In our culture, it was akin to having your heart ripped from your chest, leaving you floating in a kind of zombie half-life.
When it was over and he had recovered from the process, he was never again the same jovial and playful M’rora I recalled from my youth.
No one knew if it was directly due to the procedure or his feeling like an outcast as the only member of our family to have failed to bring back his mate.
The problem with Severing the bond was it removed any desire to make a go of the relationship even if things got a little rough.
Without that powerful underlying sensation that told us “this person is perfect for you,” it was too easy to let the relationship fail.
Yes, the Severing was among the very last things any M’rora wished to do, but there was one thing far worse, and that was allowing any harm to come to our fated mates.
If by refusing the Severing I risked Emma coming to harm, and despite my best efforts, she got captured and taken back to the Shadow Realm…
I shivered.
Just thinking about it brought me out in hives.
As we worked our way around the flowing fountains of rainbow-colored water, the statues glared at us like angry monsters from the Abyss.
I’d never been a fan of the gargoyles that were meant to scare away evil spirits.
From a young age, they had always scared me.
We came to the steps that led up to the main entrance.
Broad and flat, the steps were ornately carved from a single hunk of lymus rock.
The Surgery had existed since time immemorial, the last bastion of hope when all other doors of opportunity had been slammed in a M’rora’s face.
A steady trickle entered its doors over the eons but it wasn’t until after the Shadow Wars that such an influx of patients had passed through its doors.
When the Procedure had developed into a viable option, sales and profits exploded.
For a while, it became the preferred method of keeping a mate safe.
Times had changed but it still remained a popular method.
But there were no easy paths in life and the Severing was no different.
The number of fated mates who no longer had access to the bond grew distracted and decided to take a different path, resulting in short-lived romances and high divorce rates.
For that reason alone, it was the last method to secure one’s mate.
As we ascended the broad flat steps, two rows of nurses draped in heavy cloth descended the steps to meet us.
A nurse placed herself on the edge of each step, forming a fan.
The Surgeon floated down behind them.
He was a middle-aged M’rora with a thick bushy white mustache in need of a good comb.
His eyes were already pinprick small but with his circular bifocals, they made his eyes appear even smaller.
He always reminded me of a small species of rodent called a “michard” back home.
The Surgeon stopped two yards from us and performed the traditional M’rora welcoming salute.
It was a graceful maneuver, requiring him to bow down on one leg while his other foot swept up behind him and his arms spread out to either side.
His eyes faced down, signifying his deference to someone of higher birth.
That would be me.
I performed the same motion back and did him the honor of lowering my eyes too.
Emma peered between us and, unsure what else to do, did her best to copy the action.
She wobbled and almost lost her feet.
“Welcome to the Surgery. I am the Surgeon and I will be performing your Procedure today.”
“You will be our surgeon?” I said, surprised he would be performing it himself. “I didn’t expect you to greet us personally.”
The Surgeon was very famous and incredibly wealthy.
He had better things to do than take care of us.
The Surgeon performed another bow.
“Anything for the offspring of Issak m’Rigor,” he said. “The empire owes your father a huge debt of gratitude. Me more than anyone.”
He was referring to my father’s leadership during the Shadow Wars.
It was his brilliant leadership that turned a losing position into a winning one.
He’d been the one to force the Shadow back and install the minefield at the Rift.
Emma looked a little lost.
“The Surgeon is the owner of this facility,” I said. “He’s the best surgeon in the entire empire.”
“Oh,” Emma said.
She performed a strange action then, extending her hand toward him.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said.
The Surgeon peered from her hand to me, and back again.
Not wanting to insult my fated mate, he held out his hand and stopped an inch from hers.
Emma shook it.
The Surgeon blinked in surprise before a wide grin split his face.
He mimicked the motion, shaking Emma’s hand.
Emma beamed at me but it faltered when the handshake continued…
And continued.
And continued.
Finally, she yanked her hand away.
The Surgeon peered at his empty hand with curiosity.
“It is a welcoming motion in your home culture?” he said.
Emma nodded.
“How wonderful!” the Surgeon said. “I have met so many creatures from so many species but have never had the fortune to come across a… Now, come to think of it, I have no idea what your species is even called.”
“Human,” Emma said.
“Human,” the Surgeon said, rolling the word around in his broad mouth as if it were candy. “You will be my very first human. I hope you don’t mind, but in order to carry out the procedure in a safe and efficient manner, I will need to perform multiple scans on you. The system will work fine but I would like to make it as painless as possible.”
According to the rumors, there was nothing painless about the Severing.
“Please follow me,” the Surgeon said.
He turned and moved with surprising agility considering his hefty weight.
He floated up the steps, the nurses following us.
They fanned out around the room, each taking a place on either side of the three large archways that splintered from the main waiting room.
Two dozen chairs ornate but uncomfortable-looking chairs sat in the middle of the room in five rows.
Six were occupied
