Page 158 of Cerulean Truth
Leaning in, I kissed her briefly on the cheek and left in a hurry without turning around.
FORTY-THREE
EMMA
In the weeks that followed, I made it a point to chat with Martin whenever I could, eager to learn more about his life. He opened up about his training as an Offensive in Cyclos, his time in human conflicts, and his current assignments within the Cyclos community.
"One thing's for sure," he remarked during one of our strolls through the streets of Cyclos, "magi have been itching to step out of the broom-closet for ages." He paused, reflecting on the tumultuous history. "There was a rather volatile movement about fifteen years back, where some magi resorted to coercion, compelling others to reveal their true nature to humans. Fortunately, it was swiftly shut down, but the underlying desire never truly waned."
I listened intently, careful not to betray any hint of knowledge about James's pivotal role as the sixteen-year-old who effectively “shut down” that movement.
"Now's the time, though," Martin went on, sounding thoughtful. "If there ever was a time to garner global consensus, it's now. That's precisely why I'm here. Cyclos stands as the largest Collective in the world, and while I wish all Collectiveswere regarded as equals, the truth is, the Council of Cyclos holds sway over the entire magi-world."
When I asked him about his name, he grinned. “It’s actually Julius, though I update it every few centuries. Martin was my name during a period when I grew tired of the old one. That’s why so many call me ‘The Elder’—I can never seem to settle on just one name.”
His openness surprised me at first, but I quickly realized it was conditional. He freely shared insights into his life—until the conversation veered toward me. Any mention of our childhood or the suspiciously coincidental nature of our current situation, and he either vanished into thin air or clammed up entirely.
Just my luck. Another magus with secrets.
Somehow my entire existence had boiled down to a series of questions, no one was willing to answer. And I was reaching my breaking point.
Meanwhile, James seemed to be pushing the boundaries of his own jealousy, slowly morphing into an emotional bomb no one knew how to diffuse.
Our arguments, once centered around my challenges with translation, now solely revolved around Martin, and the intensity of our fights left me yearning for the simplicity of our past ones.
These clashes weren't just about us anymore. They were about a perceived threat James believed Martin posed to me and to our entire society, and my failure to align with his perspective ignited an anger in him that was unfamiliar and unsettling.
During some moments alone with Jackson—who had been a surprising, light and constant presence in my life ever since we met during that reception of hell—he subtly conveyed his concerns about James's volatile temper, hinting at the cracks beneath his icy exterior.
However, aside from fighting with James and the emotional toll, those initial weeks after Martin’s arrival remained relatively uneventful.
And then, horror struck.
It was a Tuesday afternoon,a random time on a random day.
James had invited me to a friendly brunch with himself, Jackson, who I now considered a close friend, Matthew, who still viewed me as an STD-infested foe—and I sincerely hoped I hadn’t misunderstood the ‘F’, and Nino, who turned out to be rather friendly if you overlooked the fact that she was a little insane and pretty scary.
I had come along under the strict condition no one was allowed to talk smack about Martin or sprout conspiracy theories on how he and I were connected.
James had reluctantly agreed to those terms and was in an exceptional good mood. His gorgeous green eyes had regained their usual intensity, rather than the murderous coldness they had shown since Martin‘s arrival.
We were sitting in a particularly beautiful part of Cyclos, secluded from the bustling streets, near the river of the Third Layer. Hiding from the heat by sitting in the shadows of the surrounding Roman buildings, we translated ourselves a comfortable table, chairs, food and drinks.
I took in the structures behind me, their ancient stone walls absorbing the warmth of the sun and radiating a gentle heat that felt like a comforting embrace. The serenity of the setting was amplified by the soft murmur of the nearby river, its clear watersreflecting the deep blue of the sky and the lush greenery that framed its banks.
I was enjoying every moment, reveling in the subtle contact as my leg "accidentally" brushed against James's under the table, while he stole glances at me every few seconds.
It could have been quite romantic if it weren't for the presence of the arguing children—Jackson and Matthew. We’d been subjected to their inane bickering for over five minutes and I had trouble not bursting out in laughter. Matthew and Jackson truly resembled an old married couple, who fought about literallyanything.
“I hadthatchicken!” Matthew yelled, his face turning red with anger.
“Just translate some more chicken!” Jackson waved his arms in the air, clearly not understanding what the problem was.
I hid a smirk while James rolled his eyes. Nino ignored both of them and enjoyed her food completely undisturbed.
“You know very well you translate the best roasted chicken. Plus, I don’t have to conjure up another, because that one’s mine!”
“You’re being completely ridiculous,” Jackson replied dryly, while taking a bite out of the roasted chicken before him.
