"Turn!" Zion yelled for the umpteenth time. "Turn, Epsilon! We're not leaving until you do."

I'd lost count of the minutes. The sun had sunk far past the treeline, its golden rays dwindling as the first hues of night bled into the sky. My black combat clothes clung to my frame, its thick material soaked with sweat. My head hurt from scrunching my temples, straining to sense something -- anything -- in the air.

"Turn!" the male yelled again.

"I'm trying!" I squeaked, hating the defeat in my voice. I looked towards the male. He had perfect features just like the rest: square-cut jaw, perfect brows, and a physique that looked no older than twenty-five. He scowled towards me.

"You're not trying hard enough!" he snapped. He bent down, face so close to mine I had to resist pulling away. "Do you want to be the laughing stock of the court?" he hissed. "Do you want to be the reason all these people die? The reason this court will be overrun?"

"No," I whined back. "I don't, but how am I supposed to Turn when I can't even sense the energy in the air?"

I hated the defeat in my voice, the utter hoarseness; but I was tired. I wanted to go back into my room and never come out. I was at my wit's end, and I wasn't sure how much more ill-temperament I could take.

"Then stop suppressing it, Epsilon!" he yelled, exasperated. "You're stopping yourself from sensing it. You're resisting it because you have too much doubt! For every second you fail to improve, you are risking the life of your comrades. Is that what you want--"

"No!" I yelped, unable to contain my tears. "Please -- we've been at this for hours and I haven't improved at all, can I please just go back--"

"Absolutely not!" Zion snapped, dumbfounded. "I mean, do you want to be the laughing-stock of the court? Is this what this is?"

"No!" I yelled back. He shot me a warning look, but I was too burnt-out to care. Suddenly my mother's words, which had been drilled into me for years, had no effect. "I don't want to be here! I don't want to be a part of this stupid court, I don't want to be berated for something I can't do," I turned to him, glaring. "--and most of all, I do not want to be with you people! And you know what? Save your own asses! You don't need my damn help!"

Zion's green eyes turned to slits. "Do not speak such treason--"

"It's the truth!" I yelled back, voice cracking. "I was ripped out of my life and thrown into this mess. I don't want to be here. You have no idea what it's like to have the lives of a hundred strangers on your shoulders!"

Zion's enraged features were blurred in my vision, but I could still make out the fire in his eyes. "You are being ungrateful. Lord Azriel took you under his care--"

"And for what?" I interrupted, staring him down. "So everyone I once loved could forget who I was? So I could live somewhere where I'm obviously not welcome?" I paused, unable to keep the anguish from my voice. "So I can live with people who hate me? Who would rather me dead? So I can die with them when the other territories come to claim us?"

Through my blurred vision, I couldn't quite make out Zion's features. He remained silent for the longest time. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, he finally scoffed. "Psh. How about you stop feeling sorry for yourself and be grateful for what you have..."

I flinched as he stormed towards me, pushing past my shoulder forcefully. I felt myself curving inwards, my tears pouring out in an unstoppable flow. 

"Pathetic," he spat again, sensing my tears rather than seeing them. "Save those for when someone dies, Epsilon, because it's not a fate uncommon here."

*****

Apologies for the short chapter. I'll make up for it in the next one!

What are your guys' thoughts on Zion based on this chapter + last chapter? Do you think there's a reason he's being hard on Kyra, or is it just part of his personality?

Do you think Kyra was being ungrateful, or do you think she has every right to be upset? Comment your thoughts!

*****

~ 𝕧𝕠𝕥𝕖𝕤, 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕤 + 𝕔𝕠𝕣𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕒𝕝𝕨𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕕 ~