The Sleeper and the Silverblood
The Act of Faith

Baylen’s movements were that of an artist. A sculptor. The motes of power swirling around his fingers settled over Kenric’s bloody back. Pinching together his thumb and forefinger, Baylen pulled a glowing thread of…something from the Commander’s skin, stretching it through the air. He drew a dozen other luminous threads into existence as offshoots of the first, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Not threads, Kitara realized, recognizing the shape. Bones. He’d pulled the skeletal structure of a wing out of thin air. Literally.

Once the bones formed properly, with a twitch of his fingers, Baylen scattered sparks from the base of Kenric’s back to the ends of the bone structure. Glowing tails of multitudinous zig-zags hovered in their wake.

Nervous system.

The extraordinary artistry fascinated them all, even Declan; they watched wide-eyed, their suspicion forgotten for the moment.

All the while, threads of light ensured Baylen’s fingers remained connected to his creation: never breaking, tautening and loosening as needed.

Baylen gathered his power again, and the solid musculature of the wing took shape under his careful fingers. Corded, shimmering muscle wove together like ribbon around the softly glowing nerves and bones he’d conjured, stilling once he was satisfied with their form. Occasionally, he’d pause to study his work, then flick two fingers, bending the joints to ensure proper elasticity or tension with only a thought. Twice he unraveled a muscle or two and began again.

Baylen stood, smoothing shimmering hands over the newly formed limb. Translucent skin spread under his fingers, covering the muscles and vessels. Finished with that, he peppered the wing with glowing pricks of light, which elongated and stiffened immediately.

Pinions.

Baylen circled the gurney, one hand to his mouth as he studied the appendage.

Not even Declan tensed at his pacing movements now.

After stretching and bending the joints again, he repositioned a handful of pinions, then conjured hundreds more feathers—smaller ones, now: all intangible, all softly glowing, like he sculpted the wing from starlight.

Tears flooded Kitara’s eyes as she watched him work, but she didn’t make a sound, almost afraid to breathe.

Baylen collapsed in his chair as the last of the feathers assumed their proper shape and size. He wound the threads of light around his hands until they pulled taut, then snapped his fingers.

The glowing strands connecting his hands to his work broke and vanished.

The wing, formerly an intangible, translucent, luminescent wonder, solidified with an audible sound from the multitudes of new, bright white feathers, settling onto the gurney with a soft whump!

Baylen leaned back, sweat beading on his forehead. “I need a minute,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

Too stunned to speak, the rest of them could only stare at the massive, feathered wing that hadn’t existed half an hour prior.

“Blessed stars…” Phoebe finally whispered, one hand to her mouth as she cautiously stood to examine Baylen’s handiwork.

Zayne leaned forward, unconsciously stretching out a hand, then snatching it back as if afraid he might destroy Baylen’s careful work.

Declan’s brows knit together, studying the enigmatic Netherling.

With a tentative touch, Robert stroked the down of the new feathers, eyes wide in awe. He turned to the Ninthëvel. “Are there limitations? Will they fade, collapse, fail…?”

Baylen cracked an eyelid. “I’ve made them as strong as I can, but they won’t bear his weight as they should at first. He’ll have to build them up again, like a child. Muscle tears will be a concern until then. Other than that?” He shook his head and closed his eyes again. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“Can I get you anything, Baylen?” Kitara whispered.

“I’d kill for a Bloody Mary.”

When the tension in the room tangibly rose, the Netherling’s eyes opened again. He raised his hands with a strained chuckle, chagrined. “Kidding. Sorry, not the right audience for that joke.” He glanced up at Kitara. “A glass of water, maybe.”

Robert turned before Kitara could rise and slipped from the room.

Phoebe leaned forward. “I’ll admit, I’ve never seen anything like that. Not even our comprehensive Healers have such skill—”

“Because I’m not Healing,” Baylen dared to interrupt. “I’m creating. There’s a difference. I can encourage faster skin growth or blood cells or anything that needs making to treat an injury, but reversing a deeper injury or purging poison from a vein isn’t something I’m capable of.”

Zayne rubbed his chin. “An interesting distinction, to be sure.”

Baylen gestured to Kitara. “She’d probably be more adept at Healing.”

“Kitara?” Phoebe asked. “How?”

“She possesses a power that compliments mine, in the opposite way. She can unmake things. Catastrophic internal injuries, for example. With practice, she could unmake them as if they never existed in the first place. Poison? She could purge it from your system. It’s why I don’t refer to my power as creation and hers as destruction: it’s more nuanced than that.”

Kitara stared at him, wide-eyed.

Robert returned with a glass of water for the Maker, who gulped it down like he hadn’t had a drink in ten years. When he’d drained it, he set down the empty cup and met Kitara’s gaze. “In fact, you’ll have your first lesson in control today. The Commander is sedated. Once I’m finished, I’ll need him conscious to test everything functions correctly. You’re going to unmake the sedative and wake him up.”

Kitara gaped at her cousin. “I’ll kill him!”

“Finesse, Kitara,” Baylen replied. “You know enough to control the power in your hands, this is merely an extension of that.”

“Not even close!”

“I have to agree,” Phoebe said slowly. “I’ve seen what this power can do.”

“Not even close,” Baylen echoed. “You’ve seen it wielded as a blunt instrument. You think what I do is some sort of instinctive thing? No, it’s centuries of honing the ability until I have microscopic control.”

“I don’t have centuries, Baylen!” Kitara exclaimed, aghast.

“You have something better,” he countered. “Someone you care about, on this table, right here. Fear will make you sharp, love will make you careful. If you can do this, using your power as a blunt instrument will be nothing in comparison. You’re in a facility surrounded by Healers. This is the best safety net you’ll ever have. What if Storm is poisoned? He’ll never make it back alive.”

Kitara took a shuddering breath as his words hit exactly how Baylen intended. “What do I do?”

“Focus on the Commander. Study the essence of him, what makes up his aura. Familiarize yourself with it. Then, replace what doesn’t belong.”

“You’re talking about a metaphysical understanding…” Kitara muttered.

“You mindspeak, don’t you?”

She grimaced. “Only if I have to.”

“Same concept. Find his aura, like you want to touch his mind. Instead, focus on his essence. Find the anomaly. It’s easier than it sounds, you’ll see. In the meantime, I’ll be creating his second wing. Don’t interrupt me.” Baylen settled back in his chair and began to wind strands of light in his fingers again.

Kitara gaped at him but didn’t dare argue while he conjured a new wing into existence. Instead, she sighed and reached for Kenric’s mind, using the familiar process to orient her focus.

She vaguely noted Declan and Phoebe shifting uneasily in their chairs. Kenric’s aura in no way compared to Storm’s, but it was familiar, which helped.

Because Baylen was right: it proved easier than it sounded.

Almost like she could see it in her mind, her friend’s aura possessed signature hallmarks. She didn’t know what to look for, but the foreign substance in his veins stood out like a black thread woven in a tapestry of gold. Her breath caught, realizing she only needed to pull it free. In contrast, Baylen’s power wove white-hot strands of light into a ragged edge of Kenric’s aura.

Kitara opened her eyes, suddenly aware of the cause of her friends’ unease. Dark power curled over her fingers, currently harmless. With a thought, it disappeared.

Baylen’s process of making Kenric’s second wing was as awe-inspiring as the first. The second seemed easier for him though, perhaps because he now recognized Kenric’s aura too.

He appeared no less drained, however, when the second limb solidified on the table. Leaning his head back and massaging the bridge of his nose, he spoke to no one in particular. “Fetch the Healer.”

Robert stood to do so as the Netherling continued, “Kitara, did you replace what you needed?”

Her mouth went dry. “Yes.”

“Good. Remember the feel of it?”

“Yes.”

He gestured toward the Commander without looking at her. “Find it again and unmake it.”

“Shouldn’t we wait—”

“No.”

“Baylen,” Declan cautioned, using the Maker’s name for the first time. “I don’t think—”

“The safety net is on its way. She won’t kill him before they arrive.”

Swallowing hard, Kitara focused on her unconscious friend.

“Touch him, if it will help,” Baylen said, observing her with a weary gaze. “Sometimes it does.”

Kitara put a gentle hand to Kenric’s arm.

“Now, Kitara.”

Frowning at the command, she closed her eyes and searched for the black thread marring her friend’s aura. It wasn’t as easy as plucking it from the surrounding threads of gold; it wove through his essence. She had to unravel it, careful not to disturb the rest.

The door opened. A gasp of breath. Her grip on the black thread slipped.

“What—”

“Quiet.” Baylen’s command split the air with quiet ferocity.

She couldn’t lose focus, not now. Furrowing her brow, Kitara found the thread again and sent power snaking through it rather than pulling it free. The alien substance disappeared.

Another sharp inhale from behind her.

A warm hand on hers. “Kitara?”

She opened her eyes and met Kenric’s hazy dual-colored gaze.

“Withdraw, Kitara,” Baylen murmured so as not to startle her. “You’re still elbow-deep in his aura.”

Kitara looked down at the tendrils of darkness—her darkness—snaking through Kenric’s veins, visible under his skin. With a shuddering exhale, she did as Baylen instructed.

“Incredible,” Phoebe breathed.

Declan grunted an assent, begrudging respect in his eyes as he glanced between the two Ninthëvels.

“What happened?” Kenric asked, his voice gritty and his expression bewildered.

The Healer stepped forward, concerned by what he’d witnessed. Phoebe put out a hand, stopping him.

“Something…unprecedented.” Robert shifted from behind Kitara into Kenric’s line of sight.

“Rob,” Kenric breathed. “What—” He froze, eyes widening.

The Healer backed away again. “I don’t understand,” he whispered. “This is impossible.”

Kenric struggled to sit up.

“Easy, Ken,” Robert said, moving toward him in concern. “You’ve been out for a while.”

Kitara, still clinging to the Commander’s hand, peered past him at her cousin. Baylen’s eyes remained closed as he reclined in his chair.

“I thought…” Kenric glanced over his shoulder, starting at the sight of the wings behind him. “I don’t understand.”

Kitara stood so Robert could take her place at his side.

“It’s a long story,” the High Engineer began. “But the short version…you are alive. You are alive, and whole, and magnificent.” He pressed a kiss to the back of Kenric’s hand, choking on a sob.

“Robbie…” Kenric tentatively touched his free hand to the Fallen’s silver hair.

“I hate to interrupt,” Baylen said, making Kenric turn in surprise, “but I need to ensure you’re in…fully functioning order, Commander.”

“Who are you?”

“A friend.”

Not even Declan could object to that statement now.

“I need you to flex your wings,” Baylen continued. “Slowly, though. Just enough to show you can.”

Kenric’s brow furrowed. “I—I thought…maybe I imagined…”

“You didn’t,” Baylen said, his voice mild. “Which is why I need you to test the new ones.”

“New ones?” Kenric breathed. “But that’s…”

“Impossible, yes.”

Kitara glanced at the Maker. “Your specialty.”

Baylen’s lips quirked in a smile at the reference to one of their first conversations, but he didn’t answer her. “Commander?”

With a groan, Kenric did as the Netherling ordered, then frowned. “Why am I so…weak?”

“It’s not you,” Baylen answered. “It’s new muscle in a pair of limbs that didn’t exist an hour ago. You’re going to need to take it easy for a few months, Commander.” He side-eyed the Healer. “Physical therapy. Lots of physical therapy.”

The Healer could only nod in silent astonishment.

“What is going on here?”

They all looked up.

Cornelius stood in the doorway, gaping at them all. But he was only an afterthought in comparison to the woman sitting in a wheelchair before him.

The woman boasted incredible stature and beauty, despite her reliance on a chair that attested to her current weakness. Silver hair, an ethereal glow to her skin…

When the woman lifted her argent gaze to Kitara, the Sleeper’s throat tightened at the familiarity there.

Storm might take after his father in appearance, but there was no mistaking where he inherited the fire in his veins or the silver in his eyes.

Ilythia Avensäel.