Chapter 36: Tales of Marcellus Severan

Steam followed her out of the bathroom. Maeve stepped into the suite with the towel only draped across the front of her body, held in place by one hand.

The other end hung loose against her thigh. Water still traced down the line of her spine and the back of her legs, with her hair let loose and wet, dripping steadily onto the floor.

She walked to the bed slowly, and looked at the phone that lay face-up on the sheets where she had left it.

She stared at it for a second, and recalled his voice.

’I can find my own way, I’m not a child,’ she had eventually agreed to that, and there was no reason to walk her into the same room as Bishops.

She sat on the edge of the mattress, the towel shifted with the movement, slipping lower across one breast before she caught it again. Cool air from the suite brushed the damp skin of her stomach and thighs.

"..." She exhaled, and let herself fall backward onto the bed, and stared at the ceiling.

"Will he really be able to find his way?" she muttered, and turned around with her head buried into the mattress.

"Gosh, why am I so worried about him!" her voice muffled against the fabric.

.-.-.-.-.-.

"You are in the WRONG TOWER! Man." The guy said, and then he realized who he was speaking to.

"I- I mean, Young Master!" He corrected himself.

"...oh," Marcellus realized.

He turned around and started walking back the way he had come, his brown coat fluttered even with casual movement.

"Carry on, I’ll see myself off," he waved his hand in dismissal, and shut the doors, leaving the room.

The corridor was empty. Marcellus could hear the couple whispering about him, and then getting back to their work.

He looked left, then right. Same dark walls, polished floor, almost everything seemed similar.

"Strange," he frowned, and then started walking.

There was no reason to doubt himself. Humans make mistakes, that is completely fine. He was confident he could find his way.

He turned at the next intersection, a few minutes later, he opened another door.

A young cleaning staff member looked up at him while they were busy arranging vacuum cleaners.

"Council Chamber?" he murmured.

The staff member slowly pointed towards the opposite direction.

"There’s a bridge that connects to main tower," the staff said.

"I know," Marcellus nodded and shut the door.

"That’s...good?" The staff was left confused.

Marcellus turned and walked away. He walked through multiple corridors, took several turns, and minute later, returned, and opened the staff room gate again.

"..." He looked outside the room, and then back at the same staff member.

"Crazy," Marcellus spoke as the staff member slowly lowered the vacuum cleaner in his hands.

"There’s a guy that looks just like you a few rooms away," he murmured.

"...That was me." The staff member blinked, and understood what was happening.

"Your directions are terrible, cadet, here...let me guide you," The staff said, and walked outside the room while Marcellus gave way.

"After you," Marcellus said.

They guided Marcellus to the bridge that connected to main tower, and pointed straight.

"Go straight, take a right, take the lift for the council floor, and you’ll be there," They said, and Marcellus nodded.

"Thanks," he nodded and began walking.

"..." The staff watched him leave in confidence, but they weren’t just sure if he’ll be able to reach the council.

The bridge delivered him into another stretch of corridor that looked almost identical to the last.

Marcellus walked with the same confidence. And the air changed.

Cool antiseptic, and stone gave way to warmer air, clean soap and a light floral note in scent that did not belong anywhere near the administrative floors. The temperature here was slightly high.

He slowed down, frowned once, and kept walking. A pair of frosted glass doors appeared on his left, soft music leaked through them at a low volume.

He pushed one and warmth met him immediately. The lounge was wide, and quietly luxurious.

Low couches, pale stone floors with shallow drainage channels, recessed lighting.

These partitions of glass led toward private saunas and bathing room meant for unranked cadets.

Several women in white towels occupied the space, two sat on a low bench near the center with their hair wrapped or loose, some stood near a side counter, some were mid-laugh when the door opened.

Every head turned, and Marcellus stood just inside the room in his full brown coat, dark trousers and clean shirt.

For a second no one spoke.

"...Thirteenth Pillar?" A woman near the counter, dark hair still wet, and towel knotted high on her chest murmured under her breath.

Marcellus looked around the lounge with the same mild expression.

"...Certainly not the council room," he murmured.

A shorter woman on the bench actually laughed once, then covered her mouth.

"Young Master Severan, You’re on the wrong floor and definitely in the wrong partition," she said.

"I’m beginning to suspect that," Marcellus said.

"Would you...I mean, if it wasn’t strange, could we get a photo? Just quickly." She asked.

"With me?" Marcellus pointed at himself and found it strange.

"Just one?" She pressed further.

"...Sure," he shrugged his shoulders.

---

"Weird," Marcellus exited the Sauna and shook his head.

"Right, the way to the council," he murmured.

He pointed himself in the direction he had been given and started walking again.

Straight, then right, then into another stretch of corridor that looked promising until the air changed again.

This time it was heat, and fat and sharp aromatics. The lighting grew brighter, stainless steel flashed at the edges of his vision.

He had entered a service archway into a kitchen that did not belong to any student wing.

The space was vast immaculate. Long stainless prep tables, hanging copper and black steel pans. A row of open ranges where white-jacketed chefs worked with focus.

One station flared as a pan caught bright flame clibing for a second before the chef tilted and killed it with a sharp wrist motion.

A junior cook looked up, saw the brown coat, the face and froze with a ladle halfway to a pot.

Marcellus looked at the entire room with interest, the height of the ceiling, the order of stations, and the flames of cooking.

"Magnificent," he nodded and walked the edge of the nearest pass, staying out of the chef’s traffic.

A sheet tray of thick-cut fries sat under a heat lamp, freshly lifted from oil, still beaded with salt. He reached out, took three without stopping, and popped one into his mouth while it was still hot enough to burn.

He chewed, and nodded in approval. He lifted two more fries, and walked out the way he had come.

Behind him the kitchen remained silent for a full three seconds before someone finally whispered.

"Was that...Marcellus Severan?"

Marcellus was already twenty meters down another corridor.

---

The next door opened into something that smelled entirely different from anything before.

It was sharp, chemical, undercut with some metallic scent.

He had entered a lab. Workbenches lined with glassware, a fume extractor hummed somewhere in the celinig.

A single cadet stood at the center bench with her sleeves rolled, goggles pushed up onto her forehead, staring at a shallow dish of clear liquid.

Scattered around her were at least a dozen identical dishes, all failed, all labeled in handwriting that turned aggressive after every fail.

She heard someone enter her lab, and didn’t bother to look up.

"If this is another safety inspection, I already failed twice this week Professor Gilber," she said flatly, assuming it was Gilbert.

"It’s not," Marcellus replied, stepping in.

That got her attention, she looked up, saw a brown coat, pink eyes, and straightened.

"...Severan?" She furrowed her brows.

"So I keep hearing," He walked closer to the bench, more curious about her experiment than his way to the council.

"What’s the problem here?" he asked.

"Nothing...I’m just trying to get a compound to actually penetrate awakener skin. Doesn’t matter how concentrated I make it, doesn’t matter what I bind it to. The moment it touches the skin, it should weaken or much more, neutralize awakener," she said.

Marcellus picked up one of the failed dishes, tilted it, and watched the liquid catch the light.

"Hmm, the core doesn’t care how strong you make something it’s already built to reject, you’ll never achieve it this way," he said.

"Oh, then what am I supposed to do?" she asked.

"I’ll give you a hind. Bind it to something the body already trusts enough to let through without a fight, easy." He placed back the dish, and snapped a thumbs up.

"Way to the council?" he then asked.

---

The next door did not open into a corridor. It opened into open air.

Marcellus stepped out onto a wide stone balcony at the rear of the main tower. Wind hit him at the top of IAA’s Island, the balcony overlooked a steep drop into dark green vegetation and far below, the pale edge of Island.

A steel cable ran from a reinforced anchor on the balcony railing out across into the clouds, leading outside the tower.

A small group of cadets in light training gear stood near the rail. In front of them, a broad-shouldered man in a sports instructor’s jacket held up a broken wooden chair leg.

"...and that," the instructor was saying, "Is why you do not wait for perfect gear. An awakener who can only perform with issued equipment is already dead the moment issued equipment is gone. Improvisation is not optional, it is Fundamental!"

He stopped when he noticed Marcellus, and the cadets turned. They instantly recognized who he was, but found it hard to believe he was there.

Marcellus walked to the railing, looked at the cable, then at the assortment of household objects laid out on a mat...belts, curtain cords, a mop handle, two scarves, a length of vacuum hose.

"What is this?" he asked, curious.

"Agility and improvisation drill, Mister Severan. Ziplines force commitment, using ordinary objects forces adaptation. Awakeners are built for combat, every factor, balance, grip, mid-air correction, recovery, has to stay sharp even when the tools are wrong," The instructor explained in one go.

He gestured at the cable.

"We run them to the back ridge and climb back. Builds the kind of movement that survives real terrain."

Marcellus studied the line, and the drop of the rope into vast island below, then the mat of ’improvised gear’.

"Why don’t you give it a try? A pillar can be a great example for cadets yet to rank," the instructor said, half-joking, already expecting a polite refusal.

Marcellus straightened, and reached down at the hem of his shirt, he started unbuckling his belt, and pulled it free in one motion.

"Why not."

Marcellus stepped up to the anchor, looped the belt over the cable as his coat fluttered violently in the wind. He adjusted twice, and dripped both ends of the belt.

"Any specific form, or just arriving alive on the other side is fine?" he asked the instructor.

The instructor opened his mouth, and closed it.

"Arriving alive would be sufficient," he said.

Marcellus nodded.

.-.-.-.-.-.

The Council Chamber had grown quiet.

The large black glass table reflected the thirteen chairs around it, twelve of them were occupied.

The thirteenth remained empty.

Kaji lowered his tabled, and looked toward the doors once.

Nothing, nobody came. He checked the time and straightened up.

"It’s been a while," Brody leaned back in his chair.

Across the table, Inessa was frustrated.

She had been patient; more patient that she normally is, but there was a limit.

"He knows that we are waiting," she said.

Kaelo remained seated with his arms crossed, his attention was resting beyond the polarized windows.

He glanced once at the empty chair, and stood up.

"I’m leaving," he said.

He walked toward the exit, and following him, other pillars agreed. The crape of chairs echoed through the chamber.

There was nothing left to discuss.

The room turned empty, even Kaji left, leaving Brody and Inessa in the room.

*Bang*

She banged her fist into the table, and stood up.

"I’ll speak to him myself," she said.

"You’re going to his suite?" Brody blinked once.

"Yes," she replied.

"...Can I come?" he asked.

"Why?" she asked him.

Brody looked toward the door Kaji had disappeared through, then back at Inessa.

"Bored," he shrugged his shoulders.

That earned him quite a long stare.