A Hero in the Dark: 2nd Edition

Chapter 47: Coal to the Fireplace

"Don't worry about her," Setrákus says. "I can see where she runs off to in a heartbeat, and Five can retrieve her. Sit down and finish your meal."

I can't feel my legs. It's like I'm choking on air. I sink into my chair, not moving much of any muscle, and stare down, paying no more attention to the food or Setrákus Ra.

I thought I was helping, but I'm not. I'm getting them killed. Adelina. Héctor. Crayton. Who's next? I'm a monster; a human with powers, but a monster. I failed, and now Ella hates me. Her words still slap me in the face: I killed Crayton.

"Finish your meal," he says again. "Then we'll find her."

I shut my eyes, fists tight on my thighs. Ella has every right to be mad at me; I don't hate her. I don't deserve to be forgiven, and just as I realize that much, I begin to wonder if I'm right where I belong. Maybe I belong up here, up with a monster, up where I won't be able to hurt them again.

"No. We won't," I mumble, shaking my head. I can't help the tears. "She'll never want to eat or sit with me again. She'll never want to see me again. I killed the only one she could call Papa, and she has no reason to forgive me for what I did. I—I'm a monster." I hide my head in my hands, hide away from the light, as the reality burns into my mind. "I'm a monster... a monster..."

I flinch when a hand touches my shoulder, though I don't look up to meet it. "You're not a monster," Five mutters. "If you are, I am too, and you told me I wasn't. You told me I didn't do anything wrong. Well, neither did you."

"Stop! Get away from me! Leave me alone!" I bark and make a run for the door. I don't intend on following Ella; I just can't stand to be in this room anymore.

But the door slams shut before I can make it through. I pull on it, but it doesn't budge. "No," Setrákus states. "You need to break this habit, Emily. You must stop running whenever unfortunate news comes your way. You must learn to deal with it and move on. Make your countermove."

"What the hell are you talking about?! I can't bring Crayton back to life!"

"You're being emotional; it's understandable, but entirely unnecessary. You must push past these feelings. You must realize you are still in control."

"In control?! You've got be kidding! I lost control the day you imprisoned me!"

"You are discrediting yourself, dear."

"Discrediting, my ass," I spit. "Let me out!"

"If I do, you are not running," he states. "You will come with me to the Training Hall. We will settle your rage there."

"No!"

"Either that," he says, "or you can stay here until you calm down, under my supervision."

"I'm not doing that either!"

He ignores me and walks over. He opens the door, then holds out his hand, and the whole time, I stare at him like he's insane. "Come," he demands. "To the Training Hall it is then."

***

There are a few dozen Mogadorians in the Training Hall, all of which turn to us in unison upon entry, and my heart leaps into my throat. It reeks of sweat and death in here, but somehow, I'm comfortable with it. It's almost natural at this point, or familiar. "Everybody out," Setrákus calls, barely needing to raise his voice. I'll admit; it's impressive. It's quiet quickly, and he turns to me, donning a pair of gloves. "Step forward when you're ready. Spar with me."

I do as I'm told, albeit reluctantly. "Hit me," he says, and that ironically makes me laugh inside. I never thought he'd ask that. He's twice my height and his gloved palms lay open for me to strike. He's waiting patiently, ready. I don't know what possesses me to ask the absurd.

"Why? Why now? Why... this?"

"Don't ask questions," he says. "Just do it." And for once, I listen. I'm tired of thinking. I hit him with my strongest blow: a left swing into his right glove, putting my entire body into the punch. Surprisingly, it feels good—better than good! It's great! Better than when I used to do the same with Nine. It's brilliant. "Good. Again."

A right fist to his left, carrying as much gusto as the last, my body surges forward. My teeth grit closed, and I hit him with full force. It doesn't prove to be very strong, not like Nine at least; that's for sure, but still, it's good. He catches my fist and I pull back.

He tells me to strike again, and again, and I do. One punch after the next: Left. Right. Left. Right. Each time stronger than the last. I'm sweating in no time, but the tension lessens with every blow. I'm standing strong, heavy, attacking with everything I have, but soon it's just that: an attack. Not action based on rage, not movement for revenge, but a simple attack, a simple fist hitting another glove, coming back, and going again. Every strike gives me a deeper thrill than a rollercoaster. I hardly know what I'm doing; I just know that I'm in control. Setrákus shuts up and I keep my gaze locked on his palms, and I keep going.

He waits for my next hit every time I pull back from the last one, then he hits me.

It's a direct hit to my stomach that makes me fall to my butt and suck in air through my teeth. It wasn't hard, but it stings like hell. I reel. I was so zoned in. Why would he do that to me?! "Keep your feet planted," he says. "Hips squared."

He demonstrates the stance, then steps out of it to lend me a hand. I take it after a beat of indecision, and he pulls me to my feet again. "Let's go again," he says, and resumes his fancy footwork; I mirror him in agreement. "Give me your best."

It takes me a second to comprehend what he's talking about: Ergokinesis. He wants me to try. "I can't," I tell him, shaking my head, that underlying fear suddenly present deep in my gut.

"You can," he assures, and oddly enough, I believe him. He's so calm; it's like a guarantee, like he has faith, faith in me.

I pull in a deep breath, hold it, and shut my eyes before calling upon the blue, remembering what it was like the first time and every moment after. Glimpses of my captivity flicker back instantaneously, and every vein in my body screams at me to stop, to stuff this Legacy deep under, but I force myself to stay, scrunching every muscle in my face through the misery. "It's in the past," he says outside my head. "It doesn't define you. All that defines you is how you choose to react. Now, make your countermove." Finally, I understand what he meant; there's just this connection, like they were the last piece of the puzzle—the coal to the fireplace.

I know where he is; I know what to do. I strike. I hit him once more with a fist of cobalt blue and everything I've got behind it. He catches it like every time before, holds it for a few seconds, and with that, the images vanish. They're gone as fast as they emerged. I'm—

Free. "Spectacular," he says, grinning, shaking his hand like it hurt. An empty solace sits in my chest, and I step back to find a tear in his glove. He's still standing tall though, proud, watching me. "Do you feel better?"

I nod, calm and satisfied; I didn't think I would be. "Thanks."

He nods and removes the gloves before gesturing for Five. "I believe we have found a daily practice for you, Emily. Five will escort you back to your room. I will see you again once you've gotten some rest."