FSE

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Priestess: Intuition, insight, secrecy, transformation—ultimately, touching upon hidden truths...

"Let’s see how this works." Dawn carefully inspected the bandages again, ensuring that blood circulation to my fingertips was unaffected. Then, she wetted my forearm, helping the cast take shape. "Although the blueprint's still in the database, no one’s used this method in centuries. I hope I didn’t mess up anything," she muttered, glancing at her terminal.

"It looks close enough to the example in the manual." I forced myself to maintain focus, trying not to let the searing pain in my arm show. "I already feel much better—thank you."

"This goes way beyond toxic masculinity," Dawn said, leaning down to gently cup my face.

"I know..." I murmured, ashamed under the piercing gaze of her gray eyes.

"You can always come to me—don’t let that old reptile's opinion hold you back, okay? My door will always be open for you." She sighed, patting my head a few times before turning to clean up the cluttered table.

"What is a 'prototype strain'?" I asked, voicing the question that had been nagging me. Dawn's movements noticeably paused when the term came up.

"Before genetic engineering was completely outlawed, there were the original prototype strains, the first stable expressions of unique lineages. Most others have been lost to war or other calamities, but the gray wolf's lineage survived," Dawn explained, turning to lean against the table. "These are what most people know as the SevenFactions, originating from seven fertilized eggs. Each was duplicated thousands of times and cryogenically preserved for reintroduction when needed—usually when a Faction's genetic stability reached critical levels." She lifted her left hand to her muzzle, absentmindedly tracing her palm with a claw. "I, Qana, Willow, Tartarus—we’re all prototypes. In a sense, we're time travelers," she added with a bitter smile. "And of course, your parents."

"So prototypes are... clones?" I tried to make sense of the implications.

"Yes, we're clones of our original selves," Dawn said with a shrug. "But epigenetics and random mutations mean there are always minor differences between generations. So thawing a fertilized egg is like opening a mystery box."

"Why go to such lengths?" I asked, though I already knew the answer—it was more an expression of frustration than genuine inquiry. "Did no one notice?"

"You’ve studied inbreeding and outbreeding depression, haven’t you? As I mentioned earlier, no matter how carefully we manage our bloodlines, genetic drift and other factors will inevitably degrade the genotype. Reintroducing ancestral generations is necessary to preserve the carefully selected traits. You of all people know how crucial this is for gray wolves—we literally bear the responsibility of maintaining the old world's legacy." Dawn's tone carried a hint of reassurance. "As for your second question, if those who need to know are aware, it's not difficult to keep those who don’t need to know in the dark. Prototypes are only reintroduced every few generations, so hardly anyone notices anything unusual—especially among Snow, who can live to 160 years old."

"If it spans generations, then why...?" I trailed off, my mental calculations revealing some discrepancies.

"Like I said, it’s like opening a mystery box. Our 'batch' just happened to be unusually chaotic." Dawn rolled her eyes in self-deprecation. "The fertilized egg for Gray’s prototype split after implantation, resulting in twins—Breeze and me. Qana, Willow, and Tartarus, on the other hand, awakened as extraordinarily powerful psychics and were quickly recognized. The Council didn’t want our talents wasted solely on 'breeding,' so the Senate had no choice but to thaw another batch." She got up and walked over to the table where she kept the tea bags, setting water to boil.

"Was that... a coincidence?" My ears itched, but I couldn’t reach to scratch them. With a sigh of resignation, I extended my consciousness to scratch it—that was the point of this, wasn’t it?

"Who knows? Many speculate it’s a phenomenon influenced by proximity to the Final Reckoning," Dawn said, setting two cups on the table and sliding one toward me. "All prototypes are guaranteed to be psychics, but this level of power across the board? Unprecedented."

I stared at the steaming cup, deliberating my next move. Then, a stream of water rose from the cup, twisting into a column suspended in mid-air before me.

"It looks a bit like a non-Newtonian fluid," Dawn commented, taking a sip of her tea.

"There must be a better way." I brought my lips to the top of the column, trying to "drink" the tea without being too clumsy. "Just need a bit more creativity."

"Glad to see you’re adapting well." Dawn shrugged. "As I mentioned, while prototypes are always psychics, the strength varies. Psychic abilities constantly remind us how much of this world remains unknown." She placed her cup back on its saucer, clasping her hands around the warm porcelain. "One certainty, however, is that a prototype's abilities are guaranteed to pass down for at least two generations—beyond that, it’s harder to say."

"So, that’s why Piqsirpoq and I..." I switched to licking the column, which felt even more awkward. Maybe I should wait until it cooled and drink it the old-fashioned way.

"Exactly." Dawn observed my various tea-drinking experiments. "Some might find it unsettling, but you’re a mix of Snow and Gray, after all." She spread her paws as if the matter were self-evident.

"I don’t mind; it’s just part of maintaining the bloodline." I wasn’t even sure if it was my voice expressing this thought—or if it truly reflected my feelings.

Or perhaps... could I even have genuine feelings? These meticulously selected traits, chosen and imbued in me—were they truly mine?

"There was a tacit understanding at first. No one worried when Qana and Willow grew close," Dawn said, lowering her gaze to her teacup.

"Until my parents..." I whispered, pointing out the obvious.

"Yes, until Breeze and that idiot." Dawn closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "In any case, setting aside all the issues with contaminated gene pools, no one can predict how your psychic abilities will manifest." She waved her hand dismissively. "And the result? Voilà, the most powerful psychic in history."

"What does that even mean?" I asked earnestly, feeling more uncertain about myself than ever.

"No one can guarantee your case can be replicated. Not even your descendants inheriting this level of power is assured—it’s all unknown until we have more data." Dawn's suggestion of further experiments sent a chill down my spine, making me nauseous. Every torment I’d endured—potentially inflicted on another unfortunate soul...

For what? What was the purpose?

"At least I don’t have to worry about that," I said in as neutral a tone as possible, suppressing my revulsion. "I won’t be having children."

"Oh, celibacy?" Dawn tilted her head, folding her right ear. "Or just scared?"

"I..." I hesitated, realizing how much harder this was to explain to an elder. "…prefer males."

"Interesting..." The gray wolf crossed her arms, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "I didn’t know that."

Feigning nonchalance, I finished drinking the tea suspended before me.

"I have plans with someone later—I should get going." Remembering tonight’s dinner meeting, I was relieved to find a way to steer the conversation elsewhere.

"Fair enough, it’s getting late." Dawn stood, clearing away our cups before returning with some supplies. "I need to check for infection."

She tied a tourniquet around my bicep and probed my hand. Before I knew it, the procedure was over—either because the painkillers were still effective, or she was just that skilled.

"Next time, we can review the circulatory system and practice blood collection," Dawn teased, making my ears burn at the memory of my prior failures. "Also, though it’s forbidden to talk about..." Her voice softened, and my ears perked up at the unspoken undertone. "...it might be time I told you more about them."

I responded quietly before standing to leave, grateful that my broken arms spared me from figuring out where to put them.

On the way to the cafeteria, a small group trailed behind me as usual, their whispered gossip noticeably louder today.

It wouldn’t be long before the Academy's gossip boards had a fresh new post.