Fate Breakers

Chapter 33

Purity

Oso has a very commanding presence. Yet, there's also something very gentle about him. Oso has our group closer to the front with him and his unit, Baxter and his far in the back with the rest of the party as a buffer. Oso even seems to walk like a bear, the brown fur of his cloak catching the light as he walks.

Ceno leans in, whispering. "Y'know, I heard he skinned the bear himself."

Immediately, our heads whip over to Velia. She doesn't react, as if we were looking to a statue for answers. For all we know, she could be amused, or about to throat punch us. Regardless, she answers, "It was an accident."

Almost in sync, Ceno and I cock our heads. How exactly does someone kill a bear on accident? "It was during a march towards Nihall," Velia clarifies. "A candidate got too close to his den, and the bear attacked. Oso had no choice but to kill it. The candidate was promptly taken to the infirmary, then left there."

Right, someone with that kind of carelessness shouldn't belong here. We've already got someone like Baxter in charge, we don't need any more. Velia may not share a lot, but it's clear she has a lot of knowledge about both Oso and Eurylochus. "How do you know them both?" My curiosity gets the better of me.

Velia pauses, still staring straight ahead. "I trained them."

"Damn," Ceno blurts out.

Darcelle whips his hand forward faster than I can, catching the back of Ceno's neck. "Mind your Gods damn manners!"

The corner of Velia's mouth quirks. I can't quite tell, but something in me says she may be amused. "Erix trained them too."

Hector whips his head between them both, blinking rapidly. "But, but you both look like you're only a decade or two older than all of us!"

"That's what True Immortality is like," Basil speaks up, his head still low and his voice sounding hollow. "True Immortals are all that remains of the earlier iterations of man, their eternal youth a direct result of the Gods making us in their image."

Erix lets out a chortle, clearly trying to keep the mood light. "Made in the Gods' image my ass. If that were true, my knees wouldn't crackle like firewood every time I stand up."

Velia gives him a side eye. "That is because you were stupid in your youth," she says. After a beat, she adds, "And inadequate doctors and physical therapy, but it is primarily your fault."

Basil, Liam, and I share a look. Basil did Erix's last physical, finding close to three decades worth of trauma and strain to his leg regions. Originally, we'd thought they were trauma wounds from battle. Basil shoots Erix a look, and Liam does a slow shake of his head.

"I don't need you three judging me," Erix says, crossing his arms. He jabs a finger ahead of us. "Especially not when that is your fellow doctor."

Right, Harris. Harris is both exactly the same and wildly different than he was when we were kids. Gone is his buzzcut—thank the fucking Gods—replaced by a slightly shaggier look, his gel not fully holding all of his hair in its slicked back state. He opted for a bluish-turquoise cloak, having flecks of silver thread woven between for iridescent shimmer, the hem of his cloak embroidered with the outlines of colorful coral. Of course, Seabrook would be sentimental enough to pay homage to his home in Saorsa.

Harris Seabrook is as full of life as the day we all separated, maybe a little more so. He hangs around a lot with 79's Enforcement Specialist, Robbert Glassman. We've only spent a few hours with Glassman, but it's felt like days. Being saddled with a wise-ass can do that to you.