Page 30 of Fires of the Forsaken
“Yes.”
“But how is that possible? And they all have powers?”
“Celestials bring them here,” Cheriour said. “A hybrid has the power of the Celestial who created them. In a limited capacity. Liam,” he tapped the boy’s shoulder again, “is an Illuminator. He creates light. But only for a few moments. It’s useful when fighting or traveling in the dark.”
“So what’s your power?” I asked. “Being an ass—”
“I,” Cheriour cut me off, “am not a hybrid. Not all of us are. In fact,” he tilted his head toward the group in front of us, “hybrids only make up a quarter of my army now. Perhaps less. Most of them have died.”
I stared at the soldiers as they chatted amicably to each other. A lump formed in my throat. “So, they arrived here as kids, and you trained them to become X-Men?”
“To become what?”
“It’s…never mind.” I glanced at the boy. The kid’s head bumped against Cheriour’s shoulder as the horses walked over the uneven terrain. “Do they get a choice? Can they say no?”Can I say no?
Cheriour’s mouth thinned but he said nothing.
Welp, I had my answer.
“Why?” I asked. “Why would you put them through that? You ripped them away from theirfamiliesso they could die in your stupid battles?”
“We don’t take them.”
“It doesn’t matter. You still force them tofight.”
“Again, you criticize something you don’t understand.”
I huffed and resisted (barely) the urge to flip him off.
“You’re angry we train children to fight,” Cheriour continued, “but you don’t askwhy.”
“Okay. I’ll ask now. Why?”
Cheriour’s mouth twisted. “Your world has seen wars, I’m sure.”
“There’s always a war going on. According to the news, anyway.”
“We are in the middle of a war here.”
A shudder started at the base of my spine. “Yeah. With those—Wraiththings, right? Whatarethey, anyway? Demons? Zombies? The one who’d tried to nab me looked like Jack Skellington on steroids.”
“The Wraiths,” Cheriour said, ignoring my outburst, “are humans…”
“Are you shitting me? No, they aren’t…”
“…without souls.”
“I—what?”
“They are humans,” he spoke more slowly, “who traded their souls.”
“Traded them forwhat?”
“A painless existence. Wraiths are incapable of feeling emotion.”
“All emotions? Or just things like fear and—”
“They have no soul,” Cheriour repeated. “They feelnothing.”
