull orange – the color of the dying ember.

"Sir," Venn said from the doorway, his voice neutral. "He is an F-Rank."

Lucien's jaw clenched for a moment. Kael had noticed the micro-expression of a man whose hopes were frustrated. Who hoped to get something more. Useful.

"So it seems," Lucien said quietly. He stood up and put the detector back in its case with a sharp click. "Too bad. I had… expected more. Well. Whatever."

He turned to Kael, and the professional smile was back, though it didn't reach his eyes this time. "Kael. Your Warden card will arrive within a week. Standard clearance of the F-Rank. You will be assigned to a patrol unit of the Outer Districts. Pay is not high, but enough to keep you fed."

Fed.

The word should have filled Kael with joy. But Kael felt hollow.

"Chi." Kael muttered, looking at his hand that had touched the device and was declared worthless once again. "F-Rank. The lowest rank."

Lucien paused in the doorway. He looked back, and for a second, almost a pity crossed his face. "Well," Lucien said. "Whatever. Congratulations, Mr. Veyron. You are officially a Warden now."

The door closed behind them.

Kael remained alone in his sterile room, with beeping heart monitor and bruised sky outside the narrow window. Kael should have been relieved. He had passed the test. They hadn't seen the Vessel. He was alive, he was a Warden (technically), and he won't starve anymore.

So why did Kael feel like crying?

Kael touched his chest, right above the spot with the cold knot.

Whatever, Kael thought bitterly. At least they haven't seen it. At least they don't know.

And then

– a smile.

Not Kael's.

It bloomed in Kael's ribcage silently and absolutely, lips of darkness stretching wide behind the seal. Kael felt it in his bones, in his teeth roots, in the hollow spot of his soul where hope used to be. The smile wasn't a friendly one. It wasn't cruel either. It was the smile of something ancient and patient, something hidden, sealed but not destroyed.

Something that knows exactly what it was doing.

The scar on Kael's left cheek burned with freezing cold.

Kael gasped, crouching in pain, hugging the blanket in his tight fists. The smile stretched further, testing the strength of its prison, reminding Kael it was there. That it was waiting. That it had all the time in the world.

And in the quietness of the hospital room, where Haze pulsed sickly against the window glass and the beeping heart monitor sang its mechanical lullaby, Kael understood with terrible clarity:

Kael hadn't been saved.

Kael had been planted.