Sam could sense his existence, but it was tenuous at best. His senses dulled and muted, he felt as though bundled in the tight silk of a spider’s web. He couldn’t tell if he could breathe but also didn’t care.


    A muffled voice pierced his mental fog, reedy and distinct. “Our agent has confirmed. The moment the Sibyl foretold is here. Initiate the process.”


    A second voice responded, its tone betraying anxiousness. “Yes, Augur. I have alerted her.”


    A beat went by before the second voice spoke again. “He’s locked in. The Sibyl is ready.”


    “Well done. Send him along then.”


    The cog of a machine whirred. The second voice cursed. “Ebulon-damned. His mind already attached.”


    The first voice responded sharply. “What are you talking about? Where is he?”


    “Uh . . . he’s here. With us.”


    Sam heard the loud slam of a chair falling over. “Quickly, get him out of here. Now! If he gets stuck here, all is lost!”


    “I’m trying. I need a minute,” the second voice whined.


    “Stop talking. Just do it.”


    Some amount of time went by before he felt a strong tug on his consciousness. His mind swirled into a proverbial black hole.


    #


    His senses returned. Sam took a breath. Oh, glad that’s back.


    Darkness surrounded him, until bricks of existence flew into view, coming one by one. They stacked on top of each other and formed a picture.


    Even as the image remained incomplete, Sam saw he was home. Or some version of it. The familiar motel apartment flexed and settled into place. His mother’s room.


    Sam brushed away the thick air in front of him, puzzled. The details did not compute. The curtains were pulled back, letting sunlight brighten the room. No dust filtered through the air. He took a sniff. An absence of the lingering scent of astringent lemon that had enveloped his mother since her sickness started.


    His Ma’s bed was neatly made and unoccupied. He tried the bathroom. Nothing.


    As though his mind was read, the door creaked open, and his mother glided in. On her own accord.


    She looked radiant. The worry lines on her face had smoothed, and no dark circles sat underneath her eyes. She wore loose-fitting casual clothes and had shiny chestnut-colored hair that draped lightly over her shoulders.


    It was a portrait of his mother that Sam didn’t recognize. His eyes welled up at the prospect of what this might mean. Had the medicine Tar provided been this effective? Had his mother fully recovered?


    He rushed to hug her, but her smile caused his feet to stop mid-motion, and he almost tripped.


    It’s not her. The smile was so many things his mother was not. Shrewd, beatific, all-seeing—all of those wrapped into one. Ethereal. A combination not possible in a human. His Ma was a formidable woman, but whoever stood in front of him existed on a different plane of reality.


    A surge of anger rose inside him. Whoever this was had taken on the guise of somebody dear to him. For what purpose? He didn’t appreciate the blatant attempt at manipulation.


    He cut to the chase. “You are not my mother. Why do you look like her? Did you do something to her?”


    His mother . . . this being . . . flashed a pleased expression. “Good. You will master the third step quickly.” She gestured to the bed. “Your mother is fine. Take a seat. Let me explain.”


    Sam crossed his arms and remained standing.


    “Suit yourself.” She pulled a chair out for herself and crossed her legs. “I am Sibyl Bir-Ate. I have summoned you to meet with me. I’ve instructed your mind to reduce its level of perception. Otherwise, direct contact with my aether being in this form would cause your brain to hemorrhage. The image you see is your mind’s way of interpreting my command.”


    Sam massaged his temples. His outrage reduced from a boil to a simmer. Despite himself, the situation intrigued him. Judging by the title and name, this was another Xarlogic, one who had gone through a lot of effort to contact him. “Okay. I’ll pretend to understand what that means. Who were those voices I heard?”


    The woman sighed, the dimples in her cheeks rosy and perfectly placed. “Summoning is an inexact art, especially because the solar system you reside in sits outside of the Collective. I’m afraid we made an error at first, but that has been rectified. Not to worry. You will not be permanently affected.”


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Sam narrowed his eyes. Why did all his introductions to Xarlogics come with a side of screwing with his head?


    She stood up and stepped in his direction. She exhibited perfect posture, and her head reached the top of his chest. It’d been a couple of years since his Ma could stand so straight. “You are right to be skeptical, but my time with you is limited. Please allow me to get to the point. I need to share with you a few key pieces of information to ensure that you end up where you need to be. Unfortunately, I can only say so much, for choices must be made organically or they can no longer be called choices. Such is the way of the eighth step.”


    Something happened with Sam’s mind, where instead of insisting she clarify as he desired to, he let himself be drawn in. “Okay, then. I’m willing to listen.”


    “Thank you.” She smiled with a tinge of tenderness and reached up to hold his chin in her hand. For the opportunity to see his mother so close, even if only an illusion, Sam didn’t resist. “I say this in the gentlest way possible. You are talented and show great promise, but you have not been chosen. From what little I know of your planet’s culture, your species has ritualized the hero’s journey down to a science. That is not your story. Your path is about burden. Who you are, who you will be, is the right person at the right time. So that you might bear the weight of decisions and hardships that others could not endure. Be strong, Sam.”


    Sam sighed in resignation. He’d come to Sanctum ready to change his life, but it seemed like old patterns would repeat themselves. “To what end?”


    “Earth’s freedom.” She let go of his face. “Like every unwary new planet, you face the prospect of being consumed. Chewed to the bone, nothing left but a graveyard. Your people must do everything in your power to avoid this fate.”


    She spoke with great authority, but Sam needed more. Tar puts this on our shoulders, and this Sibyl doubles the weight. Did he believe her? He stared into her eyes, and in their depths resided both ancient wisdom and layers of agony, pain, and guilt. This lent undeniable credence to her words, a certain authenticity and worn belief.


    She’s not lying. She’s experienced this firsthand. Sam’s knees buckled, and he sank down onto the bed. The universe meant to assign him responsibility for all of Earth. Insanity. Pure bullshit. He didn’t want this.


    The Sibyl cocked her head, the movement so distant from Sam’s mother that he almost gagged. She rested a hand on his knee, but it was devoid of warmth. “Refrain from panic. You will not go into this blind. My gift to you now is wisdom from the future.”


    The room shook, sending items flying, and Sam looked at the Sibyl in dismay. Aether bubbled out from her eyes and dribbled from the corners of her mouth. It began to flow in earnest, wrapping her with swirling rivers of pure luminescent energy. The aether pulled on their surroundings, eating bits and pieces of the room. Sam tried to scoot back on the bed, toward the headboard, but a tendril snapped out in his direction, piercing his chest. Sam sucked his breath in, bracing himself for pain, but the aether felt like a cold ice bath, making his body numb. For a couple of seconds, this sensation persisted, then abruptly the cocoon of energy withdrew into the Sibyl’s eyes, leaving them glowing a pale silver color. A small slip of paper materialized from nowhere in her hand.


    She indicated he should take it, but before he could do so, the paper lifted and floated to him on its own, as if riding a gentle breeze. He gently picked it from the air and stretched it out with his fingers. A drawn picture of an eye. Neither a human nor Xarlogic eye; the half-circle, half-triangle reminded Sam of a bird of prey. It appeared sharp, angular, and focused.


    The Sibyl’s voice startled him. Her tone was distant and cold. “You will need to trust the bearer of that symbol. This will require a leap of faith, but a necessary one.”


    The paper turned hot in his hand, almost causing Sam to drop it. The eye had scrubbed itself out, replaced by an upside-down pyramid. A snake encircled it, eating its own tail.


    The Sybil’s lips thinned. “Conversely, beware those who display this image. Mercenaries who have no care for causing collateral damage. Your choices during a possible confrontation will be instrumental toward determining Earth’s destiny.”


    “Does it belong to Tar or his associates?” Sam blurted. He had to ask.


    She scrutinized him, looking like she was making an assessment. “No.”


    Sam waited, but she said no more. He heaved a sigh. “Why should I listen to you? How do I know you have my—and my planet’s—best interest at heart?”


    Though the warmth had returned to her cheeks, the Sibyl’s smile turned bitter. “You’re right to ask. Our galaxy is riddled with those who profit from deception. We all abide by our own self-interest because that is the law that governs all intelligent beings. But in this case, my goals align with yours, so you would do well to heed this guidance.”


    Sam nodded mutely. What did he expect her to say? Whatever her ulterior motive, it mattered little if the future of Earth was at stake. He needed all of the help he could get.


    She stood up and faced him. “We’ve reached the end. My last imparting thought. When presented with the chance to offer grace and forgiveness, I hope you take it. That is the mark of a true hero, whether you’re fated to become one or not.”


    An outside heaviness caused Sam’s shoulders to sag. It was time to leave. Grace and forgiveness. Got it. Sure.


    The bricks making up the room rippled and the ceiling dissolved. His mother—Sam’s stomach plunged, Ma, I miss you—gave a stately wave. “We will meet again, Sam Azza. If all goes to plan, I will elaborate more then. Good luck. I’ll be watching.”


    The scene went black.


    #


    Mim piloted Tar’s personal ship, Tar sitting beside her. They’d just left the gas giant’s docking station. Tar looked perplexed, clearly lost in thought. Mim wondered how this latest development fit into his grand plan. Sam rested in the passenger’s quarters behind them, unconscious and maybe even comatose. Medical droids were standing by on the Sanctum, ready to receive him in Tar’s personal hangar.


    Mim raised her head. Her aether sense tingled. An outside presence. A familiar one.


    Tar noticed her behavior and gave her an inquisitive look. He of course knew how much she excelled in the third step. It was one of the reasons he hired her. Or, put properly, found her at her most desperate and offered her a lifeline.


    She shook her head, doing her best to appear dismissive and untroubled. No. This will be my secret. Yes, Tar had saved her, but it wasn’t like she didn’t know the truth of the matter. His offer had come at just the opportune time, when she was most primed to agree. Far too coincidental.


    The strings between them may be unseen, but she knew they existed. Maybe this new player would offer her the opportunity to cut them.