Multiple Ankarians stood at each corner of the building Ophelia was in, their many arms moving quickly and skillfully as they worked with their tools, tending to the patients laid out on the beds.
*Hiss! *Click!
The hiss of machinery filled the room, mixing with the low murmurs of the Ankarians as they spoke to one another—coordinating their treatments. Their voices blended into a constant background noise—calm, focused and efficient.
But then, one voice cut through it all.
It was different—sharp and mechanical, each word followed by a soft clicking sound.
"Well, look at what we have here—the saintess herself!"
Ophelia flinched and quickly turned her head toward the speaker.
It was Amaron.
"You…" she said, narrowing her eyes as she looked at him. "You're the one who carried Jinn when we were inside the dreadnought."
"None other," Amaron replied with a slight nod.
His mechanical eyes shifted, then glowed a soft blue with a faint click to which scanned her quietly—as if checking her condition or reading something only he could see.
"Mhm, just what I thought," Amaron said with a small nod.
"Lady Merilyn choosing me was a smart move. Or… was it Venedix?"
He paused and shrugged, tilting his head slightly. "Ah well, doesn't matter now."
He gave his head a quick shake, and the gears in his neck clicked loudly—spinning with a mechanical rhythm before they settled into place. His glowing eyes focused on Ophelia once more.
"No time to waste. I'm going to teach you how to properly wield your Eidra."
Ophelia nodded and stepped forward,—taking a slow breath.
*Inhale—Exhale
She lifted her hand and focused inward, reaching for that familiar warmth she had felt so many times before.
It rose from within her chest like a gentle fire, spreading into her arm and fingers. A soft glow began to form at her palm, golden and steady.
"Well, I only know how to do thi—"
*FWIP!
Before she could finish, Amaron's hand moved quickly, covering hers with a sudden grip.
Ophelia gasped and flinched, unsure why he stopped her. The warmth in her hand flickered.
Amaron didn't say anything at first.
His head turned sharply from left to right, scanning the room with precise movements.
His glowing blue eyes flicked to every corner, checking on the Ankarians still busy with their patients—their tools clinking and whirring in the background.
Only when he was sure no one had noticed, did he turn back to her. His voice dropped low, steady and sharp in a whisper.
"You mustn't show your Eidra to anyone, young lady," he said. "Not now and Not yet. You don't know who might be watching—and you don't know what they'll do if they see it."
Ophelia stared at him, the glow fading from her hand. She could still feel the warmth in her chest, waiting to be called again.
That was weird, why would he do that?
Ophelia—still confused—wanted to ask why, but held the question back.
I guess now's not the time
Something in Amaron's tone, in the way he looked around—told her now wasn't the time. She decided she would bring it up later, when things felt safer.
After a short moment of silence, Amaron motioned for her to follow.
He led her away from the open space, down a quiet hallway, and into a much more hidden room—one with a heavy metal door and dim lights.
It was quiet here.
No Ankarians, no tools clinking, no soft murmurs.
Just silence.
A space meant for secrecy.
Once inside, Ophelia sat on one of the nearby chairs.
The room was small, with only a table in the center and a few shelves stacked with books and scrolls.
Amaron moved quickly, pulling several papers from a drawer before laying them out neatly across the table, just enough for Ophelia to see.
Then he took the seat across from her.
"Young lady," he began, voice steady and calm, "from whence did you come?"
He tapped his fingers lightly on the table before adding, "Where did your parents hail from?"
Ophelia blinked in confusion, her white hair falling over one shoulder as she tilted her head slightly.
"I don't really know why you're asking that, but..." she paused, her voice quieting, "my parents abandoned me. They left me at the gates of the orphanage when I was still a baby."
Her voice was soft and low—tinged with something sad, something distant.
"I've never met them. My friends at the orphanage... they were the only family I had."
Amaron nodded slowly, listening without interrupting. Then, he shifted through the papers on the table and pulled one forward, sliding it in front of her.
"I have strong reason to believe," he said, pointing at a drawn figure on the page, "that you are of Seraphim descent."
The figure on the page showed a symbol—an intricate golden flame, surrounded by broad halos that seemed to glow with a soft, radiant light.
The image itself looked almost alive, as if the light were still flickering on the paper.
"Your eidra," Amaron said, tapping the page, "based on what I've seen through my eidra sensor—it matches that of the Seraphim. In their empire, it's called Aetherys, the light of Aurevian—their god."
"W-What…?" Ophelia's voice was barely a whisper. Her eyes widened in disbelief, trying to make sense of what she was hearing.
Me? A seraphim?
Amaron leaned forward slightly, his tone growing quieter but firmer. "You mustn't show your eidra to anyone. The Empire of Zerafhon holds deep hatred toward the people of Seraphim."
Ophelia's brow furrowed. "But... why are you helping me then? Aren't you Zerafhon?"
"I am," Amaron answered promptly. "But not every Zerafhon follows the same beliefs. Some of us—like Merilyn and so many others—see more than just bloodlines and borders."
He paused, his mechanical fingers folding together.
"The empire may look strong and united from the outside, but inside... it's far more fractured than you know. Corruption spreads quietly, like rot under a polished floor—and sooner or later, it will create chaos."
Ophelia sat back slightly, letting those words sink in.
Amaron, however, didn't let the mood settle too long. He gave a small nod and changed the subject.
"Now then—as someone who specializes in healing, I think it's time we focus on that. You've got a gift, and with it, you might be the difference between life and death in the days ahead."
Then, his voice softened and a chuckle escaped him.
"Especially since Jinn always manages to come back hurt every time."
Ophelia smiled slightly at that, her laugh light. "You're right about that."
But even as she laughed, a weight lingered in her chest.
Her eidra wasn't ordinary—it was tied to a people hated by the very empire she now stood in. That fear hadn't vanished.
It doesn't matter now, As long as I stick with Jinn
And yet, underneath it all... there was a flicker of hope. A warmth in knowing she might be able to help Jinn—and the others she cared for.
That was enough for now.