Content warning: description of a panic attack

“Kill a virgin,” Jace repeated dumbly.

The candlelight trembled from the gust of air he breathed out, the mighty sigh that encompassed all of his grievances about this absolutely terrible plot progression.

Truthfully, The Venerable One Has Found His Way sometimes employed tired clichés, but this was just ridiculous. Absurd. Ludicrous.

If before he toyed with the idea of jumping onto the Golden Guards’ wagon for the time being, now it was out of the question. He hardly cared about reawakening some ancient celestial blood or whatever; Jace only entertained the notion as a means of possible survival.

But killing a virgin? A virgin!? Someone who never enjoyed the depravity of nasty, sweaty sex!? Ask Jace to deflower a virgin and that would be a done deal, but snuffing out a pure, innocent soul that never touched a dick or a pussy? Nope. Out of the question.

Too many people died as it was; Liut was surrounded by death every fucking day. No one ever deserved to die just because one fanatic in power decided to leave his mark for the history books. Fuck that. Fuck that thrice in all holes.

“That’s the lost ancient knowledge? Murdering innocents?” Jace couldn’t help but ask, irritated beyond measure.

The guard hardened his gaze. “Of course not. We are not savages,” he cut off. “The ritual requires taking the life of an unsullied with a celestial-forged steel and a strong will of its wielder.”

Oh, so killing a virgin with extra steps. Now all was redeemed.

Jace snorted. “Apologies for my skepticism, but you know my line of work. I hardly believe there to be something inherently magical about never experiencing intercourse. There are eunuchs so evil your blood turns cold, and whores so kind you find this world worth living in.”

Not that Jace knew any eunuchs in real life, but he knew enough incels. A few forum posts were enough to know those souls were far from pure and unsullied.

“Am I supposed to take it as a refusal?” the guard said through gritted teeth.

“Yes. I am not going through with the ritual,” Jace stated. “Am I free to go now? As you said, strong will of the wielder is necessary. You won’t find it here.”

Veins bulging on his forehead, the guard forced a smile.

“Indeed. I cannot force you just so. But do you understand what you’re giving up?”

Jace arched an eyebrow. “Your flowery assurances of a better life? You surely can imagine how many times I heard such promises.”

The candlelight flickered as the guard barked a laugh.

“I am not a silver-tongued merchant promising you sand castles. Do you even know what it means to reawaken Celestial Blood?”

“Indeed, I do not. You spend all this time buttering me up with stories of a cushy life by the king’s side,” Jace shot back. He was growing restless; he hated continuing this pointless conversation.

“Then listen closely.” The guard narrowed his eyes at Jace, his lips clenched into a thin line. “The Remnants possess the remains of Celestial magic. You think the king wishes them to enter his service simply as fancy relics?” He snorted. “The raw, ancient power may be coursing through your veins. The ability to wield artifacts, the full potential of which was lost to time. Strength, prowess, agency to be the master of your own fate.”

Now Jace was the one to laugh.

“Agency? What agency do you have under this gilded armor?”

A roaring bang rang through the small, dark room. The guard’s fist landed on the table, his eyes bloodshot with anger he could no longer subdue.

“Do not talk back to me, you cheap whore!” he yelled, getting up so abruptly the chair behind him fell with a loud thud. Looming over Jace, expression twisted in rage, he leaned in and gritted through his teeth, “How idiotic can you be? I’ve seen what Remnants can do. One fortnight, and they can shatter a bone with bare hands. One month—and a steel sword is nothing but a rotten stick for them to snap.” Straightening up, he threw a scornful look at Jace. “Simply the idea that this strength may be wasted on you fills me with disdain.”

“Then you better stop pursuing me,” Jace replied evenly. “I won’t get any of it if I don’t reawaken my dormant blood. Or are you promised some hefty sum of gold for each Remnant you manage to scout?”

The following silence confirmed Jace’s guess. After all, what other reason could force this small-minded little man to be so desperate in changing Jace’s mind?

Jace smiled. 

“You are,” he confirmed. “And you had the gall to question my life choices.” Mockingly, Jace shook his head and got up. “I do not wish to continue this conversation any longer. Say to your superiors that I failed the ritual, I don’t care. I’m leaving Lodgerod anyway; they won’t be able to find me to check your words.” He walked past the guard to the door.

Shoulders tense and still glaring at the empty seat Jace had just occupied, the guard stayed motionless. Jace put his hand on the handle and was about to leave this stuffy interrogation room when, suddenly, the guard caught his wrist, clutching it so tightly it was sure to bruise.

“Who do you think you are?” he growled into Jace’s ear from behind. His breath stank of fish and the growl was absolutely abhorrent; Jace missed Liut dearly at this moment.

“Let go of me.”

The guard chuckled. “I spent half a moon tracking you down. Do you honestly believe I will just let you go? Look around. I have other ways to make you do what I need.”

Jace did not like the threat at all. The power dynamic in this room was obvious. He was a nobody, the Magistrate was all too eager to sell out some town whore for the king’s recognition, and the guard was a nasty, petty man. He could lock Jace up right in this windowless room, turn his life into a living hell, awful enough that sooner or later Jace would break and agree to all his demands. Jace never wanted to be a prisoner, not like that. He knew the depth of human cruelty. He saw the most valiant of his people saying words they never would have just to get a piece of bread and a drop of water.

The memories of it rushed through, those well-repressed, hidden far back in his mind memories of sickly thin bodies and dead, vacant eyes. The way his hands had trembled when he recognized whom they belonged to, the way his heart tightened when he heard tortured-out confessions from parched lips that used to smile at him full of life.

His wrist held in a bruising grip, the body right behind him, the small, suffocating room. Everything pressed down on him, weighed on his chest so he couldn’t breathe. His heart thrummed, pounded against his ribcage so ferociously Jace’s ears rang.

Oh, fuck.

Not now. Not this. He hated this. The panic, the smothering, the shaking.

He needed to count things. Anything. Fuck, it was too dark, those fuckass candles barely lit up the room. How many planks was the door composed of?

One.

A breath.

Two.

An exhale.

The guard said something; Jace couldn’t hear over the incessant heartbeat banging in his head.

Three.

The clutch on his wrist hurt, but it was good; he could focus on that.

Four.

The body behind him pressed closer and…

“Don’t touch me!”

Jace swung around, pushing that heap of meat away from himself in panic.

He was not a weakling; he always had enough strength to fight off wandering hands.

But he was never able to send a full-grown man flying through the room.

The guard stumbled back, crashed into the table forcefully so the old wood creaked and croaked, almost breaking under his weight. The sound of his armor screeching pierced Jace’s ears. For a moment, the commotion he caused pushed everything else out of his mind, adrenaline spiking up and clearing his thoughts.

Slowly, he glanced at the guard plastered over the table. The candles fell to the floor; only a few stayed glued to the table, melted and hardened wax keeping them in place.

The shadows they cast over the guard’s astonished face made him look ever uglier. He was staring back at Jace, mouth gaping like the dumb fuck he was.

Jace frowned. He looked at his own hand, still stretched out mid-action.

Was this body stronger than his previous one?

Blinking, Jace quickly clenched his fist and turned around. He finally shoved the door open and fled through it. He knew he had only that much time to escape before the adrenaline high wore off and the comedown made him useless.

He ran blindly through the tunnels; these damn dungeons, scarcely lit by fire torches, made him dizzy. Who needed this authenticity!?

Turning a corner, he hit an armored wall. Someone blocked his way, someone huge enough and strong enough to hold him down while he thrashed like a fish thrown out of the water.