What Is Already There

The first thing Amara noticed was the hum.

A low, mechanical drone, almost soothing in its consistency. It pulsed through the walls, the floor, even the air itself. A quiet rhythm beneath the sterile scent of antiseptic and the faint hiss of ventilation.

She opened her eyes slowly.

Cool white light filtered in through the large glass panels overhead, sleek and artificial. The ceiling was smooth and uniform—no cracks, no flickering bulbs, just a seamless, clinical glow.

Not the train yard.

She was alive.

A sharp inhale sent pain lancing through her ribs. Her body felt like it had been through a grinder—aching, heavy. She turned her head slightly, wincing at the dull throbbing in her skull.

She was lying in a hospital bed, tucked beneath a crisp white sheet, the fabric too stiff to feel comforting. A quiet beeping accompanied the gentle rise and fall of her chest, and she realized she was hooked up to a monitor.

"Finally awake, huh?"

The voice came from her right. Amara blinked and turned her head, meeting the amused gaze of a young woman in a medical coat. The nurse—probably in her late-twenties—had sharp green eyes and curly dark hair tied back into a loose bun. A tablet rested in the crook of her arm, and she studied Amara with a look that was equal parts professional and curious.

Amara swallowed. Her throat was dry. "Where…?"

"Wayne Company medical wing," the nurse answered before she could finish.

"You've been out for a while. Nothing serious, though. Just a concussion, some nasty bruising, and mild shock."

'Nothing serious, huh?'

Amara slowly sat up, hissed through her teeth as her ribs protested. "How long?"

"About ten hours." The nurse tapped at her tablet, scanning something before setting it aside. "Not bad, all things considered. You Revenants bounce back fast."

Revenant. The word still didn't feel like it applied to her.

Her last memories hit all at once—the Thrall, the blood, her own fists smashing into flesh again and again. And then—darkness.

She exhaled shakily. "What happened to the people we saved?"

The nurse shrugged. "Sorry, but I don't know."

"Oh, okay."

'I'm sure they're fine. Vahari was there, after all.'

"For now, just rest. Maybe think about what happened back there. It was your first actual fight, right?"

Amara nodded slowly.

"Well," the nurse continued, crossing her arms, "then let me ask you this—did you feel anything?"

Amara frowned. "What do you mean?"

The nurse studied her, tilting her head slightly.

"Your Aspect. Did you feel anything different? Something new waking up inside you?"

The question made Amara's stomach twist. Because the answer was no.

She remembered the fight—every second. The terror, the panic, the raw adrenaline surging through her veins. She remembered the way her body had moved, faster, stronger than it ever had before. But that wasn't an Aspect. That was just… being a Revenant. A baseline power.

Nothing had awakened.

The nurse must have seen the answer in her face, because her expression softened slightly. "Huh. Vahari's a tough teacher. She probably thought throwing you into the deep end would force something out of you."

"It didn't," Amara muttered, gripping the sheet beneath her.

"You've been a Revenant longer than most. And you're one of the first to manifest a Mark. There's no reason your Aspect shouldn't have surfaced by now."

The nurse tilted her head.

"Unless there's something stopping it…"

Before Amara could respond, the door to her room slid open with a quiet hiss.

A man stepped inside, his presence shifting the air immediately.

Adam Wayne.

She recognized him instantly. Everyone did. The leader of Wayne Company—the man at the top of one of the most powerful corporations in the world. He was tall, sharply dressed in a dark suit tailored to perfection, his silver cufflinks gleaming under the fluorescent light. His skin was smooth and ageless, his short blonde hair immaculately styled. But it was his eyes that stood out most—cool, assessing, and unreadable.

"Good to see you conscious, Miss Osei," Adam said smoothly, his voice a deep baritone that carried effortless authority. "Feeling well?"

Amara straightened, forcing herself to sit up properly. "Yes, sir."

He cast his gaze towards the nurse.

The nurse straightened immediately. "Sir."

Adam gave a brief nod.

"You're dismissed."

The nurse didn't argue. She grabbed her tablet and exited, but not before giving Amara one last glance. "Your time will come."

Then she was gone.

Adam turned his attention to Amara. "Walk with me."

Amara hesitated, then swung her legs off the bed. The floor was cold against her bare feet, but she pushed through the discomfort, standing up. Adam didn't offer any help and just watched, waiting.

When she was steady, he turned and led her out of the room.

***

The medical wing corridors were pristine, lined with sleek panels that pulsed with subtle blue light. Unlike the suffocating sterility of most hospitals, there was something deliberate about the design—clean, calculated, controlled. Just like the man walking beside her.

They reached a large window overlooking the city. Dawn was breaking, painting the skyline in shades of gold and pink. From this height, the city looked peaceful, untouched by the horrors that stalked its abandoned corners.

They stood in silence for a moment before Adam spoke:

"You must be worried about your Aspect not awakening, yes?"

Amara replied with a silent nod. She still felt uncomfortable around Adam.

"Mmm…Vahari never explained Eshe to you, did she?"

Amara frowned. "Not really. She just said it was the source of our power."

Adam exhaled, shaking his head. "She's efficient, but not the best teacher."

'Can't say I disagree,' Amara thought.

Adam hummed. "That's a crude way of putting it, but not incorrect. Eshe is the silent thread that binds existence — the invisible force that shapes both the seen and unseen." His voice was calm, measured. "It is not a god, nor some conscious will bending the world to its design. It does not create, nor does it destroy."

Amara listened carefully, absorbing every word.

"It simply is," Adam continued. "Everything—fire, gravity, even the inevitability of death—stems from Aspects of Eshe. These Aspects are not spells or abilities. They are fragments of existence itself, given form through those who wield them."

Amara frowned slightly. "Then what determines who gets an Aspect?"

Adam glanced at her. "You tell me. Why do some people paint while others carve stone? Why does one person lead while another follows? People don't choose Aspects—they manifest in those already aligned with them. They don't grant power. They reveal what was already there."

She turned that over in her mind.

"Then… my Aspect hasn't awakened because there's nothing in me worth revealing?"

Adam's expression didn't change, but there was something sharper in his gaze now.

"That's one possibility."

Amara felt her stomach twist.

"Or," Adam continued, "It's already there, waiting. And you're the one refusing to see it."

A flicker of something ran through her chest—something she couldn't quite place.

Adam let the silence settle for a moment before shifting the subject.

"Do you know what Vahari's Aspect is?"

Amara blinked. "No."

Adam exhaled through his nose, almost amused. "Of course you don't."

"She doesn't talk about it," Amara muttered. "She doesn't talk about anything."

"Vahari is… difficult," Adam agreed. "She doesn't like to reveal much about herself. But she's useful. And I've learned not to pry."

He pressed the elevator button, turning slightly to face her.

"If you want to understand Eshe, you'll have to learn how to read people," he said. "Because Aspects aren't always what they seem."

Amara crossed her arms. "What does that mean?"

"If I told you Vahari's Aspect was Judgment, what would you assume?"

Amara hesitated. "That she decides what's right and wrong? That she… enforces some kind of law?"

Adam chuckled under his breath. "That's what most people would think."

The elevator doors slid open behind him.

"But Eshe doesn't work that way," he said. "Aspects aren't just titles. They are truths, deeply rooted in the ones who bear them. And most times, even those who wield them don't understand their full weight."

Before she could press further, Adam stepped into the elevator, leaving Amara with a few more words.

"I had to take you out of that suffocating room. Go get some rest in your own room." 

The doors slid shut, leaving her standing alone in the hallway. With far more questions than answers.

And a growing sense that she was missing something vital—something that had been there all along.

She pressed her hand against the mark on her belly, feeling its subtle warmth.

'What am I refusing to see?'