Chapter 33
Geared up
IAM shuffled toward the counter, a stupidly wide grin plastered on his face. It wasn't just pride; it was relief—the kind that sat deep in the bones, warm and quiet and unshakable. He couldn't stop smiling if he tried. The storm he had braved in that tent, the pain, the madness—it had all led to this. And now? Now, everything felt different.
He paused behind the counter, eyes narrowing as something caught his attention. The air around Raj —subtly—there it was: the transparent essence. Mana. Flowing toward Raj, then out again in a smooth, almost rhythmic cycle.
IAM blinked, leaning in just slightly. He realized he could sense it now. Not with his eyes or ears, but with something else entirely. A new sense, like a blind man gaining sight for the first time—raw, imperfect, but undeniable.
He could feel it, like a hum beneath his skin. Raj's absorption of mana wasn't chaotic or wild like it was with unawakened people—it was precise, and almost beautiful. IAM now understood. That was how people knew someone had an Avien.
He didn't need to ask. He knew.
He had one now too.
Raj glanced at him with a flicker of amusement. "Well, my good friend," he said, voice relaxed, "I have a little gift for you."
IAM raised his eyebrows. "A gift?"
He already had a pretty good idea of what it was. His grin widened in anticipation.
Raj knelt down behind the counter, disappearing for a few seconds as he rustled through the shelves beneath. IAM waited, the moment drawing out, his foot tapping lightly against the metal floor.
Then Raj emerged, holding a neatly packed bundle in both hands. The sleek black fabric, trimmed, gleamed in the low workshop light.
IAM's eyes lit up.
It was the hoodie. The official Hold hoodie—sleek, tight-fitting, marked with the red badge of the inner rank. The same one everyone wore. Everyone except him—until now. Folded beneath it were fitted cargo trousers. There was a pair of everything.
Raj placed the bundle on the counter with the weight of ceremony. IAM reached out slowly, reverently, as if the fabric might vanish if he moved too fast.
"As for your gun," Raj continued, his tone slipping into business mode, "I picked one I think fits you. It'll be delivered later today, along with a maintenance kit and some rounds."
IAM looked up. "Rounds?"
"Plenty of 'em. Since you're one of the six people in the entire Hold who even use a gun, I figured I'd throw in a generous supply." Raj leaned back, arms crossed. "You know... considering how the Deadline creatures corrode most weapons, your choice might actually be the smartest one."
He gestured vaguely. "Only the bullet corrodes. Not the mech."
IAM blinked, straightened up, and nodded slowly with mock seriousness. "Y-yeah... yeah, obviously. I totally took that into account when I chose it. Tactical decision. Big brain stuff."
Raj snorted and shook his head, muttering something under his breath.
The door slid open with a hiss.
IAM turned.
Standing at the entrance was Regina.
Her sharp gaze locked onto IAM with the intensity of a sniper scope. Cold. Flat. Piercing. The temperature in the room seemed to drop by ten degrees. IAM opened his mouth, ready to shout his news.
But before he could get a word out, Regina turned sharply and left.
Gone.
The door sealed shut behind her with a metallic sigh.
IAM stood frozen, hand half-raised, expression caught between a smile and confusion.
"Ha... ha ha... I think she hates me," he said, half to Raj, half to the air. "Like, truly, deeply hates me. And honestly, I have no idea why. I'm likable."
Raj smirked without looking up. "She's just annoyed that you're always in here with Kepa."
IAM sighed. "Yeah... I feel it in her punches."
Regina wasn't subtle with her feelings. The more she saw IAM around Raj's workshop, the more brutal her sparring became. Especially during physical training. Her strikes had developed a distinct pattern: head, head, ribs, forehead. Always the forehead.
IAM rubbed his temples. "My skull is developing trauma patterns."
Raj scrutinised IAM for a bit. "You also need a retwist. You're starting to look like a tumbleweed."
IAM touched his scalp reflexively. His cornrows were fuzzy and uneven. "Yeah... might be time to switch it up. I'm thinking locs. Less maintenance."
Raj nodded. "I know someone who can do it. It'll cost you ten bronze coins, though."
IAM squinted. "That sounds like a scam. And also—where would they even spend bronze coins? The only currency here is Contribution Points."
Contributions points could be earned from missons, the harder the mission, the more contribution points. They could be exchanged for a variety of things..
Raj shrugged, lips quirking in a faint grin. "Maybe they just need to believe they'll survive long enough to spend them."
IAM considered this. "...You know what? That's fair. I'm in."
An hour later, IAM stepped out with a new trim.
His head was now crowned with tight box locs, that accentuated his features, cleaned up the edges, and made him look—dare he say—average. Not "barely passable" anymore. Just regular ol' average-looking. Progress.
He ran his hand over the top of his head, satisfied.
The new hoodie hugged his frame like it was made just for him. The pants fit snug, tactical, sharp. Walking through the halls of the Hold now, he finally looked like one of them. No longer the odd one out with secondhand clothes.
As he made his way toward his tent, two voices passed him. Members of the nameless faction that liked to explore the hold.
He caught a snippet of their hushed conversation:
"...you wanna check out the east side today? Tomorrow we can hit up the north. Maybe we co—"
But they disappeared down the corridor before he could catch the rest.
Back at the tent, he stepped inside quietly.
Kepa lay stretched across the lower bunk, half-asleep. IAM smiled.
IAM couldn't wait to tell him the news.
Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow it all begins.
He could finally start applying his Path.
Cursed and Blessed Speech.