I: REVERIES
Wooden desks. Marble columns. Butterflies. Squeezing her eyes shut, Min silently mouths the words, chanting them like a mantra. Though she's only twelve years old, her enunciation is perfect. She lets each word linger on her tongue before moving on to the next: White clouds. Trees. Sunshine.
Most children black out while connecting to the Arc's NeuroSim network. The connection can take minutes, but it feels instantaneous: they plug in, tune out, then wake up someplace else.
Not Min, though. On her second birthday, her parents had her fitted with custom-grown security grafts. Their anti-abduction protocols render her immune to all known tranquilizers, soporifics, and sedatives. Unless she's undergoing a registered surgical procedure, she can't be knocked out.
Someday, this may prove to be a blessing. But the rest of the time, it's a curse.
The seconds stretch. Something about this liminal space plays with Min's perception of time, of distance, of her own body. There's no up or down here. The air is at once thin and soupy, and it enfolds her like a suffocating blanket. With every breath, she tastes the blown capacitor stench of iodine and burning plastic.
A phantom noise makes Min's ears prick up. She feels the urge to let her eyes snap open, but forces herself to grind them shut. Looking would be a mistake. There's nothing out there but the Dead Empty, blossoming into infinity, waiting to swallow her whole.
Don't think about it. Just keep your mind on the Academy. The last time she opened her eyes in this place, she was eight. Four years of screaming night terrors were her reward. And so, she hides from it in the only way she can, by closing her eyes and pretending she's someplace else. It helps, but only barely.
Calm down, Min. In her mind's eye, she can see her doctor's furrowed brow. She can almost hear his gentle voice, and the quiet exasperation behind it. The Dead Empty isn't real, and you aren't really trapped in it. You're scaring yourself for no reason.
Against her best efforts, panic sets in. Min's heart races, and ice-cold pinpricks dance across her skin. Her eyes brim with tears.
Stop. Stop it. You're a big girl from a powerful family, and you need to start acting like it. Her mother's words, looping through her head like a skipping record. Every time she hears them, it stings. You're supposed to be our legacy, Min. We spend a fortune raising, educating, and protecting you. And yet here you are, terrified of nothing. Jumping at your own shadow.
She takes in a shuddering breath, feels the wetness on her cheeks. And then a sound from outside of herself makes her heart lurch—a woman's voice, whispering in the darkness.
"Hiding from the truth won't help you." The voice is light and airy and barely audible, but here in the Dead Empty, it howls in Min's ears like a decompression alarm. "Open your eyes and see."
Min reels at the impossibility of what she's experiencing. The Dead Empty is a figment. Her own childish mind creating something from nothing and putting it where it doesn't belong, like it's trying to jam a new letter between A and B. So how can someone else be here?
"…Hello?" Min's voice comes out in a strangled croak. She keeps her eyes screwed shut.
The silence stretches. Nothing.
And then everything changes.
Min feels the warmth of sunshine wash over her, setting her body at ease. The acrid reek of the Dead Empty dissipates, replaced by the herbal notes of lavender. A cool sea breeze dances across her cheek.
Min has never experienced any of these sensations in real life—never felt the sun on her bare skin, never seen a flowering plant outside of a history book. But they're achingly familiar, all the same. Her eyes flutter open, and a feast of sights floods her vision: A great outdoor theater, gilded and furnished in fantastical materials. Oaken desks. Mahogany bookcases. Helical columns of creamy marble that rise up to pierce the sky.
"Good morning, Ms. Cresta." This voice is as crisp and precise as her mother's, stern, but with a hint of warmth. "It's good of you to join us. Lovely day, isn't it?"
Min shoves the terror of her journey down into the pit of her stomach, where her classmates won't see it. They're the closest thing she has to friends, but they're also her rivals. The future leaders of the Gleam.
She takes a deep breath, puts on a smile, and forces it to look natural.
"Yes, ma'am. Lovely."
