It is theorized that there is a rough limit on the number of people one can hold a relationship with, be it friend, neighbor, lover or enemy. It is perhaps one-hundred-fifty on average, two-hundred-fifty at the utmost. Past this, the faces blur into the crowd and beco an indistinct and aggregate other; we simply are not built to consider so many people individually.
So ti ago mankind counted its billionth mber. By the tyranny of simple mathematics, this ans that for the first ti in history it has beco impossible for every man to count an ensouled among his acquaintances; even if all were to seek such a bond, the ratio makes it impossible that each might be so counted in return.
It is not so distinct a milestone that historians of tomorrow will draw a line across the page and say that it was here, right here, that everything changed. However, each generation has grown into a world controlled by people that are less and less akin to anyone they know. The line will mark the day one of them asks why.
- Leire Gabarain, Annals of the Sixteenth Star, 689.
After a few contemplative monts Michael freed himself from his bed and washed, feeling almost awake by the ti he finished. Ricard returned in ti to help him dress. He set to scolding Michael for even thinking of walking so quickly after his injuries - but given the threat of his charge tottering through the house in nothing but nightclothes the manservant had been forced to relent.
Michael was actually feeling much better than a dead man had any right to feel, despite the nagging pains across his back and shoulders. None of them seed more than superficial, no doubt thanks to the Institutes anatons. The thought gave him a shiver. His imagination lingered on the idea of a womans fingers, bloodstained, tracing through the ruin of his back while flesh knit together in their wake.
He felt suddenly glad that he had fallen senseless; by all accounts the process was excruciating beyond belief.
After enduring a bit more fuss from Ricard he managed to walk out of his chambers looking plausibly human, albeit a rather ungainly specin due to the bandages he wore like a tortuous undershirt. Michael made it twelve steps down the hall before he heard the rustling of cloth and the scrape of a chair from the study.
His ears barely registered the sound. The razor-edged focus of his fathers soul had flooded out into the hallway the instant before, throwing him back into the horrid white-walled room with his hands locked to a post, the lash slowly flaying his back. He slled blood and acid on his breath, the cool disinfectant tang of the Institute and the leather of their whips.
He saw the void, stretched out in front of him. It wiped all thought from his mind, left him frozen like a flushed animal before the hunt. Footsteps sounded, walking across the study towards the door. Michael tried to clear his mind, slow his breathing, to at least affect a veneer of calm.
Nothing he did drew his mind away from the flensing edge of his fathers soul. It had abraded him down to nothing in that room, broken him. His minds eye could not tear itself from the insubstantial blades - and yet as the footsteps drew closer the implicit threat filling the air seed to fade away.
Michael frowned as his mind recovered its footing, trying to figure out what precisely had changed in his fathers usually-stifling presence - and quickly slid his face back into pleasant neutrality as the door burst open. His father stood practically crackling with energy, his eyes snapping up and down to take in Michaels clean and dressed state.
After a mont, Karl let out a breath. So, youre up, he said. The anatons said shed be surprised if you were out of bed within a week. He took a step to the side, tilting his head to look at Michael from another angle. Finally, he grunted and shook his head. Whatever youve got, its damn subtle. Worked it out yet?
I dont feel any different, Michael said, speaking with deliberate slowness so that the tone of his voice didnt stray from his control. A horrible thought occurred to him, worming its way to his tongue before he could clamp down on it. Are they sure it- He bit back the remaining words, too late.
His father looked down at him with a cool expression for half a mont - then gave a strange little smile, self-amused and fleeting. They ran the normal tests, Karl said. Three tis, as a matter of fact. You blew out two of their anitry kits before they found one that could take a proper reading.
Michaels mouth felt unaccountably dry. Im not sure I understand, he said. Why dont I feel any different, then? Is it sothing that happens over ti?
Karl snorted. Hardly. Control cos with ti, but power never changes. He gave Michael another evaluating look. It just ans that youve got sothing less obvious. Not Form, and probably not Light. Those are never subtle, especially with a strong bestowal.
His face went oddly blank for a mont. The blades around them stirred, and Michael froze. He didnt have to ask what was wrong. Unbidden, his mind dusted off old mories of screams in the night, blood dripping from bed-linens and collecting in pools on the floor.
Karl took a deep breath, and the pressure disappeared. The hallway air lost its sharp edge, and Michael dared to breathe in once more. Tentatively, he looked up at his father, whose hard-edged face was still blank.
Ive done wrong by you, he said quietly. Michaels eyes widened. Karl t his gaze. Took until now to see it. I had a duty, as your father, and Ive been too lost in my own head to give you what you needed. He shook his head, then placed his hand gently on Michaels shoulder. Im sorry, son.
Son. Save for a few rare instances when he was very young, Michaels father had treated him more as a guest in his house, and more often than not one whose welco was wearing thin. The word seed to resonate in his chest, choking his breath until he didnt trust himself to do more than look up at his father and smile.
Karl squeezed his shoulder once, leaning in close. You were a child when we went to the Institute for the first ti, now youre what - nearly twenty-two? Five years that weve been letting those Institute n tickle you. If Id been doing my job as a father I would have seen that you were too strong for their tripe. Id have walked in and whipped a soul into you on the first day. The warm feeling in Michaels chest stuttered to a halt, and he felt a blade gently brush against his throat once more.
His father withdrew his hand and turned back towards his study, shaking his head. That would have saved us both so trouble, he said ruefully. But now that we know your asure - Ill inform the Institute that youre well again, and well return tomorrow for your testing.
He gave Michael one final look, then walked back into his study. As the heavy door eased shut, the air in the hallway seed chill, stale. After a mont, Michael turned to walk back the way he ca. The sunshine lancing through the windows had not faded, but suddenly he wanted nothing more than to lay back down and sleep.
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