Page 5 of The Order: Rise of the New Empire (Order #4)

Chapter four

Forest

P ower.

Power is the only word to describe the luxury that radiates through this hub.

Initially, when Elyon warned me of the advancements in New Haven's closest sister hub, I assumed I would see technology a few years past what we see back home.

This? This is nothing short of revolutionary.

Having arrived only a few minutes ago, the Precipice's people welcomed us with praise and treats. They swarmed our vehicles with smiles and shouts. All of the citizens within this city are filled with a subservience we are only now seeing in New Haven.

Unlike the chips used in New Haven, the Precipice's citizens all wear films over their eyes. They are thin lenses meant to keep track of every citizen, giving each citizen a direct look into the social status of their peers. As helpful as it is to have a constant reminder of where you rank amongst these people, the film can turn deadly, breaching the mind through the eyes, activating code with something as simple as a verbal command, rather than the Re-Regulation Devices we see back home.

Along with the films, Veils, as they call them, their Marked are advanced, -like marks coating their skin, making them a sight for sore eyes if spotted in public. Due to the varying climates across the continent caused by the fallout of war, Marked took on varying traits, some harboring scars like my people, others decorated with dark swirls, sticking out in ways that would have gotten me killed well before I reached my first year at the academy.

Shackled and bound, the few Marked allowed to live in the Precipice are used as crowd control. Mind-numbingly subservient, each one was forced to participate in a lobotomy well before they had found the drive to fight.

Dragging along as empty shells, they hastily dictate the crowd, making a clear path for our vehicle. Elyon's eyes are observantly looking over the city.

I know he wishes he could lay claim to it.

"Jealous?" I question, knowing his answer well before he has spoken.

Despite his ability to hide what he is thinking, some of his larger emotions seem to stay plastered across his expression.

"Jealous? Of this?" he questions, unable to hide his envy. "Perhaps I have failed to industrialize New Haven as much as I would have liked."

Cold and bitter, he remains closed off. He keeps a safe distance from me despite the blood we share.

The past nine months have been nothing short of hell.

Bending at Elyon's every whim, day in and day out, I awake to a new form of mental torture, ready to submit to the man's every word.

Barely able to keep down food, I force down my meals with him. My room is uncomfortably empty. The cold hallways of Elyon's home are worse than the cells I was forced into during the Lottery.

Wearing a large cloak, the material seems to hug my figure.

My stomach is filled to the brim with nausea from the bumpy car ride.

Barely able to look down, I run my hand along the surface of my stomach, feeling a slight bump in the places my torso used to nearly concave.

Chalking up the slight weight gain as nothing more than a product of stress and full meals, I hold back the urge to dig deeper, the plausibility that it is anything more fading away.

It's been nine months.

There's nothing there.

Despite the quiet efforts we have tried to make with our people, the whispers of a father-daughter duo bringing a new form of reform to their hub spread quickly, rapidly expanding with the help of Elyon's arrogant need to be on top.

Fanning the flames of our new empire, the Precipice's governing council reached out, inviting us with thrill despite the Marked blood rolling through our veins.

It would seem Marked are only vile, so long as their power remains lesser.

"Power is the only thing that matters," Elyon mutters, his presence creeping into my mind. "Do not discredit the fear you have created in those unknowing of your gifts. Marked or not, we were both invited here for what we can provide," he whispers, gripping the wheel a tad harder. "So use their greed."

Keeping my head down, I give him a nod, letting my head settle into the glass of the vehicle. My only focus is on the bumpy road ahead and the rolling nerves in my stomach, ready to bring up breakfast.

Taking a seat around the large table, eyes of varying colors watch over us, each face varying in age. Staring at the glass of water resting before me, I question how many of these fuckers I could kill with its broken edge. I allow Elyon to take the lead on starting this horrid conversation.

Surrounded by the governing council running this city, every person in the space is wary, watching us as if we are blatantly unaware of the guards ready to put a bullet in our heads the minute we make a wrong move. Squeezing my leg beneath the large granite table, Elyon's nails dig into my thigh, his only way to ease anxiety is to replace the nerves with pain.

Keeping my focus on the bubbles rolling through the water, Elyon taps his foot. His brows raise with confusion.

"Can't say we have ever had Marked sit at this table," one of the older gentlemen mutters.

The irony in what kind of Marked he is speaking to is almost comedic.

Biting back a smile at the idea of how easily he could kill all of these people, Elyon rolls his shoulders back. His confidence washes over his expression.

"No Marked have had any of the gifts that my daughter and I have," Elyon says.

The word "daughter" in association with me and him, is tremendously hard to stomach,

Leaders from varying hubs surround the table. New Haven's isolation from its neighboring developments has never been more prominent.

Blocking out the varying voices carrying through the minds of all around me, the sound of a rapid heartbeat touches my ears. The once quiet silence I savored is now stowed away by the noise pounding in my ears.

More recently, it seems as if I can never escape the sound of my own heartbeat.

Hazed with the presence of their Veils, all of the eyes of those around us take on varying colors, each wide with judgment.

“We have heard of the conformity in New Haven, as well as your misfortunes. Tell us how your authority in one of Sanctum's other hubs is more beneficial than, say, a clean-blooded individual," the old man snaps, taking the lead in this interrogation.

“They would kill us on sight if they had their way.” I snap, watching Elyon's mouth curl into a smile.

“Tread carefully young one.”

“We hit a bump, yes, but New Haven has one of the highest production qualities of produce in this part of the continent.”

Scoffing at the comment, the old man laughs.

"Production value alone is not enough. Tell us how you have dealt with the Revolutionists in your hub, as well as your Marked."

Revolutionists? Here?

Perhaps my cause did not die with my memories.

Cutting off Elyon before he can speak, I snap.

“We kill them, simple as that. The less Marked, the better. Though slow, we have managed to begin weening the Revolutionists out of the city. The next step is hitting the compounds. I’m sure you have your fair share of compounds surrounding your city.”

"You're killing your own kind? How much can we trust that ideology?"

Craning my attention to one of the Marked servants stationed by the double doors to the space, their painful thoughts swarm me, their lids heavy with the presence of dread. Looking over the numerous runes coating their skin, their eyes slightly widen, my only gesture a small nod of my head.

"I'm sorry."

Flipping up my wrist, the metal of their necklace wraps around their throat, violently tearing through their skin. Their scream is stifled by the pain radiating through their body. Watching their eyes roll into the back of their skull as they thrash, the metal slices through their skin, ripping until there is no more resistance left to give. Hearing the sound of the metal flying through the air, the warm, wet feeling of blood collides with my palm. The red drips down my wrist as Elyon and I glare at the necklace dangling in my hand. Watching the Marked's head fall away from their shoulders, the body crumples to the floor. The room becomes consumed in silence.

Gravitating the necklace toward my mouth, I lick the blood clean from the chain, moving aside my cloak to wrap the chain around my belt, settling it next to the dozens of powerless neuro chips strapped to my waist. Sitting as still as they possibly can, all of those ready to mock me seconds ago grow silent. Each one of them takes their time to observe the dozens of trophies I have collected while helping Elyon rid our streets of the Marked.

"Our Marked's neuro chips," I sigh, running my finger over each lifeless spindle, giving them all a chance to look at the kill count plastered to my side.

Elyon hides his smile with his hands, finally registering the power play I have offered up to this table of rich elites.

"I'd say you are more than capable of trusting that ideology," I snap toward the old man. Any confidence he had in his words quickly fades away.

Feeling the creeping presence of nausea swarm my stomach at the taste of the Marked's blood, I keep on the facade of my cold face, digging my nails into my legs the moment I begin to taste bile.

More recently, stomaching blood has become a task. What once gave me an abundance of power now only satiates me for a few days. My body is drained no matter how much fuel I give it.

Taking a stand from his seated position, Elyon takes over the conversation. The clear sign of unsettlement after my actions has started to settle in my expression.

The last thing he wants is for either of us to show weakness.

“Seems we have a common need to reestablish order and get rid of our filthy Marked running through our cities," Elyon smiles. "So, are you as eager for an alliance as we are?" Elyon questions. The old man warily rises to his feet.

Cautiously approaching Elyon with unnerved and paced steps, the man holds his own. The malicious smiles of his peers are now petrified frowns.

"I think, Mr. Morgan, we do indeed have a vested interest," the man says, his name formulating in my mind.

"Can we rely on you, Arthur, to back our cause with full support?" I question, his body jolting at the use of his name. "Do you intend to back New Haven in all of its effort to wean out its Marked and deviants in exchange for our integration of your technological advances in our city?" I question the trade-off here, one that only benefits us.

He would be a fool to question me right now.

Waiting for a response, Elyon raises his brows.

"My daughter asked you a question," Elyon hisses, patting the man on the back with an empathetic touch.

"The Precipice would want nothing more than to foster New Haven into its inner circle," he smiles. His body is seconds away from relieving itself out of fear.

Standing like Elyon, I take a stand next to him, both of us shoulder to shoulder, facing Arthur's trembling figure.

"Anyone opposed to this union?" I question toward the group of onlookers. No one dares to think of a snide remark.

Holding his hands out to the both of us, Arthur's hands clasp around our own, embracing us with a firm handshake.

Giving me a look I know all too well, Elyon is ready for me to claim more control, his eyes filled with impatience.

Taking a step into Arthur's mind, I bare my teeth, exhausted and tired of entertaining any more control.

“We would also like top authority amongst all military personnel in your city, as well as any outlying resources New Haven is void of. Make it happen," I hiss, only adding to the flood of control Elyon hopes to establish.

Clamping his mouth shut, Arthur says nothing, giving us both a nod.

Taking several moments to compose ourselves, we step away from the man, finding a common ground to end our meeting.

"Well, it would seem we are done here. I'm sure none of you will mind if my daughter and I take some time to explore your city?" Elyon questions.

Everyone nods eagerly, making it clear they are ready for us to leave.

Turning on our heels, we accept the invitation to leave, hearing the deep sighs of relief the moment we have reached the double doors. Stepping over the body of the Marked, I keep my eyes forward, ignoring the roll of nerves in my stomach.

"Getting our hands in every place you can?" I question silently to Elyon once we are both out of earshot of anyone who might hear us.

"That is how you establish control," he snaps, giving me a stern look. "Why did you look so ill? That is not your first kill of the day," he pushes. My nerves escalate.

"I'm hungry," I lie.

Food is the last thing on my mind.

Shoving past the doors that lead us to the clean streets of the Precipice, the numerous Veils clouding people's eyes look over us. Their eyebrows raise in confusion as they watch us.

"We aren't in their system. My guess is we are not an Untouchable or Unfortunate. We're outsiders," Elyon smiles, finding satisfaction in the mystery he carries. "Despite that council's efforts, Marked still roam their city. Let's find you some food, then," he smiles. Wiping the blood off the corner of my mouth, he licks his finger clean. "We can find a Marked for dessert."

Forcing on a smile, I don't object once he takes my hand. Guiding us down the street, he urges our own military personnel to give us space as we roam.

Catching a glimpse of something in the corner of my eye, I swear I see a set of golden eyes, ones I had seen far too many times during my time in New Hope.

Mason.

Turning my body fully, my heart rate escalates as my energy surges to life. Taking a second look at the building I swore I saw the head of brown curls near to, the space is now empty, all of my defensive senses dialing back.

"What is it?" Elyon questions, his hand tugging my own.

"Nothing, I whisper, giving him another useless smile. "I'm just tired."

Barely accepting the answer, he questions my reaction, letting the conversation die in the air between us.

"Right," he smiles. "Of course."

Saying nothing else, he continues guiding us down the street. The ache in my stomach grows that much more uncomfortable.

Just another stressor to shove into the depths of my mind and lock away, along with the hope I will ever make it back to the one person I can call home.

Who knew the sky could become a reminder of those deep blue eyes that paint my dreams every night?

No wonder the night has become my ally.