Chapter 95 44:
The nocturnal wind of Viltrum continued its slow and perpetual dance over the city, rocking Korr's thoughts like dry leaves dragged along by an invisible current.
Fixed upon the violet horizon, his eyes barely truly saw the brutalist cityscape stretching beyond as far as his sight could reach.
Instead, his mind remained absorbed by the discovery that he had ten siblings, ten chains that could affect even his decisions to flee by placing him in a morally compromising position.
He felt a deep reluctance knowing that ten souls would be shaped by the relentless hands of the Empire before they could even learn to write that very word.
His fingers gripped the edge of the slab upon which he sat, feeling the cold texture of the metal beneath his fingertips.
There had even been worse news, on a personal level. His progenitor, the woman who had abandoned him at the moment of his birth and whom he had never thought he would meet, was actually interested in knowing him.
That had not even been a consultation. Vorath was actually ordering him that his mother would meet him, and certainly, he had no desire to even think about the reason why (since it was practically more than obvious). Absolutely none.
He closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind, trying to draw in calm, relax beneath the strong breeze, and pray to that god he barely remembered for a better tomorrow.
Unfortunately for him, the worries about his own future only made him more impatient, making it impossible for him to concentrate.
"What would she have done in my place?" he thought of Syra-Vel, and of Vexa. They would probably have some better effective solution.
He had brought wisdom from another world practically for nothing, because, up until now, it had only seemed to bring him misfortune; although he acknowledged that even because of that misfortune, his survival had been possible.
The question floated in the air like a soap bubble about to burst. However, long before he could formulate an answer that would be effective for him, a sound interrupted the silence of his thoughts.
A faint creak, almost imperceptible, pulled him from his reverie.
Followed by the whisper of a boot brushing against the surface of the roof, it confirmed the unknown presence, only causing him to instinctively raise his guard.
Korr-Add, tense, reacted before his mind could formulate any kind of strategy.
Even the fingers of his hands shifted from flat palms, to claws, to fists, within fractions of a second. Cut, tear out, or crush—anything could happen if someone entered his personal space.
The muscles in his back tensed, ready to propel himself into the air if necessary.
But then, a familiar voice pierced the darkness, allowing him to find a small light within that darkness of violent instinct.
"Thinking too much isn't healthy, Korr-Add. Even for a nato with your mental capacity."
Korr blinked, incredulous.
After recognizing that voice and regaining control of his body, he slowly turned, and there, a few meters away, he recognized the unmistakable silhouette of Nouwl-an.
The young instructor stood there, his arms crossed over his chest, looking at Korr with that indifferent, stone-like expression.
"What is he doing here?" he wondered, as a mixture of confusion and caution took hold of him.
The last time he had seen his instructor had been a few segments (hours) before the chaos of the rebellion; and according to what he had been told, Nouwl-an had been responsible for taking him to the medical wing when his body had been shattered and on the verge of death.
Since then, the news regarding his fate had been vague, only rumors about possible punishments for everyone in the Dorymathos; accompanied by some conjectures of Korr-Add's own.
Korr rose to his feet in one fluid motion, his body automatically assuming the military position of attention that had been instilled in him since his earliest days of existence. His right fist rose toward his chest, ready to execute the regulation salute.
"For the glory of Argal, this—"
"It isn't necessary."
Nouwl-an interrupted him firmly, although his voice lacked that harshness Korr remembered. Nouwl-an raised one hand, making a stopping gesture that surprised the nato.
"I am no longer your instructor, Korr-Add. Not since... well, since I made the mistake of allowing my natos to disobey the academy's protocols by leaving their barracks during an enemy attack."
Korr slowly lowered his fist, observing his former instructor with renewed interest, and it was then that he noticed the details he had overlooked in the first instant.
Nouwl-an's uniform, once immaculate and adorned with the two bars that indicated his officer rank, had now been stripped of every insignia.
The bars had been torn away, leaving behind only a pair of faded marks upon the white fabric.
In their place, on the right shoulder, a simple gray rectangular patch indicated his new status.
"They've demoted him," Korr thought, feeling that the entire situation was not only uncomfortable, but also counterproductive. He thought of so many possibilities, but in the end, the knot in his stomach overcame him. "They've reduced him to a private."
This was unheard of, bordering even on dishonor. The Empire took its reputation, its rules, and the consequences assigned to breaking those rules very seriously.
Korr recognized that he had only been spared execution because, in the first place, he had been protected by his own instructors, second, he had nearly died protecting his comrades, which indirectly saved the planet itself, and third, Thragg had decided to let him live.
And who would dare contradict the Regent himself?