The Thirteen Knight

Chapter 23- Echoes in the Blood

The ride back to the Academy was a blur of gray rain and silence.

I sat in the corner of the transport crawler, gripping my knee. The vibration of the engine traveled up through the floor grates, rattling my teeth, but I barely felt it.

All I could feel was the echo.

Brother.

The word wasn't fading. It was ringing in my skull like a struck bell. It hadn't been spoken with vocal cords; it had been a psychic transmission, a frequency that bypassed my ears and went straight to the Apostate Drive embedded in my arm.

My left arm was twitching under my jacket. The black fibers were agitated, writhing beneath the skin like worms trying to escape wet earth. They sensed him. The other one. The Violet Knight.

"You're shaking, Royce," Commander Vane said.

I snapped my head up. She was watching me, her face illuminated by the pale blue light of the dashboard.

"Shock, I think," I stammered, leaning into the lie. "I've never seen a Void-Stalker up close before. And my foot..."

"Pain is a good teacher," Vane said, her voice devoid of sympathy. "It teaches you where not to step."

She looked at the bloody mud staining the floor beneath my boot.

"We're going straight to the Infirmary. I want that documented. If you get gangrene and lose a foot, Kael will complain about retraining a new mechanic."

My stomach dropped. The Infirmary meant doctors. Doctors meant removing the boot.

And inside the boot, tapped under my heel, was the sharp pebble I had used to fake my limp. If they found it, they’d know. They’d know the injury was self-inflicted. They’d know the limp was a performance.

"I can just wrap it in the dorms, Ma'am," I said quickly. "It's just a cut."

"Protocol, Royce," Vane said, closing her eyes. "Don't argue."

The Academy Infirmary was bright, white, and smelled of lavender and rubbing alcohol—a sharp contrast to the diesel and demon guts of the North Woods.

I sat on the examination table. Commander Vane stood by the door, arms crossed, watching like a hawk. A medic—a senior student with healing magic—was preparing a basin of warm water.

"Boot off," the medic said briskly.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I reached down. My hands were shaking, which helped cover the sleight of hand I was about to attempt.

I unlaced the boot slowly, wincing with every movement.

"Hurry up," Vane said.

"It's stuck to the sock," I gritted out.

I pulled the heel down. As the boot slid off, I curled my toes, jamming my foot against the sole. I felt the pebble slide.

I had one second.

I yanked the boot off with a jerk. As it came free, I tipped it slightly backward. The pebble, slick with blood, slid out of the heel and into the palm of my gloved hand, which I had positioned "supportively" under the boot.

I clutched the pebble tight in my fist.

"Nasty," the medic whistled, looking at my heel.

The sock was soaked red. He peeled it away. The skin of my heel was chewed up, a deep, jagged puncture wound surrounded by bruised, purple flesh.

"You walked on this?" the medic asked, looking at me with disbelief. "There's a puncture wound here deep enough to hit bone. It looks like you stepped on a nail."

"Debris in the boot," I lied, sweat stinging my eyes. "I think something fell in when I tripped."

Vane walked over. She peered at the wound. She looked at the blood.

She looked at my face.

I held my breath, my right hand squeezing the bloody pebble so hard it cut into my palm.

"Clumsy," Vane finally murmured. "But legitimate."

She turned to the medic. "Heal him. Send him back to the dorms. I have a report to file."

She gave me one last, lingering look—a look that said I'm still watching you—and walked out.

I exhaled, my entire body sagging.

"You're lucky, kid," the medic said, his hands glowing with soft golden light as he hovered them over my foot. "Another inch and you'd have severed the tendon."

"Yeah," I whispered, shoving the bloody pebble into my pocket. "Lucky."

I didn't go to the dorms. As soon as the medic discharged me, I limped—a real limp now, though the magic had closed the skin—straight to the steam tunnels.

I needed answers.

I found Randar in the back of his workshop, dismantling a toaster. He looked up as I burst in, locking the heavy iron door behind me.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," the dwarf grunted.

"Worse," I said. "I saw a brother."

Randar dropped the screwdriver. Clatter.

"What did you say?"

"In the North Woods," I said, pacing the small room. "There was a Rift. We used the Chassis as bait. A Void-Stalker came out, but... just before the Rift closed, I saw someone else."

I looked Randar in the eye.

"He was wearing armor like mine. But the energy lines were violet. He looked at me. He called me 'Brother' in my head."

Randar’s face went ash-gray. He walked over to his liquor cabinet, poured a shot of oil-thick whiskey, and downed it in one gulp.

"Violet," Randar whispered. "By the Anvil... I hoped they were all dead."

"Who?" I demanded. "Randar, what is this thing on my arm? You said you found it in a ruin. You didn't say there were more of them."

Randar sat down heavily on a stool. He looked old. Older than usual.

"The device you wear," Randar began slowly, "is an Apostate Drive. Do you know what the word 'Apostate' means, lad?"

"A traitor," I said. "Someone who renounces their faith."

"Exactly," Randar nodded. "Centuries ago, during the First Demon War, there was an elite order of knights. They were humans who made a pact. They bonded with demons to fight demons. They were the ultimate weapons."

He gestured to my arm.

"But the power... it corrupted them. Most of them went mad. They surrendered to the hunger. They became the very monsters they were sworn to destroy. They were called the Concordat."

"The Concordat," I repeated.

"But a few," Randar continued, "a small faction, rebelled. They realized that the only way to save humanity was to master the demon, not serve it. They broke their oaths to the demon lords. They became the Apostates. They hunted their former brothers."

He pointed a shaking finger at me.

"Your armor... the Green Light... that is the signature of the Apostate faction. The Will of Iron. The denial of the self."

"And the Violet?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"The Concordat," Randar spat. "The Loyalists. Those who fully embraced the demon within. They don't just use the power, Chase. They are the power. They serve the Demon Kings."

I leaned against the workbench, the room spinning slightly.

"So, the guy in the Rift..."

"Is a Concordat Knight," Randar confirmed grimly. "And if he saw you... if he recognized the Green signature... then he knows."

"He knows what?"

"He knows the Traitors aren't extinct," Randar said. "He knows there is one left. And the Concordat does not forgive."

I looked at my arm. It felt heavier now. It wasn't just a weapon anymore. It was a target.

"Great," I muttered. "So I have Commander Vane hunting me on this side of the Rift, and a demonic super-soldier hunting me from the other side. Is there anyone who doesn't want me dead?"

"Me," Randar grunted. "Because you owe me three weeks of back-pay for the shop rental."

He stood up and walked over to me.

"Listen, lad. This changes things. The Aethelgard Chassis... Kael's little toy... does it work?"

"It works," I said. "We vaporized a Stalker today. But it's crude. It kills the pilot."

"Kael is playing with fire," Randar warned. "If he keeps opening Rifts to test that machine, he's going to draw the Concordat here. That violet bastard wasn't just saying hello. He was scouting."

Randar grabbed my shoulder. His grip was iron-hard.

"You have to stay hidden. If Vane finds out what you are, she'll dissect you. If the Concordat finds you, they'll peel the Drive off your bone while you're still screaming."

"I know," I said. "I played the fool today. I faked an injury. Vane thinks I'm a clumsy idiot."

"Good. Be the idiot," Randar advised. "Be the worst soldier in the Academy. But you need to train."

"Train how? I can't use the armor."

"Mind training," Randar said, tapping his temple. "The Concordat Knight spoke to you telepathically. That means he has a psychic link to the Void. You have it too, through the Drive. You need to learn to shield your mind. Otherwise, he'll track you like a hound scenting blood."

I nodded. "How do I do that?"

Randar reached under his workbench and pulled out a dusty, leather-bound book.

"Meditation techniques of the Dwarven Runesmiths," he said, blowing off the dust. "Boring as watching rust form. But it builds mental walls."

He shoved the book into my chest.

"Read it. Memorize it. And for the love of iron, Chase, don't look into any more Rifts."

I took the book.

"One more thing," I said, pausing at the door. "The voice... it didn't feel angry. It felt... amused."

Randar’s expression darkened.

"That's worse," he muttered. "Anger makes mistakes. Amusement means he thinks you're a game."

I walked back to the dorms in the dark. The campus was quiet, but the shadows seemed longer, deeper.

I wasn't just a student hiding a secret anymore. I was the last soldier in a war I didn't remember starting.

I touched the pocket where the bloody pebble lay.

One step at a time, I told myself. Limp. Stumble. Survive.

But deep down, beneath the fear, the Apostate Knight was stirring. It wasn't afraid of the Violet One.

It was snarling.

It wanted a rematch.