199 Necessary Donation
199 Necessary Donation
Qilin led the way into the clinic, his steps slower here, more measured, as if the walls themselves demanded restraint. The air smelled clean in a way the forest paths never did, sharp with antiseptics layered beneath herbal undertones. Beds lined the main hall, partitioned by wooden dividers grown into gentle curves, and mundanes moved quietly between them with practiced ease.
“What doctor?” I asked, scanning the equipment and shelves packed with labeled jars.
“Most sickness and injuries are handled locally,” Qilin replied without turning back. “The Divine Forest King can heal, yes, but he only intervenes when there’s no other option left.” He gestured to a group of attendants discussing a patient’s chart. “Foresthome takes pride in medicinal knowledge and mundane healing. We don’t let miracles replace competence.”
He slowed as we passed a recovery room. “There are also things Huston can’t heal,” he added. “Sicknesses of the heart, degenerative conditions, ailments that no surgery can fix. Power isn’t omnipotence.”
That made sense. Relying too heavily on a single miracle worker would expose every weakness the moment he failed or was unavailable. Frankly, if I were injured, I would rather be healed the mundane way, where I understood the risks and the limits, instead of surrendering my body to something vast and unknowable.
We stopped before a door marked Dr. Hera in clean, engraved lettering. Qilin rested a hand against the frame, hesitating just long enough for me to notice.
“She’s eccentric,” he said carefully. “But she means well. If she asks something of you, do your best to accommodate it, no matter how strange it sounds.” His eyes flicked toward me. “It’s the law.”
“What law?” I asked.
He laughed awkwardly and pushed the door open.
The sight inside stopped me cold.
Dr. Hera stood behind her desk wearing little more than a tube top around her chest, a lab coat left open over it, and short pants that did nothing to soften the impression. Her skin was pale, almost luminous, her eyes red and sharp with curiosity, and her white hair fell freely around her shoulders. She looked up and smiled as if this were perfectly normal.
“Ah,” she said brightly. “You must be the new one.”
Qilin cleared his throat. “Dr. Hera, this is Eclipse. Nick. He’s… the new guy.”
She leaned forward, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Are you of marriageable age?”
I frowned. “I am.”
“Excellent,” she said, already reaching beneath the desk. She produced a thick book and set it down with a satisfying thud. “We update this every year.”
She opened it and turned it toward me. Inside were photographs of young women, each page filled with details neatly written beside them. Likes, temperament, aptitudes, health notes, and more, all cataloged with unsettling thoroughness.
“Foresthome prides itself on beautiful men and women,” Dr. Hera said proudly.
“What is this?” I asked, my voice tight.
“A spouse selection compendium,” she replied cheerfully. “It’s law that you must have a wife at a certain age.”
She spoke as if explaining weather patterns. “It aids integration into the community, gives you attachment, stability, and a reason to stay. It’s also a reward for capable individuals.” She flipped another page. “We encourage monogamy, but if one can afford it, additional wives are permitted.”
My jaw tightened.
“We welcome new blood,” she continued. “Foresthome is closed off, and our population leans female. This balances things.”
She glanced sideways at Qilin with a grin. “You’re almost at age too.”
Qilin laughed awkwardly. “I’ll cross that line when I get there.”
Dr. Hera’s smile returned to me, sharper now. “This is not optional,” she said. “You cannot say no.”
I stared at the book, at the neat rows of lives reduced to compatibility metrics, and felt something harden in my chest. Power structures I could navigate. Loyalty enforced by parasitic seeds I could tolerate. This, however, was a line drawn too close to something I refused to surrender.
“No,” I said evenly. “I refuse.”
Dr. Hera’s smile vanished.
“This is the law,” Dr. Hera said flatly, her earlier cheer replaced with something clinical and unyielding. “You don’t get to say no.”
“I just did,” I replied, keeping my voice level despite the irritation creeping up my spine. “I refuse. I’d rather not.”
Her red eyes hardened. “Then you’ll be expelled from Foresthome.”
I scoffed quietly. “You can try. The Divine Forest King already accepted me.”
“As a probationary fighter,” she countered immediately. “Not as a permanent member.” She folded her arms beneath the open lab coat, posture shifting from eccentric to authoritative. “It’s my responsibility to ensure this community keeps growing strong, in numbers and in quality. I oversee the annual census, genetic health, and population sustainability. Strange mutations don’t just appear out of nowhere, and unchecked bloodlines can cripple a closed society like ours.”
She gestured toward the compendium. “We adhere to strict rules because they work. They’re the reason Foresthome thrives.”
“I couldn’t care less,” I said bluntly. “Love matters in things like this.”
Dr. Hera shook her head. “Love can be nurtured. Blood cannot be replaced.” She leaned forward, eyes intent. “If you comply, you earn acknowledgment. Respect. Belonging. People will accept you faster.”
I shook my head and took a step back. “If we’re done here, I’m leaving.”
She didn’t flinch. “If you prefer men, that’s acceptable,” she said calmly. “As long as you’re registered with a woman. Any woman will do, so long as she becomes pregnant.”
The words landed heavier than I expected. I rarely exposed myself like this, rarely spoke without armor, but something in her certainty scraped too close to a nerve I kept buried. “Romance isn’t my thing,” I said quietly. “And I don’t want to pass on my genes. I know what I am. I’m a terrible human being.”
I glanced at Qilin, searching for anything resembling intervention. He whistled softly instead, hands clasped behind his back as he wandered to the window and stared outside with deliberate disinterest.
Given my history of violence, any child carrying my genes would likely inherit more than just powers. I didn’t believe in cursed bloodlines, but with how abilities manifested, there was no guarantee bad luck, instability, or worse wouldn’t follow them. I wasn’t willing to gamble someone else’s life on that uncertainty.
Dr. Hera studied me, head tilting slightly. “There’s history there,” she said after a moment. “Something didn’t end well. A past love, perhaps. The kind that leaves scars.”
I instinctively reached out with my psychic senses, checking for intrusion, but found nothing. She wasn’t psychic, not that I could tell. Either she guessed well, or she was simply perceptive enough to read what I tried to hide.
“I also handle therapy,” she added gently. “You can talk about it.”
“I’ve never done therapy,” I replied. “And I’m not starting now.” I sighed, tension draining into resignation. “Is there a workaround?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Explain.”
“I can accept contributing my genes,” I said slowly. “But I don’t want a relationship. If the child never knows me, maybe they won’t inherit my problems.”
Dr. Hera disappeared briefly behind a cabinet and returned with a small cup and what looked unmistakably like a porn magazine. She set them on the table with professional indifference.
“Sperm donation will suffice,” she said.
She glanced at me once more, tone returning to matter-of-fact. “In the outside world, we’d begin with donor screening. Psychological evaluations. Genetic mapping.” Her lips twitched faintly. “But Foresthome is starved of men. We’ll settle for almost anything.”
Qilin shifted awkwardly beside me, glancing between Dr. Hera and myself as if he’d wandered into a minefield without a map. “Should I… leave?” he asked, already half turned toward the door.
“Yes,” Dr. Hera replied briskly. “We’ll wait outside.” Her tone made it clear this was procedure, not suggestion.
I picked up the cup without ceremony and sighed. “This won’t take long,” I said, then looked at her pointedly. “Just point me to the restroom.”
She gestured behind her desk with two fingers, already turning away as if this were as mundane as taking blood pressure. I walked in, locked the door, and leaned against the sink for a moment longer than necessary. Pride was a useless thing to cling to, so I let it go. I nudged my Enhancer and Biokinesis ratings just enough to speed things along, detached and efficient, and finished the task with clinical indifference. I sealed the cup, washed my hands, and walked back out.
Dr. Hera took the container from me and examined the contents through the blurry container. “That was quick,” she remarked, impressed despite herself. “Probably the work of a power, huh?”
“Are we done here?” I asked.
“Yes,” she answered simply.
That had been the most embarrassing doctor visit of my life, and I sincerely doubted I’d ever top it. If I could help it, I would never step foot in this clinic again.
“Congratulations,” Dr. Hera added as she logged something into a terminal. “You’re almost a Foresthome citizen now.”
I didn’t reply. I stepped out into the hallway, Qilin falling into step beside me without comment. Just before the door closed behind us, Dr. Hera’s voice followed.
“You should come back for therapy,” she said lightly. “You’ll probably need it.”
I ignored her.
“What’s next?” I asked Qilin as we walked.
He hesitated. “Honestly, I’m surprised you rejected getting a spouse,” he admitted. “Men are… favored here. I thought you’d take the opportunity.”
“The current you is too young to understand,” I replied. “Those things aren’t decided on a sofa while flipping through a book to see who catches your eye. That’s not how it’s supposed to work.”
He frowned slightly. “How would you know?”
“I’ve been there,” I said. “So I know.”
He walked a few steps in silence before asking, almost shyly, “Then what is love?”
The question caught me off guard. It wasn’t tactical or political or defensive. It was raw, innocent, and entirely out of place coming from someone like him.
Love was a shitty emotion. It gave happiness and despair in equal measure, and it never warned you which one it planned to collect on first. I remembered being in love once, briefly, intensely, and disastrously. That had been enough. Romance wasn’t for me, and I’d accepted that long ago. Hate, destruction, and pain were simpler things, and I was far better at wielding them than pretending otherwise.
“It’s a hindrance,” I said at last.
Qilin looked unconvinced. “My love for Foresthome gives me strength,” he replied.
I didn’t argue. “What’s next?” I asked instead.
“I’ll show you the rest of the place,” he said. “The mundane parts.”
He led me through parks woven seamlessly into the forest, public squares where people gathered freely, radio shacks buzzing with quiet transmissions, and community halls alive with conversation. He introduced me to musicians whose songs filled the settlement, painters whose work decorated living walls, and other local figures whose fame never left Foresthome’s borders. By the time we finished, night had settled in fully, and the settlement glowed softly beneath lantern light and bioluminescent leaves. I had a solid grasp of Foresthome now, not just its defenses or hierarchy, but its people, architecture, and customs.
Qilin stopped outside a barracks and gestured to a door. “This is yours,” he said. “My room’s next door. If you need anything, just tell me.”
Inside was a single room, modest and clean, furnished with a soft bed, a bedside lamp, and little else. It was functional, impersonal, and sufficient. I lay down and stared at the ceiling for a while, letting the silence settle. Eventually, I reached over, turned off the lamp, closed my eyes, and pretended to sleep.