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Chapter Fourteen

C allie

“Phase Two will be… challenging,” the Committee member warns. “Experiencing such memories from another’s perspective can be overwhelming.”

Two days haven’t been nearly enough to process what we witnessed in Phase One. Spark seems to sense our tension, drifting between us as we sit in our meditation corner.

“As before, hand-holding is permitted during the memory field,” they continue. “Are you prepared to proceed?”

Aries looks at me, concern evident in his expression. “We can still—”

“Yes,” I cut in. “We’re ready.”

His hand finds mine as the field activates. Spark presses close to my shoulder as everything dissolves into memory.

The sensation hits first—cold metal against my back where the guards shove me against the bars.

The collar feels impossibly heavy, its weight a constant reminder of my helplessness.

Through Past-me’s eyes, I watch Aries. It’s only now that I remember how big he seemed to me.

His bronze skin dulled by the red emergency lighting .

Fear claws at my throat. Past-me catalogs possible escape routes, finding none. The cell is tiny—barely eight feet square. One cot, a sink, a toilet without privacy. No windows. No hope.

The loudspeaker’s announcement hits like a physical blow: “You have one hoara to breed with your cellmate. If you do not complete the act, we will execute both occupants of the cell.”

Past-me’s thoughts race: Can’t die here. Can’t let them win. Have to survive. Have to…

Through her eyes, I watch Aries carefully keep his distance. But there’s something else now—a deeper layer of Past-me’s terror that I’d buried so completely I’d almost forgotten it myself.

Never done this before. Twenty-three years old and never… The thought fragments as panic claws higher. Not just fear of pain, but of the unknown, of losing something that can never be returned.

Past-me’s inexperience shows in her trembling, in the way she doesn’t know how to position herself, in her wide-eyed terror that goes beyond situational fear to something more fundamental.

His attempt at gentleness only makes it worse somehow—highlighting the reality of what’s about to happen.

Present-Aries’ fingers link through mine as we observe. Spark radiates waves of comforting blue light.

“My name is Callie.” Past-me’s voice shakes, but she forces the words out. Names matter. Identity matters. They can’t take that away.

“Aries.” His response is quiet, careful, though the translation device in my ear makes the words monotone. “I’ll be as gentle as I can. ”

Past-me’s thoughts fracture: He’s trying to help. He’s as trapped as I am. But oh god, I can’t…

What I now know to be the sound of a pain/kill collar being activated fills the air. A scream echoes from another cell almost simultaneously. Past-me flinches violently.

“We can’t wait much longer.” Aries’ voice holds genuine regret.

Past-me nods, tears falling. “Just… please be gentle?”

The plea carries layers Present-me had forgotten—not just “Don’t hurt me,” but “I don’t know what I’m doing,” and “This isn’t how I dreamed it would be.”

The fear is overwhelming now—not just of pain, but of this intimacy forced by violence. Past-me closes her eyes as Aries approaches. She tries to disappear inside herself.

The memory mercifully fades to darkness. When it resumes, a new understanding floods through me. Past-me lies curled on the narrow cot, not just processing trauma, but mourning. Mourning the loss of choice, of romance, of the gentle first time she’d imagined with someone who loved her.

Present-Aries’ grip on my hand tightens, and I know he’s understanding too—finally grasping the full cost of that moment.

“I’m sorry,” Aries whispers from across the cell. “I’m so sorry.”

Past-me can’t respond. Can’t acknowledge him or the gentleness that somehow made it worse. Because he tried—he really tried to make it bearable. And that leaves my past self with emotions too complex to process.

Through her eyes, I watch him withdraw into himself.

See the walls building between us. Understand finally that his coldness wasn’t rejection—it was the only way he could cope with what he’d been forced to do.

I’d never thought about his side of the equation, never realized he lost part of his soul because he was forced to participate in something he wanted no part of.

The memory field dissolves, leaving us shaking in our cottage. Aries releases my hand, rises and steps backward, his face a mask of horror.

“You were…” His voice breaks completely. “Callie, you were a virgin.”

It’s not a question. The memory field showed him everything—my inexperience, my deeper fears, the innocence I lost that night.

“It doesn’t matter—” I start, but he cuts me off.

“ It matters .” His hands shake as he runs them through his hair. “Gods, it matters. Your first time should have been with someone who cherished you. Should have been beautiful, gentle, chosen…”

Tears track down his cheeks—the first time I’ve seen him cry since his nightmares about Kren.

“Instead, it was with me. In that cell. Under threat of death.” His voice cracks. “I took something from you that can never be given back.”

“Aries, no.” I rise and reach for him, but he flinches away.

“How can you even look at me? How can you stand to be near me, knowing what I stole from you?”

“You didn’t steal anything.” The words come fierce and sure. “You gave me survival. Gentleness. Protection. And later, the space to heal.” My voice grows stronger. “What happened wasn’t theft—it was sacrifice, by both of us—so we could live to choose each other freely.”

I reach up to cup his face, wanting to wipe his tears, but I fist my hands at my sides.

“That first time wasn’t about love or desire or choice. But every moment since we started these trials has been. Every touch, every word, every breath we share now—that’s my real first time. With you. By choice.”

His forehead drops, almost resting against mine, his breathing ragged.

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness.” He sounds defeated.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not offering it. Because there’s nothing to forgive. Only something to build on. Together.”

Spark immediately wraps us both in soothing light, its color a deep, understanding purple.

“Your perspective revealed much,” the Committee member observes quietly. “Phase Three occurs in two days.”

After they exit, neither of us speaks for long moments. Aries reaches to hold my hand since we’re still within the allotted time. He’s so gentle it’s as though I might break.

“I didn’t know,” he murmurs against my hair. “All these annums , I thought I was protecting you by staying away. But you were processing that loss, too.”

“We both lost something that night,” I admit. “But we found something else. Each other.”

Spark suddenly zips to the kitchen, hovering over the nutrient solution. Its determined movements make us both laugh despite the emotional weight of the moment.

“Comfort food time?” Aries asks, lips quirking slightly.

“Apparently.” The normalcy of caring for our shimmerling helps ground us in the present. “Our little one has opinions about emotional processing.”

Working together to feed Spark provides a welcome distraction. The familiar routine of solution and song helps ease the memory’s weight. When the shimmerlin g settles into its rest-sphere form, we take our positions for the energy exchange without discussion .

The connection feels different today—deeper somehow, weighted with new understanding and acceptance. Spark vibrates contentedly between our palms, as if satisfied with our progress.

“Two days,” Aries murmurs. “Until you see my perspective.”

“Until I understand completely,” I correct gently. “We can’t change what happened. But maybe we can finally heal from it.”

His gaze meets mine over Spark’s peaceful glow. The walls are still there, but now I see them for what they are—protection born of guilt and shame, not rejection. And maybe, after today’s revelations, they’re finally starting to crack.