A Preview of Iridian
Includes the opening chapters of the novel.
Prelude
Breathe.
I can’t breathe.Every rattling gasp clawed through my crushed chest, a reminder that time was running out.My heart hammered too loudly in my ears, drowning out all else. The chill of granite bled through my clothes, seeping into bone. Up above, shadows writhed in firelight, a vision of hell on stone.Each moment slowed to a single exhalation.No thoughts remained—only waiting. Waiting for the warm darkness to enfold me in endless arms. I hovered on the edge of that precipice, ready to fall.Then—a blaze of silvery light streaked through my fading vision.Was someone coming for me?
Too late.The pressure in my chest, the agony—Too late.I was already dead.
01. Lacuna
present
Breathe…
The woman lurched upright, hand flying to her chest. Her heart raced. Breath stuttered in short, ragged gasps.Death. Was that a memory? A dream?Sweat beaded her brow, pallid skin leeching shades paler as echoes reverberated—even as the vision frayed and faded away.She groped blindly with a trembling hand, looking for something tangible. Her fingers brushed the edges of a withered leaf swept in through the open balcony. Crushing it in her fist, she leaned into its jagged bite, letting it anchor her to reality.There’s no pain here, no pain…The scent of dry, brittle leaf invoked the image of a wooded path beneath a shady bower. Tall oaks clustered together, and an aged yew stood apart like a sentinel keeping watch.Her head throbbed as memory struggled to the surface, but the line between lived moments and imagined castings wavered, impossible to separate.Surely, some had to be imagination?Those visions carried her to strange places: a bird with iridescent purple feathers warbled an alien song. Trees glowed as if carved from crystal, and flowers shifted hues to the pitch of a humming voice.Sometimes, the visions were darker: a man with a face veiled in shadow, a figure who stirred a deep-seated fear. In those nightmares, blood smeared her hands, the metallic reek turning her stomach.And there were dreams of a war—fantasies, surely? Her reality had no cities floating high in the sky. Of that, she was certain. Yet, she watched them shatter, fragments crumbling into a dark, violent sea below.None of it could be real, instinct told her. None of it.What am I?
* * *
“Are you alright?” a gentle voice asked.The woman jumped, startled to find she wasn’t alone. Her head snapped around, eyes narrowing in fear.Hands flew up—raised to do… what?She froze, body rigid, pressed tightly into the corner of the divan like a trapped animal. Confusion crossed her face at the sight of her own palms held outwards.The voice approached her with caution. The fear radiating from her tore at him, but he couldn’t fault her instincts after all that had happened.“Child,” he soothed, his voice calm and controlled. “Don’t be afraid. I’d never hurt you. You know this.”He guided those warding hands back into her lap as he lowered himself into a crouch before her.She shivered uncontrollably, survival instincts warring with reason. Thin, pale, transparent—she looked hollowed out. Dark bruises rimmed her amber eyes, and a livid scar that sometimes almost seemed to seep a smoky shadow cut across her cheek, silent testimony to her ordeal. The sight twisted in him.The woman bit into her lower lip as she fought for calm. There’s no pain here… The words circled again as she focused on the man, his hands still resting over hers in her lap.Child, he had called her. Where had she heard that before? She was far too grown and old to be anyone’s “child”, not even his. Age had only just begun to etch faint lines on his face, silver threading through the dark mass of his hair.His was a face with much character. A close-trimmed beard framed strong features, with eyes that were the blackest of blacks. So dark, the iris barely separated from the pupil, and they rested on her now with compassion.Something about him tugged at the void that was her memory. Despite his youthful guise, he was much older.Atreus. The name whispered across the void.“Atreus.” The word escaped her lips.“You remember,” he spoke carefully, relief flooding his features.His hands tightened over hers, whispering healing energy to steady that memory. Nothing forced, just enough to keep it from sinking back into the convoluted sea where it had lain submerged. Her memories mustn’t be coerced. Not if she were to regain her true identity.“I’m… not sure. I don’t remember you, but I know you,” she said haltingly.“Then that’s enough for now.” He patted her hands in consolation, wincing as he rose to his feet. His old bones weren’t what they used to be.“Do you remember who you are?” he asked, settling beside her. It was a question he’d asked every day since she first showed signs of awareness. Her own name eluded her, and at first, he had worried she might panic, but confusion seemed to be her only reaction.Today, she had recalled his name. It was progress.Her brow furrowed as she uncurled from her defensive posture. A vase of orchids across the room caught her gaze. The splash of purple against the pale green walls drew a fragment of memory, an uncomfortable one.Once again, she shivered, though no breeze stirred the balcony curtains. Those green walls… green… that colour… why did it speak of the beginning of the end?A true memory misted into form—green walls, the sting of antiseptic, medicine, and the steady beeping monitors.Her monitors.Her gaze drifted back to the walls. Pale streaks of daylight added character to its flatness. They returned her to that place of a similar shade, but where it was far less pleasant and much more sterile.In that memory, the green was faded, desperately in need of repainting. Voices echoed—doctors murmuring a name with sympathy and finality.“Arden.” The name struck like a thrown stone.“I am Arden Ga— Arden Grey,” she stammered. But part of her wondered why that name didn’t feel quite right, as she sank into the memory of green walls and sterile smells.
memory fragment
The incessant ‘beep beep beep’ of machines dragged me from a shallow sleep. I twisted to relieve one side and immediately regretted that action as a lancing pain shot through me.Why am I still alive?Part of me longed for release, but I’d never been much of a liar.I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to be lying in this awful, stiff bed surrounded by machines, monitors, and intravenous needles, reminding me that I had one foot dipped in the river of no return.How had this happened?
Why me?I played it safe most of my life—never crossed the speed limit, never ran a red light. I didn’t smoke or drink. I exercised and ate healthily, though there was the occasional binge on cake.I had plenty of acquaintances, though only a few close friends. And my family…Well, better not to think about them. Guilt and self-pity came too easily. Had they been aware of my situation, they’d come rushing to my side.But I just didn’t want them to see me like this. I didn’t want anyone to see me in this pitiful condition.Pointless thought. Still, I raged at the universe.What had I done to deserve this fate? Had some karmic god decided it was time to make up for some past-life misdeed? Or was life being stripped away because I’d failed to appreciate it?Dramatic, yes. Fatalistic too. But it was hard to be anything else in the face of my prognosis.Dr Ahmed’s gentle voice echoed in my head, and Dr Eng looked on with those kind brown eyes, both assuring me they were doing their best to figure out what was wrong.Two excellent doctors at my side, but that didn’t make me feel any better. Hospitals barely had enough to go around. The fact that I had two pointed to serious problems, and that was not a good sign.And then there was Dr Burkinson, the senior advising physician.They thought I couldn’t hear their whispered conference just a few feet away—Burkinson, Ahmed, and Eng.But in these late hours of my life, my auditory senses had become strangely acute, as if all the world had suddenly turned crystal clear just to remind me of what I would soon be leaving.Was it a gift or a curse?
I couldn’t decide.Whatever the reason, my hearing had sharpened since I’d woken in this hospital bed. Maybe that’s why the constant machine beeping grated so much. I was pretty sure the other patients in this ICU weren’t lucid enough to notice their machines. But to me, the muted pulse was like a bell ringing endlessly inside my skull.And yet, beneath all that noise, every whisper carried. Even low voices a few feet away reached me with crystal clarity.I kept my eyes shut. I didn’t want the medics to know I was awake.Drs Ahmed and Eng argued against moving me to another facility. Dr Burkinson pushed back—there was nothing else they could do unless they flew in another specialist. But the man was incredibly busy. Days would pass before they could even track him down.There was more heated argument, but in the end, the conclusion was the same. Move me or not, specialist or not, I had only days. My vitals were failing rapidly. Soon, I would be on life support and probably brain dead, if my lungs or heart didn’t give out first.Have you ever cried dry tears?I hated feeling sorry for myself. It was such a miserable emotion. But right then, I was the most miserable person in the entire hospital, and too weak to even cry properly.Maybe a few sparse droplets escaped. My body was so dehydrated despite the drip that after a while, all that was left was the heat behind my closed eyelids, and the dull ache that lingers after heavy weeping.I wish I didn’t know. But there it was, thanks to my unintended eavesdropping. Only a few days left—and that was being optimistic.The doctors were kind but truthful when they broke the news. I guess they were a little surprised at my easy acceptance. They didn’t realise I’d already pieced it together.I caved in, let the hospital contact my family—Mom, and the twins. As far as I knew, they were on their way. But Mom had been hiking in New Zealand, and the twins were visiting friends in Japan. No guarantee they could get back in time.It was kind of funny, actually. If I’d gone on either trip—both invites had been generously extended—would I be lying in this bed now?Would I have collapsed in the mall parking lot? Had my bag and ID stolen? Spent two days unconscious in this hospital, a Jane Doe?No one knew who I was. No one was looking. Not even my office, because it happened over a weekend. By now, they must’ve thought I’d walked out of the job for no reason.So, why hadn’t I accepted?Mom was with her boyfriend, Faris. I hadn’t wanted to be the awkward third leg on their trip. We’d had a small row over a different matter, and I figured she’d offered over guilt about leaving me behind alone.The twins had asked earlier, but I didn’t feel like taking leave from work to romp with a bunch of college kids.So here I was, in equatorial Kuching, all by myself to deal with the heat and humidity. Well, not sweating now. This ICU was nice and cool, though I rather doubt anyone would choose to be in this kind of cool.Trapped here, my mind insisted on replaying the less-than-phenomenal bits of my life. What kind of existence had I led?
* * *
It was August. I couldn’t have said whether it was the dry season or not.Weather patterns had changed so much that there was barely a dry or wet season anymore. Just mostly hot, wet, hot, wet—contributing to the sort of mugginess that made your hair plaster to your scalp.Not that the weather mattered. I wasn’t going to last long enough to care if a bout of rain was expected to cause flash floods in the low areas. The world was no longer my concern.They say impending death makes you review your life. That’s exactly what I was doing.At thirty-three, I hadn’t achieved much more than the average person. An average worker with an average career. A decent living, a small nest egg built slowly over the years.I neither loved nor hated my job. I suppose you could say it was tolerable; otherwise, I would have left. I wasn’t married, but I had boyfriends. None ever compelled me to bind more permanent ties.Eight months ago, I moved to the city. A small apartment with all the essentials, and a nice view of an upper-story garden tucked between two towers.My family lived in the suburbs. Mom and I had fought over the move, but it hadn’t lasted once she realised I wasn’t going to budge.She just didn’t understand why I would want my own place when we already had a home. But I think it was more a fear of being left behind than anything else. The twins were wise enough not to take sides.Like most families, we had skeletons in the closet. Ours was a father who left when I was fourteen, with no explanation whatsoever. Maybe he’d given his reasons to Mom, but I was certain the twins knew no more than I did. They’d been too small to understand what was going on.His abandonment crushed her. I think some parts of her never healed, though she’s tried very hard to move on.It was tough not having my father around back in those days. I remember rising very early in the morning, getting myself and the twins ready for school. They would ask where Dad was, and I would have no answer.Eventually, they stopped asking.Mom was listless those first few months after he disappeared. At night, her muted weeping would filter through the thin, silent walls. It made me angry at my father—made me feel impotent, because there was nothing I could do to bring him back.I hid my own grief. I didn’t want Mom to know how deeply her sadness cut me. So I pretended not to care that he was gone. But alone, in the storeroom, I would cry where no one could see. Within that musty space, I felt safe enough to vent my emotions.It was the only way the fourteen-year-old me knew how to cope.I never blamed Mom for her lassitude in those horrid weeks. She’d been a stay-at-home mother, suddenly forced to support three children on her own.To her credit, she tried—but work was scarce. And soon enough, we were booted out of our little flat. With barely any money and nowhere else to go, we returned to her village to live with my grandmother.My grandmother, bless her soul, was a kindly woman. She received us with open arms and helped us get back on our feet.Mom helped Grandma with her little flower and vegetable stall while we kids attended the village school. Life turned simple, almost idyllic, and memories of my errant father slowly faded.Those were probably the best days of my life. Afternoons spent flying kites and climbing wide-limbed trees. Swimming in the rock-bedded river behind Grandma’s sturdy wooden home, its waters crystal clear and shallow during the dry season.We’d get chased by the billy goat who didn’t like us trespassing on his patch, or the gander who would honk and flare his wings, protecting his brood from our naughty antics.Evenings were for lying on Grandma’s wide balcony, watching fireflies flitter like tiny pinpricks of light dancing against a dark, moonless sky. The quiet of night settled like a blanket over the resting village, broken only by the solitary hoot of a hunting owl.And of course, there was Luna.Luna was my best friend from the moment we arrived. I first spotted her—a ragged child in a faded dress with dusty, bare feet—watching as our noisy, old car rumbled its way to Grandma’s. I met her again at school, and we became fast friends from then on.But Luna was far away now. All that was far away.What would I give for her dry, witty observations… She’d tell me to buck up, sit straight, and not to give in to death.Luna was the one who knew how to live. She grabbed every moment, good or bad, and revelled in it. I never could. Something always held me back, some part of me that couldn’t quite fit in—out of sync with the rest of the world.Maybe it was just me. I didn’t see it in my siblings or my mother. And now, I would never know.
02. Dusk
memory fragment
As my dark thoughts petered out to the sound of beeping monitors, I finally noticed I wasn’t alone. A man. Standing at the outer wall window.Strange.I hadn’t heard him enter, and I heard everything—the rattle of rolling gurneys, the distant ringing of phones at the nurses’ station, the jangle of the janitor’s keys late at night, random footsteps—everything.Logically, I shouldn’t be able to hear any of this. Isolation should have cut me off from external sounds, the wide glass inner window sealing me from the hall. But my sharpened hearing pierced through regardless.And yet, I’d missed the sound of the door opening, and the rustling of window curtains drawn apart. If not for the slight shadow he cast from the evening light, I wouldn’t have picked up on his presence at all.He had his back to me. Not anyone on the medical staff. Dr Ahmed was shorter and slightly round around the waist. Meanwhile, Dr Burkinson was stocky, with that unmistakable shock of white hair.I was myopic, but even without my glasses, I could tell that this man was neither. He was tall, slender, almost, dressed in a navy blue shirt and pale grey pants. His dark hair was cropped short, and he stood with his hands tucked in his pockets.“Your sunsets here are lovely. The colours… so dramatic,” he observed, still facing the window.I flinched. My watching hadn’t gone unnoticed. His voice was clear, low-pitched, quiet—the voice of someone who didn’t really talk unless they needed to.The window framed him in silhouette, sky bleeding shades of sunset around him. I’d never looked out of that window before; the curtains had always been drawn close. Now, I could make out a fuzzy blend of reds, pinks, and gold washing through sculpted clouds, as the sun slipped towards the horizon.“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen much of the sun lately.” My voice rasped from long periods of disuse.It was true. I always worked late. By the time I left the office, the sun had already set, and all I would have caught were the last shreds of light before darkness fell. Weekends often kept me inside, sunset simply gone by unnoted.His words carried me back to those idyllic childhood evenings in the village. The sunsets had been just as beautiful. I’d watched them then. I had had time to appreciate them. When did I stop?“This window has a good view,” he said. “Want a better look? I’m sure that bed is stifling. “My brow creased. Was he making fun of me?“Sure,” I replied, managing to inject some sarcasm. “If you could pull this bed over there, or the window to me.”Ungracious, maybe. But it was a strange question.If I could get out of this bed, I would have done so a long while back. But my body was too weak, and I had all these monitors and needles attached. I doubted I’d even expelled any bodily waste the last few days since I couldn’t eat, and water seemed to be absorbed completely.Odd. I was physically spent, yet my mental process seemed uncannily clear.He turned slightly at my reply. Even in the shadows that muted his features, I could sense his smile. My sarcasm amused him.“That’s easy to fix,” he said, walking over to me.Gaunt. That was my first impression. Up close, his features sharpened into interesting lines: dark, straight brows, a straight, almost Grecian nose and fine cheekbones made more prominent by the hollowed cheeks. The only thing that countered the clean lines of his face was the days-old stubble shadowing his jaw.But the eyes—I’d never seen eyes like that. Green of many hues; green as the sea, green as the richest moss, green as the deepest jade... lit with an inner light that seemed to come from the very depths of the person.“What are you doing?” Panic flared as he gently detached the monitors and needles. I raised a shaking hand to stop him, but even that movement required almost all my energy. “That’s supposed to keep me alive,” I argued weakly, shooting a pointed glance at the drip.“You don’t need those,” was his cryptic reply, stilling my hand. “And you argue too much for someone in your condition. Save your strength.”Without another word, he lifted me and carried me over to the window.I must’ve lost a lot of weight because he showed no strain at all. The freshness of his shirt made me acutely aware of how stale I smelled. My hair was limp and matted with fever-sweat. The hospital gown I wore had been changed, but it still had that medicinal antiseptic tang.Embarrassment surged—being cradled like this by some stranger, yet there was also relief. I was finally out of that bed.“Are you the specialist?” I asked, trying for composure. Who else would be visiting at this time? Or would ignore all those monitors so casually?His lips tilted slightly in one corner into a half-smile.“A specialist of sorts.” Another cryptic reply. “But look, the sky’s beautiful, isn’t it?”He obviously wasn’t going to say more, so I grudgingly followed his gaze to the sky. It was, indeed, beautiful. Far more beautiful than I’d ever seen—a masterwork brushed in living colour. More than that, even.The sight caused my breath to loosen. Freedom shimmered just out of reach. Freedom from what, I couldn’t name. Life, maybe.A curious thought slid in. These might be my last moments. I already knew I was dying. We all were; I was just going a little faster than everyone else. So—“You’re not… Death, are you?”Perhaps not the most intelligent of questions, but dying afforded me some imprudence. Suddenly, death didn’t seem so frightening, not if this man was it, showing me that beautiful sky. Maybe I was hallucinating, and my body was actually still in bed, machines ticking as my life slipped away.He glanced at me with those unusual eyes, his expression again, amused. “No. I’m not Death, though I can see you’re not worried if I am.”Disappointment sank into the pit of my belly. Part of me had hoped to get this ordeal over and done with.“Why’d you bring me to the window?” If he wasn’t Death, not a doctor, then—what?A tired sigh escaped my lips. Twilight was falling. The shades of red and gold faded away, and hints of starlight twinkled just beyond the clouds.He drew a slow breath, as if bracing for something.“I’m here to… heal you,” he replied, the pause heavy. “You’re standing at a crossroad you never knew existed.”“What?” The word barely made it past my lips. It was getting harder to speak.“Arden, two paths lie ahead. Either way, you’ll wake up to see another day. But in one of those paths, you’ll remember me; in the other, you won’t.”Could he drop the cryptic already? And he knew my name. We hadn’t been introduced. Had he been looking at my charts?“Do you want to keep seeing sunsets?” he asked.“Yes.” Of course, I did. That was a given. I wasn’t ready to die.He nodded to himself. “I don’t have time to explain, so I’m going to show you. And once you choose, hold on to that will to live. You’ll need it.”He carried me back and settled me carefully onto the bed. With a flick of his eyes, the privacy curtain rolled close around us as if drawn by invisible hands. That was the first hint that this man was much, much more than he was letting on.“Relax, Arden,” he murmured, placing a warm palm against my temple. “Close your eyes, and See.”
* * *
present
“Are you remembering how this all began?” Atreus probed gently.He sensed the stir of her unfolding memories, noting with satisfaction that they reflected the very beginnings of what she was now.Arden reclined on a divan set beneath tall French windows, one foot tapping up and down absently.“I think so,” she glanced over in reply. “It’s so weird. I was dying. I have—had (?) siblings called Julian and Juno. Twins. A mother. Where are they? What happened to them?”She frowned, trying to force the memory forward.“Anything else?” Atreus prompted. His face was impassive, but his eyes searched hers.“There was a man. Don’t know his name. But he’s like you. Like—us. I remember his eyes. Very green. I think he saved me. Who is he, Atreus?” Her gaze held his, expectant.A shadow flitted across Atreus’s features. It was so fleeting, it might have been imagined. Was it distress? Sorrow?“You’ll have to remember him yourself. In time, I’m sure you will.” His tone shifted subtly, evasive. “Go back to your memories, Arden. They’re important. Try to recall what happened next.”Arden nodded, falling back to that place of green walls and sterile smells—but those details no longer dominated. Instead, she was drawn to a pair of intense green eyes and the words they spoke into her mind.
* * *
memory fragment
:Who are you?:Green eyes glittered in the back of my mind. This conversation was not spoken but thought. It felt strange, yet somehow natural. He had brought me here, to this warm, dark place, devoid of all pain and worries.:I’m your guide. Look, and See.:His voice pointed, and memories unfolded—not mine, but his.Through him, I leapt vast distances, ran impossible speeds, and scaled walls like they were ladders. Objects levitated and spun in the air as if by invisible hands. Minds conversed without words. Decades passed, but my (his?) face in the mirror remained unchanged.There were others like us. We have existed for millennia, hiding our identity. Our purpose was a simple one: survival, in secrecy.We weren’t many, but for as long as one remained, we existed. We weren’t immortal, but close enough to it compared to the natural human lifespan.We guarded and watched for others who could become like us, others who had the potential.Like you (me?).The images and thoughts continued until I finally stepped into a warm, dark place of stillness. Understanding sank in why my body was failing.The Alterare.Once-dormant genes (so-called junk genes) had stirred to life, inducing a change. What triggered them, he didn’t know. But my normal human physique was transforming, creating an energetic bond to another place, plane? Power? I didn’t fully understand that part. But the change was aggressive.I hovered at the brink of death. Without aid, I was almost certain to cross it.Therein lay the choice.Embrace the Alterare, and I’d never be the same. Still human, but also a little more—endowed with incredible abilities and virtual agelessness, automatically ordained into an ancient fellowship.But acceptance demanded everything. My life as I knew it—gone. To everyone I loved, anyone I’d ever had contact with, I would be, for all purposes, dead. There was no undoing.Refuse, and I could return. My recovery would seem miraculous. I would forget the man with the strange green eyes. Forget the chance to be more, and never know what might have been.:It’s a difficult choice, and I’m sorry to hurry you,: his voice drifted from a long distance away.My eyes refused to open. No nurses or doctors came rushing to save me. The monitors were silent.My heart slowed, but I was beginning to sense the mad energies surrounding me, seeking to reshape and mould. Pain hammered at me, dulled only by an odd barrier I could almost discern. It was him, shielding me for the moment, buying me time.:Choose, Arden. You’re running out of time.: His voice was a whisper now. I was floating away, further from his reach.What did I want? To return to my unremarkable life?I’d always felt out of step, as if I were missing some fundamental piece in my makeup. The experiences through his memories snapped something into place, and it was a siren call that I simply couldn’t ignore.But the price… could I pay it?The faces of my family rose before me. Could I walk away from Julian and Juno, and my mother, who had endured far too much? I was torn in two.Mom’s face swam before me, the day before her trip.“Something’s wrong with you—here.” She had pointed to her chest. “I’m worried about you. Life’s too short. Don’t be like me, wasting it over things I can’t fix. You need to live, Arden.”She’d seen the disconnect in me, the hollowness that I hadn’t been able to recognise. That was why she feared my leaving, why we argued. She’d been afraid that I’d isolate myself when I already seemed so empty. And she was right. There was something wrong with me.I was empty.And now, the missing piece lay before me.I’m sorry, Mom. I have to take this path.
It hurt to admit it.Pain began to lick at me, like the sharp ends of a whip. Without the dulling effect of medicine, the agony was making a clear, merciless assault, and my body was fighting to withstand it. What little energy I had left was ebbing precariously. It was getting harder to focus.:You’re sure?: Green eyes pressed into my mind. He’d been following my train of thought.:Yes,: I submitted. :I accept the Alterare.:
And the pain surged.
* * *
present
“Arden?” Atreus rested a hand lightly on her shoulder. Her head was thrown back on the cushion, her face several shades paler, all blood drained from it.Her amber eyes snapped open. Bewilderment muddled her expression until she recalled where she was.“I was remembering the Alter,” she breathed. A pulse throbbed at her temple.“Ah.” He sank onto the stool beside her. “That’s not a pleasant thing to recall.”“No. I must’ve passed out, luckily.”“Not many stay lucid through the change.”“He made it a little easier, you know,” she reflected. “I think he drew some of the pain, like a buffer. I sensed it.”Atreus knew who she was referring to. She hadn’t yet named the man. Would she? She must. It was vital.“There was a lot of volatile energy around you,” he said carefully. He didn’t add that, had it not been for that man’s aid, she probably wouldn’t have survived. Better not to colour her memories. There was much for her to recall, and she needed to walk them with the correct emotions.“It’s late, Arden.” He glanced at the darkened city skyline. “Would you like something to eat?”Arden shook her head. She ate very little, still. Too much food turned her stomach—maybe it was the head injury.“Alright. I’ll leave you then. Let me know if anything else comes back?” He stood, smoothing a wrinkle in his shirt.She nodded. “Good night, Atreus.”“Good night, Arden.” He exited the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.With Atreus gone, silence settled in. Ever since waking, he was the only one she’d seen. There were others—voices and footsteps drifting faintly, but for now, it seemed that it was just him and her.He hadn’t stopped her from leaving the suite; she just hadn’t felt the desire to, not when she wasn’t sure who she was. The world beyond felt alien, and she desperately needed to remember it all.Something tugged at the back of her mind, urgent but hidden. Until she had enough recognition of herself, it wouldn’t surface.Sighing, Arden rolled off the divan to close the balcony door.Night had fallen. The memories had drained her energy close to zero. Yawning, she stepped into the bedroom and collapsed on the soft, fluffy bed. The crisp cotton sheets were fresh, just changed earlier in the day. The scent tickled her nose as she closed her eyes.The smell of fresh cotton sheets...
03. Alterare
memory fragment
Fresh cotton sheets… the sweet floral of fabric softener, a hint of lavender mist overlaying the faint staleness of air conditioning.One by one, those smells assaulted my waking consciousness.I turned my head, stiffness pinching at the back of my neck. A subtle cologne wafted over—masculine, pleasant, understated. Familiar… though I couldn’t place it.My body felt wooden, as if I hadn’t moved in a week. Fingers and toes wiggled experimentally, getting back feeling as sluggish muscles responded to my neurons.I was flat on my back, on what must be a nice spring bed, because there was none of the sinking typical of foam mattresses. Little noises stirred around me—the almost indiscernible hum of the air conditioner, a thump of a closing door, the muted rolling of wheels...a trolley?Somewhere in the near distance, cars honked and rumbled.Slowly, my eyes cracked open, bracing for the glare of light. But there was none except a muted yellowish glow from one side of the room. My eyes widened, eyelids feeling crusty and dry as I blinked several times.“Welcome back,” a quiet voice said from the foot of my bed.Bleary eyes focused on the source of that voice, to see a figure sitting in an armchair, silhouetted by the muted light. His bare feet rested casually on the bed, crossed at the ankles, and in one hand was a tablet.The tablet's glow limned one side of his face.Recognition didn’t immediately click. Then that cologne tickled my nose once more, and everything rushed back in a flurry of rapid images—the hospital, the strange man fascinated by a sunset sky, the impossible choice, and a delirious decision I had made.“You,” was all I could muster. I meant to say I know you, but only the last word croaked from my throat.“Yes, me,” he replied, a hint of wryness in his tone. He flicked a finger over the tablet, leaving it on the armchair, and came to my side. Another light came on as he flipped on a bedside switch. The sudden added brightness made me blink a couple more times.He sat, casually placing a cool palm against my forehead. “Fever’s gone. How’re you feeling?” he asked, removing the palm.“Stiff,” I rasped. My throat felt like sandpaper.“Come. Sit, then you can drink.”He reached over to pull me up and adjust the pillows behind my back. My body protested. Even that little motion made me want to groan as stiffness stubbornly resisted the waking.He lifted a glass from the side table, steadying it while my fingers curled weakly around the rim. I took a sip, then a long, slow draught.I was grateful for the help. I was pretty sure that if I’d tried to hold the glass by myself, it would’ve slipped and spilt the water all over the soft coverlet.The water rejuvenated parts of me like rainwater falling on a withered desert. Almost immediately, strength flowed back into my veins, and my mind began to focus better. It was like waking up from a long, dreamless sleep—so much so that I wasn’t even quite sure any of it was real.I sank back into the pillows, taking stock of my surroundings.It was a simple but elegantly appointed bedroom. The walls were covered in cream wallpaper with some sort of textured pattern. The floor was carpeted with what could be a deep burgundy tone—it was hard to discern the actual hue in the yellow light.Heavy curtains were drawn, but the pale glow of daylight peeked through their edges. A large built-in wardrobe and vanity stood along one wall, and two doors were set into the remaining walls. One obviously led to a bathroom, but the other was closed.On the end table nearest me lay the stationery and calling cards typical of a hotel. I tried to make out the label on the stationery, squinting, as I didn’t have my glasses. Odd—that just seemed to distort the writing more.“You don’t need your glasses,” the man said, as if plucking the thought straight out from me. Or maybe he noticed my squinting.I looked up in surprise. He was watching me curiously as if waiting to see what I would do next.My gaze returned to the stationery, this time with a relaxed focus. Sure enough, clear as day, the words stood out: The Mercier.The Mercier? My eyebrows rose a notch. It was one of the city’s newest chains, one that boasted a number of custom suites and a five-star price tag.Suddenly, the unfamiliar, smooth cotton-silk sheets beneath my hands and the jacquard coverlet made themselves far more present. But what was I doing in this hotel when my apartment was just five blocks away?“The Mercier?” I questioned.The still-nameless man shrugged nonchalantly. “I needed somewhere with reasonable privacy. This place prides itself on discretion. And right now, it’s full of tourists—which means we won’t be noticed much.”Tourists. Of course. An international music festival was going on—all the hotels would be packed.“No one’s going to bother a man and his sick wife,” he added in an offhand tone. “The concierge did ask after your health, though.”My eyebrows rose even higher. The slight tilt in his lips hinted at a wry smile. That explained how he got me here from the hospital. I would have been unconscious, so he probably had to wheelchair me in or carry me.“How long have I been out of it?” I frowned.“About three days.”“Three days?!” I exclaimed, sitting up straight, then groaned as the sudden motion stretched my stiff spine.“Yep,” he nodded. “That’s how long the Alter typically takes.”“No kidding…”“The stiffness will wear off. Just relax, let your senses settle.”He cocked his head to one side. “You might find that everything around you seems—more acute. Clearer. Sharper. So don’t panic if you hear someone talking before they even round the corner. You’ll adjust.”Just like in the hospital, when I could hear what the doctors were saying even though they were whispering several feet away.“I don’t know if I can believe this is real...” I muttered, more to myself, as what he told me sank in.“About as real as I am,” he replied, still watching me with curious eyes.
“Yeah—about that. Who exactly are you anyway? You punch a whole bunch of images in my head, and you don’t even tell me your name.” My tone was close to being accusatory.It was the strangest thing—experiencing fragments of someone else’s memory; feeling wind blowing in their face as they ran at speeds so great that it would put the Olympics to shame. Or their exhilaration, coupled with my fear of jumping from heights, which gave me vertigo just thinking about it.“Sorry,” he shrugged again. “It was the best I could do at the time. I suppose we should start over.”He leaned forward and stuck out his hand. “I’m Dante.”I played along, grasping the proffered hand as firmly as I could manage in the still, oh-so-feeble state. “Pleased to meet you, Dante.”Dante, huh? As in Dante’s Inferno? That reference just immediately leapt into my mind, though it wasn’t of the poem but of a painting I’d seen.In any case, the name made me think of classical things, though the man sitting beside me could hardly fall into the ‘classical’ category. He was about as modern as could be in his plain white tee and casual slacks.“Interesting name.” I mentally face-palmed myself at the lame comment, but my brain wasn’t exactly up to speed.“No more interesting than Arden,” he countered, his expression hinting at that half-smile again. “I wasn’t sure if you were a guy or gal when I was sent to find you.”I’d heard that one before, but it was the last statement that stuck out. “Who sent you?”“People who keep an eye out for people like you. Like us.”“I don’t get it. What are we exactly?” My brain was finally starting to fire on all cylinders as lethargy wore off.“I understand that we can do things—from the sharing.” I wiggled a finger at my head. “Things that normal people can’t. The fact that I’m accepting that as truth… means either I’m going crazy in my sickness, or there’s way more to this world than I realised, and that I made a decision to be part of it.”My words came slowly as I tried to articulate my thoughts. Dante seemed to weigh them before answering. His eyes bore into me, as if trying to sense beyond what I was saying.It was uncomfortable to be at the receiving end of that gaze, but I didn’t budge. I just needed some sort of proof because part of me still believed that I was in the ICU hospital bed, and this was my final delusion.“The latter,” was his simple reply. “Look, it’s not unusual to feel a little disjointed from reality after the Alter, especially one as volatile as yours. Most Alters get the choice while still very lucid. Yours came on a sudden, and the Alter surge was moving fast.”He exhaled. “I almost didn’t make it in time.”“But you spoke so long to me. Even watched the sunset.” I recalled that moment distinctly, though it felt like a world away.Dante gave me another assessing look.“Let’s just say that once I found you, I could dampen the effects and regulate some of the change.” He leaned back, relaxing. “What’s important is that you made the decision, and the Alter completed.”“As for what we are…” his gaze dropped to his hand, flipping it over to study his palm before once again meeting mine. “Well, we’re human. If you need a name, we call ourselves Iridian—Iridi for short.” He pronounced that as I-ri-dai.Iridian.That word had circled obsessively in my mind since waking up. It was the same word that had echoed in his shared memories. There was a gravity to it, a burden of history, and a sense of age that weighed it.“The rest of the world pretty much doesn’t know that we exist,” he continued. “And they shouldn’t, because we can do things like this...”Fishing a coin from his pocket, he held it at my eye level. Then, without warning, released it.The coin hovered in the air between us, as if still between his fingers.I gasped. The memories he had flashed through my head told me that levitating objects was one of those things Iridi could do. But actually seeing it with my bare eyes was... There were no words to describe the feeling.As I continued to gape at the floating coin, he uncurled my slack fingers. The coin began to float towards my hand.A slight jolt ran through my palm at the touch of cool metal. The dream state that part of me had been lying in washed out as reality surged in with a vengeance—and it was a reality that was far more vivid than it had ever been.I swore, unable to control the trembling of my hand.Dante nodded to himself, as if certain that I’d finally been convinced. He pressed my fingers to close over the coin, saying, “Keep it. It’s a reminder, if ever you’re in doubt.”He stood, walking over to the armchair to pick up his tablet. “I’ll be outside if you need me,” he added, before turning to stride out of the room.As he left, I opened my palm gingerly, half afraid that the coin would jump out.It didn’t. It lay there, still, as any inert object should.Lifting my hand for a closer inspection, it became obvious that it wasn’t just any coin; an uneven circle of tarnished silver, stamped with the profile of a man with elaborate curls in his hair. Roman lettering surrounded the profile. It looked like it belonged in an antique collection.What an odd thing to carry in one’s pockets. But in view of all that had happened, this coin was hardly out of place.
* * *
present
The coin!Arden woke up with a start. The coin. The denarius.
Where was it?She stumbled out of bed towards the dresser. Her purse—it was in there, wasn’t it?In the deep hours of midnight, she riffled through the drawers, looking for the coin. It had been in her possession ever since he’d floated it into her palm. For those first few months, she’d kept it close to her, like a charm.She paused in the middle of her search.Him. Dante.He was important somehow; important to her memories, important to her. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t force the memory of him to surface, beyond what she’d already recalled.An emptiness nagged at the back of her mind, like an echo chamber—and it had to do with Dante.What was it with him?Arden gritted her teeth in frustration. Her memories were returning, and with them, the shape of her world. But it happened in tiny rivulets that compelled her to relive every little fragment since that single momentous event—the Alterare.And right now, where was Dante? Who was he?
Why did she remember Atreus but not him?It was tempting to pound on Atreus’ door and demand that he give her the answers. But instinct told her that Atreus would simply say no.She would have to rediscover who Dante was, herself. Because, as important as the memories were, it seemed equally important that she received them in the right order.Memory recall didn’t typically happen in sequence. Yet, each of hers seemed to trigger the next segment—as if the shape of her existence had to be painted in all the right places at the right time. Other forces were at work here beyond her control, no doubt.Now, the denarius—Her fingers ran over a rough metal object at the bottom of the drawer. She had found it.The denarius was familiar to her as her own skin. She traced the barely defined profile etched onto its surface, worn and faded with age. In the moonlight, it was a dark, tarnished silver. How many times had she touched that coin in the early days of her alteration—to prove that she wasn’t hallucinating?What had the Alter done to her?Her hand rose to her face, as memory suddenly took grip and threw her back to a similar moment many moons ago…
* * *
memory fragment
The large, wide mirror above the bathroom counter reflected a face I could barely recognise.Crystal clear, flawless skin. Gone were the sunspots, the random acne scars from breakouts. Dark hair gleamed with a new, impossible lustre, no longer dank and limp from illness.My eyes refused to believe what I was seeing. I’d always looked a little younger than my real age, but the face reflected in the mirror seemed to have had ten years stripped off.However, the greatest and most unsettling transformation was the eyes.My eyes were dark brown—common, unremarkable. The ones gazing back at me with a confused expression were nothing of the sort. They were a deep amber, with hints of gold reflected in their depths. Those eyes were too beautiful to possibly be mine. Yet the impossible had happened, almost frighteningly so.I leaned forward to take a closer look, twisting my head this way and that to make sure the colour wasn’t a trick of the light. I’d probably have trouble getting through Customs on my current passport—that was how different I appeared. It was like looking at someone who looked like me, but wasn’t me.And then there were the hands. The eyes and the hands are usually good indicators of age. Mine? They were no longer the bony version with pale blue veins showing through.I’d also regained most of the weight I’d lost during illness, though I was still a little on the thin side. How that was possible without eating for three days, I didn’t know.And how had I managed to stay so fresh for three days, without moving?None of the usual staleness of being bedridden clung to me. I didn’t smell like I’d spent three days unwashed. In fact, my hair carried the clean scent of a recent shower. The soft cotton t-shirt I was wearing seemed freshly out of the dryer.Wait—The t-shirt wasn’t mine. Neither were the shorts, though both fit me well. Where were my clothes?The hospital had stored my belongings in one of its common bags when I was labelled a Jane Doe, but there was no sign of such a bag anywhere.I padded over to the wardrobe, still feeling a mite unsteady, and opened it to find an array of women’s clothing, all to my rather unsophisticated tastes. But none were mine.They were all new, and the sizes were correct, down to the undergarments. A disquieting thought flitted through me, my eyes straying over to the closed door.Had Dante bought all this? Was he the one who changed me out of my hospital gown and kept me clean?I shivered, hugging myself. The idea of a total stranger manhandling me—despite being stuck in an ICU before this, where unfamiliar nurses did exactly the same thing—put me in an uncomfortable spot.I’d have to ask him about it to be sure. A sneaking feeling told me that he wouldn’t have let anyone near me in my comatose state. Better not think about it too hard.The bedroom door opened soundlessly. I peered out to locate Dante.Just beyond was a small living area that led to a balcony on one side and a kitchenette on the other. He was seated at the counter separating the kitchenette from the living area, concentrating on a slim silver laptop. He didn’t notice me, so I slipped over to the open balcony door. I wasn’t quite ready to deal with him just yet.Raindrops peppered the building like a soft, persistent drumming. The rain fell in a silver sheet, even as the evening sun peeked from behind dark clouds, turning the air faintly luminous.Such weather was common in this part of the world. My grandmother used to admonish us for playing in the sun-drenched rain. It was a time the spirits walked, and we would get sick, she said.Thinking back, it was probably just an old wives’ tale. Likely meant to get the kids out of the disparate temperature caused by the rain and sun showing up together. People did get sick more often from that sort of rain, so maybe there was some truth to her scolding.Grandma had passed on several years ago, and memories of her often made me smile. She was a stern woman with strong ideals, but also kind and giving.This time, however, her memory was tinged with sadness. Thinking of her made me think of my family, and the price I was to pay for sealing this deal.There was no going back and reverting to the old me. Of this, I was certain. Dante had been very succinct about that part when he had made me the offer.It had been madness to accept, but also madness to reject it. I guess we were all a little mad in our own ways.
* * *
“Enjoying the rain?”I jumped at the sound of the voice, lost in my own thoughts for a moment. Dante was standing just a few feet behind, watching me with those careful eyes.“Rain? Well... kind of. Yes. Just—thinking,” I stumbled incoherently.He studied me silently before saying, “We’ll talk later. Right now, you should eat. You had a three-day fast—you’re running on empty.”At the mention of food, my stomach growled loudly. To his credit, Dante didn’t react, while I cringed in embarrassment. He led me to the counter, where a plate sat piled with food enough to feed a large grown man.I raised my eyebrows. What made him think I could eat all that?Sure, I had an appetite, but even in my swiftly becoming ravenous state, that plate looked like an insurmountable mountain.Dante shrugged, as if catching on to my thoughts.I shrugged back. Nothing to it. I was starving, no denying that part.So I ate.
And ate.
And ate a little more.By the time I was done, I realised I’d demolished the whole plate. I flushed, feeling self-conscious at my shockingly voracious appetite.Dante glanced up from his laptop, noted the empty plate, and muttered, “I thought you might be hungry.”That was his only comment before going back to whatever was keeping him so engrossed. I was left to contemplate whether I’d just made up for three days of no food.The silence left me feeling a little isolated, the reality of my situation staring me in the face. I couldn’t just walk back into my house, back into my old life—and this man was the only bridge to that other world I’d glimpse from his mind.It wasn’t just the knowledge that I couldn’t that stopped me. There was also a compulsion not to. I didn’t want to step back into my old life. Whether it was Dante’s doing or my own that made me immediately loyal to this secret existence—I didn’t know.My gut told me that something else within would be broken if I ever tried to force the issue.So now, all I had was Dante.I studied him, trying hard not to be obvious—not like I had anything better to do. His face was pretty much the same as what I remembered from the hospital, a little gaunt with sharp, defined features, except that the jaw was now shaven clean.It was an interesting face, one not easily forgotten, though if I turned away, I wouldn’t be able to describe it. The brooding expression he currently wore seemed to suit him well, though I recalled seeing traces of humour in those eyes earlier.“Done deciding if I’m a gargoyle or angel?”His quiet voice broke my train of thought. Amusement was clearly reflected in those green eyes as he met my guilty gaze.“Uh—” was all I could utter, managing to colour at being caught staring.His amusement broadened, the corners of his lips tilting briefly to reveal a dimple in his cheek. It was fascinating how much a slight change in expression could completely transform him. Just a second ago, he seemed dark, forbidding, and a little distant. Now he was warm and familiar.The contrast was like the rain and sun outside. I didn’t know what to make of him.“I suppose you have questions.” He turned to face me, lacing his fingers together when I remained silent.“I don’t know where to start,” I blurted, which was the absolute truth.“Well, what comes to mind?” he asked, much like a teacher.“Why am I so hungry?”I could’ve smacked myself the moment that question came out of my mouth. It must’ve taken him aback, from the slight pursing of lips—as if he was trying to hold in a laugh.“Because you haven’t eaten for three days.”Obviously.“What happened in those three days?” I shook my head. “I don’t look like me. My face has changed, my eyes have changed, I look far too young.”“Is looking younger a complaint or just a statement?” Curiosity tinged his question.I shot him an exasperated look. “Statement.”“Just checking, in case you were the first Iridi in history to complain about retaining youth.”At that comment, I hazarded a closer look at him. He couldn’t have been older than thirty-five. I gauged him to be closer to twenty-seven or so, if one were to ignore the eyes that looked like they knew too much.I wasn’t about to ask him his age, though. That wasn’t my current concern.“So what happened to me in the three days?” I pressed.“Your body changed. Adapted. The physical alterations you’re seeing are a kind of side effect.”“Adapt to—what exactly?”“The Nexus.”And that was my introduction to the ‘Nexus’. As best as Dante could describe it, it was a metaphysical plane that the Iridi could sense and were bonded to.The Nexus was the stuff of life, but not life itself. It was the balance, the energy, the link between all living things in the universe, and it was what made the Iridi what they were.All humans had the potential for that link to awaken. When it did, the Alterare happened. But such occurrences were rare and far apart. The change was dangerous and almost always lethal, if not aided by another Iridi.The Iridi, however, had a way of sensing potential Alters, and would dispatch one of their number to make the offer.Not everyone accepted. Those who didn’t would be spared the pain of transformation, free to return to their lives with no memory of the Iridi once the ‘illness’ was cured. I gathered that in such situations, the Alter surge was channelled elsewhere, so transformation wouldn’t happen.“We don’t all change the same way, but for one exception. Any form of illness or disability is wiped out unless it’s something completely permanent like losing a limb,” Dante explained. “Though I’ve heard of cases where minor limbs—like a finger—have regenerated.”“You’re saying, if I had cancer, it would go away?”Dante nodded.“Does that happen for those who refuse the Alter as well?”“Unfortunately, no. The transformation is the cure. We don’t know how it works, but the Alter somehow resets the physique to its most neutral, balanced form. That’s why it’s painful—had you been conscious. But most people pass out anyway, which is a lucky thing.”“That’s… amazing, actually.”“It is, isn’t it?” He gave me that half-smile again.A pause hung between us as I gathered the courage to ask about the part I’d been dreading. Talking about the Alterare served well enough to distract from the topic I really wanted to avoid, but there was no help for it.“So, what happens next?” I asked, my tone subdued. “I’m altered. What do I do now?”Dante didn’t answer immediately, as if weighing what he would tell me. “Well, you’ll need to set your affairs in order. I’ll help you with that. Then we leave, and you begin your training. ”“Training?”“You’ve been granted certain abilities, but you need training to learn how to use them properly. Otherwise, there could be some very dangerous consequences to those around you and to yourself.”“Like?” I raised a brow.“Oh... like things flying when they shouldn’t. Imagine that happening in the knife section of a department store.”The memory of the hovering coin came back to me in a flash. It wasn’t hard to catch on to what he meant.“What about my family?” I asked, hesitant. “I can’t just leave without saying goodbye, without any explanation.”“Actually, you can,” he countered, his face neutral. “And that’s what some people do, but that’s really up to you.”“As long as you leave no hints, no information about the Iridi, you can say goodbye,” he explained. “But many choose not to. Too much explaining, too many details to hide. Some even fake their death to give their loved ones closure. Extreme, maybe, but simpler.”“You can arrange that? Fake deaths?”“It can be done.”I was caught between my own dilemma and wondering who exactly these people were that they could make people disappear.Dante snapped shut his laptop and stood up, ending the discussion. Placing a sympathetic hand on my shoulder, he said, “Think carefully about what you want to do. Remember, this is supposed to be closure for you, too.”
Continue Arden's story in the full novel
Available June 2026