“I know what it’s like to fight your mind every day of your life, but you need to remember something.”
“What?” I asked, voice thick with emotion.
“We love you, Fyn, and we want you in our lives. You're not a burden. You are not unwanted.”
I shut my eyes.
“Now, I am going to make us both uncomfortable and hug you.” True to his word, Seth stiffly pulled me into a hug. I clung to him tightly as tears poured down my cheeks.
“I miss him.”
With every day that passed, the longing to see him grew. Deep in my gut, I still perceived the connection to Caleb. I needed him, but he wasn’t anywhere to be found. Would this longing ache ever fade? Did I even want it to?
Dr. Maklownil stood on the other side of the force field next to an old woman with wispy green hair, rough brown scales, and milky gray eyes. She held a piece of glowing glass in her bony fingers.
“What exactly is happening?” I asked.
Maklownil replied, “Priestess Hok is going to test your soul type.”
“Why?” I wasn’t sure if I even believed in soul types or not, so what was the point?
“If you are indeed who you say you are, your soul type will be different than Yolkeltod’s recorded one,” he said with a smug smirk, as if he’d found a way to prove I wasn’t who I thought I was.
“And if I’m a warrior?”
“The shade will still be different.”
“Fine.” I knew who I was.
I peeked at Tinlorray. I was hoping she would find a way to speak to Wyn, though she hadn’t yet. When she did, Wyn, who would hopefully believe her, would talk to Seth, who would get me the hell out of here and back to Zoltilvoxfyn where I belonged. He would help me figure out this whole new body thing. Everything would be manageable with him by my side.
Maklownil released the force field, eyeing me. While older and smaller than me, I had no doubt he would win in a confrontation. I was shaky and weak. Treatments to stimulate muscle growth were not going well when they actually did the appointments, and they didn’t let me out to walk very often.
The old priestess said in a ceremonial voice, “All soul types have value and are treasured.”
Tinlorray scoffed.
“You disagree?” Priestess Hok asked, lips pursing, probably at the interruption.
“Warriors are venerated because of our violent past. Spiritual souls are treasured because of their connection to the Crystal. Seekers are now important because of the technology they bring. Creators are cast aside. Drakcol do not value art,” she replied.
Hok huffed. “Red is warrior. White is spiritual. Blue is seeker. Green is creator.”
She extended the piece of glass that glowed bright white. Without ceremony, I touched it. The light swirled around my fingers, caressing me. The white light changed colors to a grayish-blue. Maklownil’s mouth fell open, and even the priestess gaped at me like a caught fish. Though Tinlorray appeared nonplussed. Not much could shake her after accepting that her little brother’s body no longer housed his soul.
I wasn’t a warrior soul. I was a seeker. A mix apparently, edging on the spiritual side, if the gray meant what I thought it did.
“I think this proves I am who I say I am,” I said, crossing my arms. “I am Caleb Smith. Zoltilvoxfyn is my mate. Give me access to the Crystal, and I will prove he is mine, no one else’s.” I couldn’t help the growl that rumbled in my chest. I needed Fyn, and he needed me. And with every day that passed, the longing got worse.
Both of them continued to stare at me and the glass until it faded into a soft glowing white. Eventually, the priestess said, “I need to speak to my superior.”
The doctor didn’t respond, but he secured the force field and left.
So my specialists were consulting more special specialists. Lovely. That was an excellent sign, I was sure.
Tinlorray followed them without a word.
“You should not be here, Seth. Pest will challenge and kill me when he finds out about this, and I am not teasing,” an even voice I recognized said.
