Page 80 of Cerulean Truth (Sapere #1)

FORTY-THREE

EMMA

In the weeks that followed, I made it a point to chat with Martin whenever I could, eager to learn more about his life. He opened up about his training as an Offensive in Cyclos, his time in human conflicts, and his current assignments within the Cyclos community.

"One thing's for sure," he remarked during one of our strolls through the streets of Cyclos, "magi have been itching to step out of the broom-closet for ages.

" He paused, reflecting on the tumultuous history.

"There was a rather volatile movement about fifteen years back, where some magi resorted to coercion, compelling others to reveal their true nature to humans.

Fortunately, it was swiftly shut down, but the underlying desire never truly waned. "

I listened intently, careful not to betray any hint of knowledge about James's pivotal role as the sixteen-year-old who effectively “shut down” that movement.

"Now's the time, though," Martin went on, sounding thoughtful.

"If there ever was a time to garner global consensus, it's now.

That's precisely why I'm here. Cyclos stands as the largest Collective in the world, and while I wish all Collectives were regarded as equals, the truth is, the Council of Cyclos holds sway over the entire magi-world. "

When I asked him about his name, he grinned. “It’s actually Julius, though I update it every few centuries. Martin was my name during a period when I grew tired of the old one. That’s why so many call me ‘The Elder’—I can never seem to settle on just one name.”

His openness surprised me at first, but I quickly realized it was conditional.

He freely shared insights into his life—until the conversation veered toward me.

Any mention of our childhood or the suspiciously coincidental nature of our current situation, and he either vanished into thin air or clammed up entirely.

Just my luck. Another magus with secrets.

Somehow my entire existence had boiled down to a series of questions, no one was willing to answer. And I was reaching my breaking point.

Meanwhile, James seemed to be pushing the boundaries of his own jealousy, slowly morphing into an emotional bomb no one knew how to diffuse.

Our arguments, once centered around my challenges with translation, now solely revolved around Martin, and the intensity of our fights left me yearning for the simplicity of our past ones.

These clashes weren't just about us anymore. They were about a perceived threat James believed Martin posed to me and to our entire society, and my failure to align with his perspective ignited an anger in him that was unfamiliar and unsettling.

During some moments alone with Jackson—who had been a surprising, light and constant presence in my life ever since we met during that reception of hell—he subtly conveyed his concerns about James's volatile temper, hinting at the cracks beneath his icy exterior.

However, aside from fighting with James and the emotional toll, those initial weeks after Martin’s arrival remained relatively uneventful.

And then, horror struck.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, a random time on a random day.

James had invited me to a friendly brunch with himself, Jackson, who I now considered a close friend, Matthew, who still viewed me as an STD-infested foe—and I sincerely hoped I hadn’t misunderstood the ‘F’, and Nino, who turned out to be rather friendly if you overlooked the fact that she was a little insane and pretty scary.

I had come along under the strict condition no one was allowed to talk smack about Martin or sprout conspiracy theories on how he and I were connected.

James had reluctantly agreed to those terms and was in an exceptional good mood. His gorgeous green eyes had regained their usual intensity, rather than the murderous coldness they had shown since Martin‘s arrival.

We were sitting in a particularly beautiful part of Cyclos, secluded from the bustling streets, near the river of the Third Layer. Hiding from the heat by sitting in the shadows of the surrounding Roman buildings, we translated ourselves a comfortable table, chairs, food and drinks.

I took in the structures behind me, their ancient stone walls absorbing the warmth of the sun and radiating a gentle heat that felt like a comforting embrace.

The serenity of the setting was amplified by the soft murmur of the nearby river, its clear waters reflecting the deep blue of the sky and the lush greenery that framed its banks.

I was enjoying every moment, reveling in the subtle contact as my leg "accidentally" brushed against James's under the table, while he stole glances at me every few seconds.

It could have been quite romantic if it weren't for the presence of the arguing children—Jackson and Matthew. We’d been subjected to their inane bickering for over five minutes and I had trouble not bursting out in laughter.

Matthew and Jackson truly resembled an old married couple, who fought about literally anything .

“I had that chicken!” Matthew yelled, his face turning red with anger.

“Just translate some more chicken!” Jackson waved his arms in the air, clearly not understanding what the problem was.

I hid a smirk while James rolled his eyes. Nino ignored both of them and enjoyed her food completely undisturbed.

“You know very well you translate the best roasted chicken. Plus, I don’t have to conjure up another, because that one’s mine!”

“You’re being completely ridiculous,” Jackson replied dryly, while taking a bite out of the roasted chicken before him.

“Oh my gods, I can’t believe you just ate my chicken,” Matthew gasped.

“It’s not your chicken! You said you wanted chicken, I thought it was a good idea for a meal and simply made my own, and then out of nowhere you started proclaiming it was yours. This is mine, translate your fucking own.”

I was surprised to find Jackson engaging in this insane discussion. He always seemed so levelheaded. I glanced at James, who simply shook his head, fighting an amused smile.

“You don’t even like chicken. I said I wanted chicken, you clearly translated that for me, and just because I didn’t want to get you your coffee, you stole my chicken!” Matthew was still yelling.

“Well, why didn’t you just get me some coffee? I was nice enough to translate you some chicken!”

“Aha! See! I knew you translated that for me!” Matthew rose from his chair and tried to grab the chicken off Jackson’s plate.

“Fuck off Matthew, get your own and let me eat in peace.” Jackson shuffled his plate away from his friend.

“Just so you know, the only reason I didn’t want you to drink coffee, is because you get horrible coffee-breath. I was doing you a favor,” Matthew roared.

Jackson let out a snarky laugh. “Well, when you eat a roasted chicken, you look like a demented gorilla. So consider this me paying you back that favor.”

“Oh for crying out loud!” James shouted, quickly translating two beautifully roasted chickens onto the table.

“Here. Here are your godsdamn chickens,” he growled.

Jackson and Matthew stared at James as if he had grown two heads.

“It’s not about the chicken,” I whispered into his ear. James glanced at me, raising his eyebrow.

“It’s not about the chicken,” Jackson and Matthew said in unison.

"Told you so," I grinned, but my smile quickly faded as I heard the all-too-familiar hum behind me. Whipping around, my heart raced as three green portals materialized near our table. In an instant, James and Nino sprang from their seats, positioning themselves protectively before us.

Both discreetly drew their Skindo from their tattoo, ensuring it remained hidden from the newcomers' view.

Martin, Maurice, an older lady I had learned to recognize as our current Leader, Maria, and an unknown man stepped through their respective portals, their faces pale and horrified.

"James...," I whispered, wanting him to stay close rather than face whatever disaster they were clearly here to brief us on.

James reached for my hand behind him, and I grabbed it eagerly, standing closer to him.

"Walker," Maria called out, slightly out of breath.

I looked up at James, studying his face, which betrayed no emotion. However, when the unknown bald man with greedy little eyes stepped through the portal, James shifted slightly, as if uncomfortable.

"Dennis Dale," Jackson whispered behind me, a tinge of shock in his voice. Matthew coughed, and I couldn’t help but notice how he and Jackson stood together, clearly ready to take on whatever threat might appear.

The chickens lay on the table, long forgotten.

"Mister Walker," the man said, shaking James's hand.

"Mister Dale," James replied dryly.

Frowning slightly, I realized the name sounded familiar but I couldn’t quite place it. Hadn’t Julian mentioned something about James being his savior?

Returning my attention to the ensemble, I caught Martin’s gaze and raised a brow, mouthing, "What’s going on?" silently. He shook his head once, indicating that whatever was happening, it wasn't good.

"You need to come with us. Now," Dale ordered. Ugh, that tone. His nasal voice matched his unattractive physique and screamed of someone addicted to authority. "And you need to bring your lady friend, whose hand you're clutching."

His what?

James didn’t ask any questions, didn’t even reply. He let my hand go and for a second I wondered if he would comply, but instead he stepped in front of me and crossed his arms. As far as non-verbal communication went, he had the “over my dead body” stare down to a tee.

Nino shifted a little closer to my side, as did Jackson and even Matthew took a stand next to his friends. Their message all loud and clear: touch her and die. I swallowed, moved by their unwavering protection.

“James," Maria repeated sternly, "she’ll be safe. We just need to talk to her."

"You can talk to her right here," James replied dryly, ignoring Maria’s harsh tone. He stood firm, his eyes never leaving Dale's, making it clear he wasn't about to back down.

I coughed, indicating I was more than competent to speak for myself. But Nino shot me a glance sideways, and widened her eyes for a second, the message again loud and clear: butt out.

Dale's eyes narrowed, clearly displeased with the resistance. "This isn't a request," he snapped, but James remained unmoved, his stance resolute.

“Mister Walker, The Board needs to speak with her, right now. Your Leader informed us of your…’attachment’, but you coming along is merely a concession on our part. Her attendance is non-negotiable.”

James didn't flinch, his eyes locked on Dale's, the tension between them thickening.

I could feel the weight of the moment, the intensity of the standoff, and the support of my friends surrounding me.

Despite the fear gnawing at my insides, I drew strength from their solidarity, ready to face whatever awaited me.

“I can go,” I said softly.

James’s jaw clenched.

“The Board will not harm one of our own,” Dale said through clenched teeth, clearly insulted by James’s mistrust.

“Considering how we met, I’m not too quick to take your word on that,” James replied, his tone ice-cold.

“James,” Martin spoke for the first time. “I’d accompany you both as well. No one in their right mind would mean her harm.”

James scoffed. “And this is another ‘coincidence’ I take it? You, showing up here, mere weeks before the Board suddenly wishes to speak to Emma. You’re lucky I haven’t kicked your ass back to Australia. I’m betting all those ‘coincidences’ would disappear along with you.”

Maurice and Jackson gasped. Clearly James’s tone of disrespect toward the Elder was more than shocking. James didn’t seem fazed though, and as far as I could tell, neither did Martin.

“We can go together,” I suggested, hoping to diffuse the situation. “To Antwerp.” By reminding him of our earlier conversation in San Antonio, I hoped to soften his features and encourage him to reconsider his obstinate refusal. But he remained unmoved, his stance unfaltering.

Dale shook his head, and Maria sighed nervously.

“We’re not portaling to Antwerp. The Board is convening in Corsica,” Dale explained, taking off his glasses and wiping them down with his shirt.

James frowned, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “At Alliance? Why? They all on holiday?”

This time, Maurice stepped forward, his demeanor tense and grave. I hadn’t had the pleasure of talking to him again, aside from the time he’d invited me to that awful reception, which ended in me being abducted. Good times.

But now, his usually reserved nature seemed to crack under the weight of urgency.

I had noticed his tendency to keep to himself, letting Maria, our Leader, take the spotlight.

But it was Maurice who seized James's attention, his next words dropping like lead weights in the heavy air, thick with foreboding.

“The Diamond City has fallen.”