Somehow, he understood I wasn’t talking about his potential—or maybe he was reading my mind again, I wasn’t sure. He scoffed. “It isn’t. Not anymore. Few cycles ago there was a big shit-show with one of the companies offering prenatal upgrades and the Directory finally prohibited experiments on humans. But when I was born… it was before that. Before we even discovered Meon. We had limited space in Dahls and already too many people, so the government imposed regulations: one child per couple. And I guess my parents really wanted a daughter.”
Somehow he managed to relate his story completely flatly, without a trace of emotion. Perhaps having to live with it, he got so used to it, it didn’t affect him anymore. Or it affected him, but there was nothing he could do, so he pushed it away, pretending everything was all right and seeking relief in inebriation.
“You guess?” I repeated dully. “You never tried to find them?”
He waved his hand. “What for? They dumped me like a used condom. It’s pretty clear they wanted nothing to do with me. Besides, their names weren’t registered.”
“What about your middle name?”
His surname meant ‘The Other’ and was traditionally given to boys whose fathers were unknown. Argan Am was also Trever.
“Kanven.”
I wished I hadn’t asked.
Still, there was one thing that I wasn’t getting. He seemed young, his hair dark, and skin smooth around the scars. His eyelids were droopy, but that could be due to his drug usage.
But Meon Cluster was discovered over twenty cycles ago. That was two generations, and almost as long as a life expectancy for Dahlsi.
“Magic keeps me young,” he said, leaving no room for doubt about his intrusion into my thoughts. “My appearance hasn’t changed since I was ten.”
He looked older than ten cycles, maybe fifteen. The stubble aged him.
“And those scars?” I asked before I could think better.
His gaze drifted away and he lifted his hand, almost absentmindedly, to touch the offending lines.
“They’re on the soul, rather than body. They will not heal.”
This time, I had enough sense not to ask. From his tone, I could tell it had nothing to do with his upbringing. Besides, even Laik Var said the scars were a later development. I wondered if it wasn’t something all Dahlsi knew, and only us outsiders had to guess.
Then I looked at him again and realized he must’ve been handsome before. With high cheekbones, perfectly straight nose, dimpled chin, and those strikingly bright eyes under dark, heavy brows. I could imagine the women of Dahls flocking around him. Or the men.
Another part of Laik Var’s warning echoed through my mind and I scrambled to shield myself before he could read it. Nevertheless, I felt heat creeping up my cheeks and peeked aside at Tayrel Kan. He never did anything that would make me think…
But he was smirking, and I realized my attempts were in vain. I tried to cover it by conjuring the worst insults I knew, in all five languages, before sidetracking to wonder how many of them made sense without the cultural context.
Mercifully, he refrained from commenting. It struck me that despite everything, most of the time, his company made me feel… at ease.
Sure, he knew more than other people, which was unsettling at times. But he didn’t judge me and, as far as I was aware, didn’t use any of his knowledge against me. He mocked me sometimes, but he did that to everyone. He even made it easy to forget that he wasn’t completely honest with me.
Besides, we’d known each other for a day. I felt like, if we were to get a chance to continue our conversations, maybe he’d finally open up.
His smirk faded again.
“Magic does things to people,” he said, seemingly unrelated to anything. “Maybe your nation had a point in restricting it. Humans did not evolve to use it. We’re not like vhariars who see the damn thing with their own eyes. Shit, even kassam can sniff it. But we—we have no natural predisposition to magic, and we should have stayed that way.”
“Strange words for a sorcerer.”
He snapped, “I didn’t ask to be a sorcerer.” He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “But there’s not much else someone like me could do for a living.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. “It can’t be that bad,” I stammered lamely.
He gave me a tired look. “Have you forgotten how a few hours ago you had to stop me from getting us all killed? Too late to save poor Laik Var…”
“It’s not your fault,” I said. I desperately wanted to believe it.
He smiled joylessly. “I think the fault can be split equally between me, Myar Mal, and that bastard on the other side of the wall. And only one of us is gonna pay. But my point still stands. We weren’t made to deal with magic.”
I wasn’t sure about that. For me, magic was pretty handy, but what I used was child’s play compared to what he practiced. I couldn’t even imagine the toll it was taking on him. Though I had a feeling there was more to it than guilt—certainly more than the guilt for Laik Var’s death—but I didn’t know what it was. So, I did what I did best.
Spun the conversation in a totally random and unrelated direction.
“So, you believe in this theory? That we’re not from here?”
At first, he blinked in confusion. But then he scoffed and sent me a pitying look.
“What, from another universe? There’s no proof that there’s anything other than Darkness beyond the Great Sphere. It’s just a story conjured by some old farts with too much time on their hands. Or other species who want to think themselves better than us.”
“And yet you say we’re the only species with no natural predisposition for magic.”
“We’re also the only known species with functioning tits. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“It could mean we evolved elsewhere.”
He sighed and reached for another tchalka, but his lips curled up again. My tension eased up a
