《Seekers of the Light (A Military Fantasy)》


 Epigraph

    It is said there was peace, once, in the beginning.


    But only in the beginning.


    That peace ended long ago, when the Erak¡¯sai summoned Oblivion from the depths of the unknown, killed Vertras, and corrupted the afterlife.


    For ten years the city of Meridian held against the siege of the Enemy. Ten long years of battle, yet it was only a speck compared to what came when it fell. Three thousand years after that collapse the Wars of Endowment still raged, with only the noble Rift to hold back calamity. Again and again the avatars of the Void came, slaughtering thousands, millions, enslaving planets, torturing souls. Finally, Etheri, the last Bladewielder, sacrificed herself to imprison that avatar.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    Peace. It is a fragile thing, but it reigns. For now ¡ª and only for now. In time Oblivion will return, and war with him.


    And yet, in the highest room of the Tower of Foreseeing, known only by the True Eye itself, there is one last hope. The Endowed, they call it. A hero who will defeat the Void, reclaim the afterlife, end all suffering.


    Such will be the salvation of Delti.


    -The Tale of the Wars of Endowment

 Prologue - The Tower

    An end. A beginning. Between it all, death. Oh Okron, when will it end?


    -Anonymous Soldier, circa 500 Post Fall of Meridian


    The bodies heaped in piles on the streets of Toroth Vedd had finally ceased to smolder, but memory of the battle that had created them still lingered. Aiedra Okron, holding a glowing ball of light in her hand, could feel those memories, dancing across her vision, her hearing, her smell, her touch. Even her taste. She could not resist cringing at that sensation. The metallic tingle of another¡¯s blood spraying into one¡¯s mouth was not pleasant, even if there was no blood actually there.


    Nothing about being a memory burner was pleasant, though.


    She extinguished her ball of light as a ship descended from the sky, smoke wreathing its sleek form. The landing gear groaned as the carrier landed atop the scorched cement. This place had been a communal skyscraper once, a home where hundreds of Kiedd had lived together in that odd familial way of theirs. They were dead now, the building so thoroughly flattened during the battle it now functioned as a landing ground for Aiedra¡¯s troops. Their memories haunted this place.


    They were oppressed, Aiedra reminded herself. Life under the Khazath was not life at all.


    It was little comfort.


    The underside of the carrier folded downward, creating a ramp for its occupants to descend to the ground. They did, dozens of soldiers dressed in carbon-fiber chain mail, faces covered by titanium masks. All save one.


    Tall, muscular, and with gray hair tied into a bun atop his head, E¡¯vin Yaenke never wore armor, instead sporting a crisp, tight-fitting nylon uniform. He said he could defend himself better than any piece of metal could, and he liked the extra mobility. Aiedra suspected there was more to it, though. Like her, E¡¯vin wished someone would finally kill him.


    If only it were so simple. She took her own titanium helmet off her head. ¡°E¡¯vin. It is good to see you. The Formless are well?¡±


    E¡¯vin did not answer the question at first, instead sweeping his eyes over the carnage. Over broken buildings, heaps of corpses, and ever-rising smoke. Then he nodded.


    ¡°They survive, so well enough.¡± He waved a hand. ¡°The rest of you will hang back. Aiedra and I have¡­ matters to discuss. Take Dromidius to the wounded. He is needed there, I think.¡±


    The soldiers hesitated, but retreated into the carrier, which took off a moment later. Aiedra watched it go, trying to ignore Yaenke¡¯s eyes boring into her. Finally, when it was gone, the man folded his arms.


    ¡°I hate this.¡±


    ¡°Who doesn¡¯t?¡± Aiedra said softly.


    ¡°The war should be over. We imprisoned Oblivion. Why do we still fight?¡±


    A wistful smile crossed Aiedra¡¯s lips. ¡°You never were a politician, were you? Always a scholar, at heart.¡±


    ¡°The Khazath sued for peace, Aiedra. Why did we refuse?¡±


    ¡°We didn¡¯t. I gave my vote for Mekezia to sign the contract just now. If they still choose to accept, the war is over.¡±


    ¡°Then why? Why this?¡±


    Aiedra forced her expression to become stone. Forced herself to drown out the echoes of the dead, still whispering in her mind.


    ¡°You know why.¡±


    Yaenke hesitated, then shivered. ¡°All this for one visit to the Tower?¡±


    ¡°Not just one. We need to see the future, E¡¯vin. The lack of clarity has cost us too much.¡±


    E¡¯vin hesitated, meeting her eyes. There were tears in his. She tried her best not to avert her gaze.


    She failed.


    ¡°Fifty thousand,¡± he said.


    She winced.


    ¡°Fifty thousand civilians, Aiedra. That¡¯s not even counting our soldiers, nor theirs.¡±


    She closed her eyes. ¡°It was necessary,¡± she whispered.


    ¡°You sound like Mekezia.¡±


    She forced her eyes back open. ¡°Then perhaps Mekezia has always been right.¡±


    Yaenke scowled. ¡°I worried about this. While you were on my side¡­ well, I can wait no longer.¡± He frowned. ¡°I¡¯m leaving, Aiedra.¡±


    She blinked. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Mekezia wants the secret,¡± he said.


    ¡°She swore she wouldn¡¯t take it,¡± Aiedra said.


    ¡°Can you honestly say you think she is wrong to want it, though? Or is it necessary, just as all the rest of this has been?¡±


    She paused, then sighed. ¡°No. No, it is necessary. I cannot force myself to betray you so, old friend, but Mekezia is right.¡±


    Yaenke stared for a moment, clearly shocked, then shook his head, lips curling in disgust. ¡°So be it, then.¡± He turned away, striding down the street.


    Aiedra still did not meet his eyes. She just turned away, too, staring at the Tower. At the reason all these lives had been spent.


    The Tower of Foreseeing, taken back from the clutches of the Khazath. The possibilities now afforded her would be worth the blood she had paid to open them. They had to be.


    It will harden you, too, Yaenke, she thought. Time eventually wears on all of us.Stolen story; please report.


    She closed her eyes, burning memories, then shot into the sky, drifting toward the tower. As she did, she saw men in ragged uniforms stand and salute her. She felt their thoughts, knew their doubt. Who wouldn¡¯t doubt, after what had happened with Arath? But they saluted anyway, weapons held in tight fists, expressions resolute. Three Powers bless them for that salute.


    This battle was for them. Even if it cost their lives, it was still for them.


    Burning more of her Ever, she pushed herself higher, ascending through the thick layer of smog and toward the tower.


    Her eyes drifted toward the ravaged city below as she rose. The flames had gone out, but even in the dark of night she could see the smoke clouds. Large swaths of the city had been leveled, the structures torn apart, then vomited out as rubble by the vortex bombs the forces of Oblivion had so freely used. Buildings had gashes in their sides where Voidlings and memory burners had fought. Heaps of bodies were even taller in places where atom burners on both sides had been allowed to run unchallenged, cutting through human flesh like paper, leaving their victims in two pieces wherever they¡¯d gone. Some of those towers were more than three stories tall, and surviving memory burners hovered above them, lighting the corpses with bursts of plasma from their hands.


    Fifty-thousand¡­


    ¡°A small sacrifice,¡± she whispered, ¡°if we can get what we need.¡±


    She fixed her eyes back on her destination, burning more Ever to race toward it; as much as she desired to wait, there was no time to hang about in anticipation. A pair of fellow memory burners drifted through the air toward her as she approached, saluting and escorting her to the Tower¡¯s highest landing pad. Even more burners waited there, half a dozen memory burners glowing with blue light, and a squadron of atom burners clad in titrite and ablaze with white Purity. Aiedra nodded to them, then ordered them to stand guard as she went inside.


    She wavered, for just a moment, staring down the chrome hallway that would lead to the Tower¡¯s main room. The place where, according to the legends, she would be told her fate. Then, forcing courage into her veins, she stepped forward.


    The bodies of the Khazath soldiers who had guarded this hallway had been dragged out, but the blood stains, tears, and char marks remained. Murals older than Aiedra herself, depicting events no historian had ever heard of, now lay ruined. Artifacts from millennia ago sat shattered on cracked podiums. And this was after Oblivion had scoured the Tower for centuries. Who knew what knowledge had been lost forever, even before today?


    Yet, loss was nothing new, not to Aiedra. So she continued, noting the Surges inlaid into the wall, shining with bright green light, the color of Eternity, the Third of the Three Powers. The Power men called Void now, for Oblivion¡¯s first act had been to corrupt it, tainting those who wielded it and dooming the afterlife forever. The Tower, it seemed, was one of the few places unaffected by that terrible act.


    Finally, she arrived at the gateway to the Room of Foreseeing, two large titanium doors with golden symbols emblazoned on each, though Aiedra recognized none of the glyphs. She could hear nothing behind the entrance. According to E¡¯vin, the True Eye never stirred unless someone summoned him.


    She rested her hand on the door, breathed in, breathed out. Then shoved the gates open with a blast of Ever, and stepped inside.


    The room was dome-shaped, with a ceiling made of pure black marble. Torches held flickering flames all around, though they provided very little light in the darkness that swallowed the space as the doors clanged shut behind Aiedra. Most of the floor was covered in a thin, circular pool of water, a small walkway of smooth granite stretching out into its center. Wringing her hands behind her back, Aiedra strode out onto the walkway until she reached its end, then cleared her throat, then shouted.


    ¡°True Eye, I summon you to speak my fate.¡±


    For a moment, there was silence, save for the crackle of the torches and the soft whoosh of the water in the pool.


    Then glowing, turquoise-colored, almost metallic mist swirled in front of her, twisting and churning as compartments in the wall snapped open, revealing Surges of blue and white and, most prevalently, green. The mist began to coalesce, forming into the shape of a man, and two solid-green glowing eyes burst into existence on its otherwise featureless face. A male voice rumbled, echoing far louder than even Aiedra¡¯s shout within the now-lit chamber.


    I have waited long for you, last Daughter of Meridian.


    Aiedra bristled. Few knew she was old enough to have seen the days of Meridian, and fewer still knew she had helped lead their armies against Oblivion, during those first days of war. It was knowledge she did not like to share.


    I know why you have come, the True Eye continued. I know all things that can be known. But you must voice the question yourself. It is a rule by which I have always been bound.


    ¡°The Endowed,¡± Aiedra muttered. Her heart pounded so fast she could not do more than mutter. ¡°Who is it?¡±


    There was a long pause. Twenty heartbeats long; Aiedra felt each one.


    Do you truly wish to know, child?


    Child. The word made something snap in Aiedra. She spoke, and this time she did not mutter.


    ¡°Six times! Six times we have marched on Dareth Guur, and six times we have failed! Do you have any idea the slaughter those campaigns were? You claim to know all things, see all things, but did you see that? Did you hear the men dying, see the rivers of blood as the ground seized them and squeezed it from their veins?¡± She felt her voice break. ¡°You promised us a hero. Told us to look for them, and that they would end this war. How much longer do we have to wait? How many liars do we have to entertain, before our salvation?¡±


    Another long pause. Longer, this time. Forty-three heartbeats, each one thumping harder than the last.


    The Prophecy of Ever. Do you truly wish to see its fulfillment, Daughter of Meridian?


    ¡°Yes,¡± Aiedra hissed. ¡°Give it to me.¡± A tear dripped from her eye, even as fury raged in her veins. ¡°Please.¡±


    Very well. I am¡­ sorry, child.


    The walls suddenly broke apart into rings, then spun, light pouring in rays from the Surges that lined them. Green flashed before Aiedra¡¯s eyes, and the future, finally, showed itself.


    ***


    Aiedra found herself face-down, floundering in the water. She gasped, took in only more liquid, then spat it out in a flurry of coughs. Tears mixing with the water of the pool, she stumbled her way back to the edge, then sank against the wall. The lake remained calm, but for a moment it seemed to her a raging ocean, waves splashing as high as her climbing fear.


    I am truly sorry, the True Eye rumbled. If I could change this, I would.


    ¡°You promised us peace,¡± Aiedra rasped. She meant it to be a shout, but she could only manage a rasp after¡­ after¡­ after what she had seen. After watching that terrible sword, held up to the storm-filled Ethean sky. ¡°Was that peace a lie? Why lie? Why tell us we would win, when that is in our future?¡±


    You were promised an end, the True Eye said. I do not know fully the meaning of that prophecy, only that it is an end.


    ¡°You said you know everything. Then why? Why this?¡± Her voice broke again. ¡°Please. Tell me why.¡±


    A long silence. In this, the True Eye said finally, you have misunderstood. I know all that can be known, but some things cannot be. I cannot tell you why this must be. I am sorry, Daughter of Meridian. But do not say I did not warn you of this burden.


    The True Eye¡¯s misty form suddenly retreated, then vanished, too quickly for Aiedra to stop it. Furious, she shouted, screamed at the being, but it did not bring him back. Instead, the Surges on the wall slid into their slots, leaving her in darkness, save for the flickering torches.


    Darkness. She felt it around her in more ways than one. She stood, trembling, for too long, before at last she steeled herself.


    So Fate itself was against them. So be it. She would find a way around this, discover some path to fulfill the Prophecy, whether it was false or not. The True Eye might not have been able to tell her who the fabled hero was, but she could locate them herself. She would create a hero if she had to, would find a way to avoid that¡­ that terrible future. She had fought too long, and too hard, to do anything else. She would succeed.


    That was what she told herself. Though, even as she dried herself with a burst of heat, and pushed the worry off her face, even as she strode back to face the corpses of men she had just sent to their deaths for nothing, she wondered.


    For she knew now, with more certainty than ever before, that if she failed, the galaxy would burn.

 Chapter 1 - Living Nightmare

    1,247 Years Later...


    Three Powers, given by the Three Bladewielders.


    Ever, power of the mind, to control our world.


    Purity, power of the body, to shape ourselves.


    Eternity, power of the soul, to harness that which lies beyond.


    Between them, unity. Unity, gone, till the Endowed doth come¡­


    -The Song of the Three Powers


    They came in the night, as killers always do. E¡¯vin Yaenke awoke to the whine of battlecruiser engines, the crackle of plasma bolts striking energy shields. The screams, the shrieks, the whispers of echoes crashing into his mind. The sounds were familiar ¡ª too familiar, so much so he almost didn¡¯t wake. When you had lived through what he had, the nightmares and reality melted together.


    But he opened his eyes, then sat up, slowly, tossing the rough blanket off his chest. Dreams full of pain still danced before him, but he stepped to the window, throwing open the shades.


    Nightmares, reality. As he took in the sight before him, they blended more than ever.


    He cursed. He¡¯d told them. Thaus take it, but he¡¯d told them war would come. That the Confederacy would not interfere. The signs were all too obvious. Larsh had claimed to be the Endowed. She¡¯d breathed a thousand threats against Ethea, subtle, sometimes even in private, but threats nonetheless. Rion¡¯s daughter was gaining popularity. The Church publicly denounced Rion, but did not denounce Larsh. The Talar were rumored to be gathering their forces near Xilia. He¡¯d seen these warning signs before. He¡¯d ignored them then. He hadn¡¯t this time.


    They¡¯d called him a liar, a fearmonger. The Talar were neutral, they¡¯d said. The Confederacy wouldn¡¯t allow open conflict, they¡¯d said.


    War was impossible, they¡¯d said. Well, now it was here.


    Plasma ripped into the hulls of Ethean trade ships, tearing through their thin defensive shields like knives through flesh. The shrapnel fell from the sky, a rain of molten metal, shining an angry orange. Talar fighters, angular and small, glided between buildings, moving with expert precision, taking out guard posts, sending human-shaped silhouettes flying into the night. Other fighters, bulkier and more heavily armored, chased their enemies. They were less precise, often crashing into the very buildings they sought to defend. One would think the militia of a nation eons old could at least hold its ground. Alas, that was not so. Flames spread across the skyline. In the darkness, they almost looked beautiful, flickering beneath the stars. E¡¯vin watched them for too long, numb.


    So it has begun, just as Aiedra said it would.


    For a moment, he was more afraid than he¡¯d ever been. Then he straightened his uniform. The Governor. Where was the Governor? Why had no one alerted him of the attack, and how long had he been sleeping? He snatched a Surgeblade from the wall, then threw open the door to his bedroom.


    The shouts grew louder. There were so many he could not make out specific words, or even specific voices. In the blue-lit hallway, people dashed by, cooks, servants, mechanics, soldiers. Yaenke recognized none of them. He did, however, recognize one sound.


    Plasma fire.


    He swore again, an Erak¡¯sai profanity slipping involuntarily from his mouth. Normally, that would have drawn stares. But today was no day for prejudices.


    He glanced at his Surgeblade. It was a long, elegant weapon, made of gleaming, chrome titrite metal, light as aluminum, more durable than a steel alloy. The blade was longer than most swords, two-edged, sharp enough to cut through most anything with ease.


    The blade, though, was not the defining feature of the weapon. Its actual power came from the jewel embedded into the hilt, deep blue, like lapis lazuli, but glowing with lines of azure light ¨C lines of Ever. The jewel was a Surge, a manifestation of the First Power in the physical world. Yaenke moved his thumb to touch that jewel. For a moment, his skin rested on its icy surface, but nothing happened.


    Then Ever, ethereal energy from the Surge, rushed into his body, making his skin glow with bright sapphire light. Instantly, his mind focused, the initial confusion of the invasion turning starkly clear. The Talar were here. Some of their forces had likely slipped into the palace, judging by the sounds of gunfire nearby. The Governor was supposed to be in his bedchambers. Yaenke formed a route in his mind, then another route, in case the enemy had blocked off the first.


    And if the Governor is already dead?


    Well, he¡¯d deal with that if it came to it. His feet leapt into action, dashing down the hallway.


    Servants slowed their rush, stepping away as Yaenke ran by. Dressed in full uniform, for he always slept prepared, Yaenke¡¯s glowing body was an intimidating sight, particularly with a four-foot longsword in his hand. Even when he encountered a pair of soldiers, who should have been trained to deal with a Surgewielder, they stopped as he approached, eyes widening.


    ¡°Sir,¡± one of them said, saluting with a hand to his chest. ¡°General Krot ordered us to¡­¡±


    ¡°Follow his orders!¡± Yaenke snapped. ¡°I¡¯ll take care of the Governor.¡±


    The soldiers nodded, rushing off in the opposite direction, toward the center of the palace, where General Rion Krot would undoubtedly be commanding the resistance effort. The gunfire was growing louder, and Yaenke swore he could feel vibrations underneath his feet as plasma continued to crackle outside. The Ethean palace had its own shield, but that wouldn¡¯t hold long. In fact, from what Yaenke had seen in his brief look outside, it wouldn¡¯t hold for longer than an hour.


    When it falls, he realized, the only safe place for me is the Undercity.


    He stopped at a fork, hesitating, choices dueling in his mind. He could bring the Governor to Rion, and help repel the invasion. That, of course, was what he was expected to do. Or, he could run. Escape, through the Undercity.


    And protect his secret.


    He stood at that fork for a long moment, alone in the corridor. Voices murmured in his ears; while wielding Ever, one could hear, and sometimes even see, the thoughts of people nearby. They shouldn¡¯t have bothered him ¨C he¡¯d used Ever many times before ¨C but today, they seemed to taunt him. Mocking the terrible choice he had to make. They flashed through his mind, driving him to his knees.


    A Talar slave, one who had never even seen the green of a tree¡¯s leaves, died to a spear through the neck.


    An Ethean guard screamed as plasma struck his spine, leaving him paralyzed and bleeding on the ground.


    A woman nearby fled, trying not to think of the child she¡¯d left behind, yet knowing the infant¡¯s cries would give her away.


    Memories. Decisions. The terrible past, the unbearable future.


    Did he leave, and protect the secret that could destroy the galaxy?


    Did he stay, and die with those he loved? Die, and seal the fate of Delti anyway?


    Either way, he lost. Finally, he forced himself onward. He could save the Governor. Get him to safety, before making his final decision, and keep Ethea from further chaos. His feet moved with uncharacteristic speed, pounding against the carpeted ground, almost as fast as the blood pounding through his head.


    The secret.


    And the boy.


    A red blade, raised in the air¡­


    The gunfire was even louder now. Yaenke pulled in more Ever; the Surge produced it at a constant rate, leaking energy from the Everrealm into the physical world. He rounded a corner, then stopped.


    Here, the hallway expanded into a massive glass dome. Shops lined the edge of the structure, on multiple floors, with gleaming marble supports holding up terraces for the higher levels. A giant chandelier hung from the ceiling, secured by a thick, painted metal chain. The chandelier itself glowed with green, white, and blue jewels, one color for each of the Three Powers. Directly across the dome from Yaenke, a golden archway opened into the Governor¡¯s quarters. It was a grand sight; even the carpet was beautiful.


    Save, of course, for the blood and bodies that now lay strewn across it.


    In the center of the dome, the Governor¡¯s Guard, dressed in blue and silver uniforms, ducked behind furniture, firing blasters at the oncoming enemy. The Talar soldiers, their backs to Yaenke, were dressed in full battle armor, purple and gray, helms covering their faces perfectly. Though they were still human, their armor was vaguely insectoid, particularly the helmets, which had two black spots for eyes, and metal spikes jutting out near the mouth, like mandibles. There appeared to be about four dozen of them. More than Yaenke¡¯s entire guard force ¨C and that was excluding those who already lay dead.


    It did not take long for the Talar to spot Yaenke¡¯s glowing figure. Shouts echoed, and in unison, six of those fighting in the back turned. Immediately, they sheathed their blasters. Ever could manipulate energy, and plasma would do little good against a Surgewielder. Instead, they drew pikes from their backs, then began stalking toward Yaenke, forming a semicircle around him.


    Yaenke forced himself to smile. He let them surround him, let them point their weapons at his chest. He brandished his sword, as if preparing for them to attack. Then, raising his hand, he burned his Ever, expending it to send a bolt of energy flying at the chain holding the chandelier.


    The bolt connected, then exploded, and the chandelier began to fall. Yaenke waved his hand toward the Talar forces, burning more Ever to push the chandelier toward them. Though he could not see the Talar men¡¯s expressions, he felt their thoughts. Felt their fear, as a wave of shards shot outward, stabbing into chinks in their armor, the heavier chunks crushing many of them. Yaenke snapped his sword upward, burning even more Ever as he directed the blast toward the Talar, and formed an energy shield around himself. A couple of shards still flew past that shield, digging through his padded uniform and into his back. He winced.


    When the dust had settled, the Talar force was decimated. A few of the soldiers on the edges of the blast had survived, but Yaenke¡¯s men quickly surged forward, finishing them. Yaenke stood for a moment, glancing at the carnage. At the white, blue, and green jewels shattered on the floor. Even in this, they represented the Three Powers. Broken, perhaps permanently.


    You need to leave, he thought. If Larsh is here¡­


    But first, the Governor. He¡¯d have a better chance if he stuck with the Governor, and the rest of the guard.


    His Ever was almost spent; directing the chandelier¡¯s explosion toward the Talar had taken most of it. He Reached and pulled in more, though his Surge had hardly produced much in the few seconds of fighting. Careful to avoid bits of broken glass, he strode toward the other guards.


    ¡°Governor Lysh? Is he alive?¡±


    A man with long, white hair saluted. Tyrin, his second in command. Though his hair was white, he was only in his thirties, Etheans¡¯ hair was naturally white, even for children. ¡°Alive, sir. Though¡­¡± He hesitated.


    ¡°Though what?¡±


    ¡°Best if you see for yourself.¡± He gestured toward the archway. Strangely, the hallway beyond was dark. Yaenke nodded, and they headed towards it. As they did, Yaenke¡¯s eyes drifted toward the bodies on the ground. Thirteen of his men dead, as far as he could see. His breath caught in his throat, but he reminded himself to grieve later. He had no time now.


    He hadn¡¯t had time to grieve for centuries.


    The glass dome, though not completely transparent, was see-through in parts. Through those parts, Yaenke could see the shield, still holding against the missiles bombarding it. His muscles tensed as the blue sheet of energy flickered briefly, then restored itself. Perhaps they had less time than they thought.


    They arrived at the hallway. Tyrin stopped outside the arch. ¡°Talk to him yourself,¡± he whispered. ¡°He¡¯s already said he doesn¡¯t want to see me.¡±


    Is he throwing a fit again? Blood-cursed vret. Yaenke frowned, but did as Tyrin said, stepping down the short hallway and through the door to the Governor¡¯s chambers. As he did, he Reached for more Ever, mentally drawing it from the Surge and into his body. His blade was a strong one, and he was glowing as brightly as he had been before the skirmish by the time he arrived at the Governor¡¯s door. It was open.


    The lights were out in this room, too, though Yaenke¡¯s glow illuminated it as he stepped inside. It was lavish. Paintings hung on all four walls. There were three dressers, all made of rare violet wood from Artensia. The bed was bigger than any Yaenke had seen, and he¡¯d lived a long time.


    The Governor waited on that bed, legs crossed beneath him. He was a fat man, balding, with pasty skin. The kind of man who had spent too much time with his wine. His eyes were closed.


    For a moment, a long moment, Yaenke twisted the Surgeblade in his hand. This man had been nothing but a nuisance the past year. Taxing the people harder in the name of the cause, then spending it on himself, then impeding any legislature Rion tried to pass to stop him. He¡¯d appointed corrupt Councilors, cut military funding, quietly spread rumors claiming Rion had developed a Soulcurse. This invasion was in no small part due to his incompetence.


    It would be so, so easy to just kill him.


    He raised his sword. Then the palace rumbled. Outside, someone shouted in surprise.


    ¡°Shield¡¯s fallen!¡±


    Yaenke paused, then pushed the thoughts of treason away. More chaos was not what Ethea needed right now. He lowered his Surgeblade.


    ¡°My liege. We need to move.¡±


    The Governor twitched. Evidently he had not heard Yaenke enter the room. But he did not respond.


    ¡°My liege,¡± Yaenke repeated. ¡°The shield has broken. We need to get you to safety.¡±


    Still nothing. Yaenke restrained his anger. Heavens Above, it would be so easy¡­


    ¡°The Talar will be here soon, my liege.¡±


    ¡°I am aware.¡± The Governor still did not open his eyes. His voice was a rasp, clearly damaged by years of drugs. Drugs, funded by taxes that should have gone toward stopping this disaster.


    ¡°Then you know why we need to leave,¡± Yaenke said coolly.


    The Governor snorted. ¡°We will not be leaving, Captain E¡¯vin.¡±


    ¡°This is not the time for drama.¡±


    The Governor¡¯s eyes opened. They were a sickly yellow. ¡°I am not being dramatic, Captain. If I stay, Larsh will come for me. And I will sue her for peace.¡±


    Yaenke blinked, not even sure how to respond to the absolute stupidity of the plan. The Talar didn¡¯t accept surrender. Everyone knew that. He would laugh, if the stunt wouldn¡¯t cost so many lives.


    ¡°My liege, I don¡¯t think that¡¯s wise.¡±


    ¡°And I don¡¯t care.¡± The Governor¡¯s eyes closed again. ¡°Leave me. Try not to get killed when Larsh arrives. Unless you don¡¯t care about your life, like everyone else out there.¡±


    Yaenke stood, stunned. The Governor grunted. ¡°Well? Leave!¡±


    Yaenke stepped back, cursing softly. This is not the time for this, thau it. Legally, he had to obey the Governor¡¯s orders. So did his men. They wouldn¡¯t leave, even if Yaenke told them to; he¡¯d trained them for total obedience to authority.


    But if he stayed, Larsh would get the secret. He shivered as memories flashed through his mind. Memories of darkness, devastation. Of an empty city, smoking and ruined, yet without a corpse in sight. It had been four thousand years, yet they were vivid as ever.


    He decided in an instant.


    ¡°There can be no peace with darkness,¡± he recited. Raising his hand, he burned Ever and sent a single blast of concentrated plasma directly for the Governor¡¯s chest. It struck home, sizzling as it burned through fat, then through muscle. The Governor¡¯s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to scream, but a second bolt took him in the throat. He fell slack on the bed, blood covering the white sheets.


    Yaenke inhaled sharply, hands trembling, then forced himself to exhale. Why, after all these years, did killing still make him shiver? This man had deserved his death. Yaenke had simply administered justice that should have been dealt out months ago.


    Yet, as he watched green mist pour from Governor Lysh¡¯s mouth, he couldn¡¯t help but tremble. The mist turned red, and he swore he could faintly hear screaming; the Governor was in Torment now, the realm of the dead. A place controlled by Oblivion, where everyone was condemned to endless pain.


    The Void is the real enemy, Yaenke reminded himself. He lowered his hand. Beneath him, the ground rumbled again, accompanied by the thunder of a nearby explosion.


    ¡°Sir?¡±


    Tyrin. He¡¯d left the man standing outside Lysh¡¯s quarters. He¡¯d probably heard everything. Yaenke hesitated.


    During his moment of hesitation, Tyrin stepped around the corner. Yaenke hastily closed the door, but not before Tyrin¡¯s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to cry out, but Yaenke burned Ever, using it to stifle Tyrin¡¯s shout, then burning more to freeze him in place. He stepped toward his friend, leaning in close.


    ¡°We both know he deserved it. Get your men out of here, while there¡¯s still time. Leave the palace, leave your uniforms. Pretend you never had anything to do with this. They might spare you.¡±


    He met the man¡¯s eyes, pouring as much sincerity into his mournful expression as he could. He¡¯d enjoyed his time here, even with the threats looming around every corner. These men didn¡¯t deserve death, any more than Governor Lysh, as corrupt a man as he¡¯d been, deserved eternal anguish. Hopefully, they would abandon their post. They wouldn¡¯t, they were Etheans, but Yaenke could hope they would see past their honor.


    He closed his eyes, Reaching and pulling as much Ever as he could from his Surge. Then, glowing blue, he released Tyrin.


    Immediately, the man lashed out with his boot, trying to trip Yaenke. The captain reacted with blinding speed, sweeping the flat of his blade outward, blocking the blow and tripping Tyrin. He clattered to the ground, then rolled, shouting.


    ¡°Traitor! He killed the Governor! He is Worthless!¡±


    Some of the men snapped into action instantly, but others hesitated. Infused with Ever, Yaenke could hear their thoughts. Their Captain, a traitor? A Worthless?


    That hesitation gave him time. He burned all of his Ever at once, sending a shockwave rippling around him. There wasn¡¯t much force behind it ¨C he was aiming to stall them, not kill them ¨C but it was enough to throw all of them to the floor. Tyrin slammed into the wall, and he grimaced. Yaenke met the man¡¯s dazed eyes one last time.


    ¡°Run,¡± he said.


    Then he followed his own advice, dashing out of the dome, sprinting away from the Governor¡¯s wing, then into the black, smoke-filled night beyond.


    ***


    Blood mixed with sweat and tears as it dripped down young Perelor Krot¡¯s face, falling off his cheek and down to the dusty ground below. Most of that blood came from his right eye, which had been slashed across the iris. It stared, dead, at the floor, a scab slowly drying over the wound.


    Perelor¡¯s hands were above his head, locked together with magnetic cuffs. He and his sister, Eliel, slumped beside a broken wall, near a landing pad, heads hung low, waiting, presumably, for one of the cruisers on the pad to take them away. Unless Larsh killed them. She might. She¡¯d already had an opportunity to finish them, yes, but people like her tended to enjoy cruelty.


    Eliel was coughing ¨C there was smoke everywhere, a thin haze that reduced everything around them to silhouettes. Perelor sat silent, cringing at every cough, but helpless to assist her. Helpless to assist anyone. He wished he could shut his ears the same way he could shut his eyes. Wished he could simply not listen to the rattle of gunfire, the rumble of explosions all around.


    Two Talar guards watched the children. One had his helmet off, revealing a short beard and violet eyes that seemed to glow through the smog. The other kept his helmet on. With it, he looked like a mix between a spider and an ant, staring down at Perelor with sharp mandibles and solid black eyes.


    Perelor closed his own eyes, spots dancing across the blackness of his left eyelid, a more pure blackness still dominating the right side of his vision. He felt drained. How long had it been, since he¡¯d fallen unconscious the first time? How long had it been since¡­ since¡­


    Since his father had died.


    Keep your sister safe, son. He¡¯d seemed so confident, even as his hand had fallen slack in Perelor¡¯s hand. Perelor had felt his thoughts. He¡¯d believed in Perelor, even in that final moment.


    In that, he¡¯d been a fool.


    Something rammed into his abdomen. Perelor gasped, eyes leaping back open. It was the butt of a lasertip ¨C the guard without the helmet had smashed it into Perelor¡¯s stomach.


    ¡°Hey! No Reaching!¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t Reaching,¡± Perelor spat. He hadn¡¯t been ¨C had he been Reaching, he would have started to glow. But, of course, the guard didn¡¯t know that. It had been a thousand years since the powers Perelor wielded had been commonplace, and myths, rumors, and downright untruths about memory burning abounded.


    The comment did, however, earn him another smack to the gut. Perelor wheezed, but hung his head, falling silent. His eyes drooped, but he kept them at least partially open. Blood continued to drip down his cheek.


    The gunfire was growing quieter. Perelor couldn¡¯t decide if that was good or not. On the one hand, it meant that the battle was close to over.


    On the other hand, it meant she had won. And that meant he had failed.


    You¡¯ve already failed, a part of him whispered. Remember those ash-filled eyes. He did, and a tear dropped down his face. He didn¡¯t think he would ever forget those eyes, staring upward. Accusing him.


    The guards watched Perelor closely for several minutes, then stepped back, conversing among themselves. Perelor was surprised at how casual the conversation was. These weren¡¯t evil men. They were just soldiers, doing their job.


    And they¡¯d killed his father in doing so.


    His eyelids slid down farther. Sleep would give relief. Better not to exist, than to exist in this Torment.


    ¡°Perelor.¡± That was Eliel¡¯s voice. It forced him from his stupor. Eliel. His sister.


    She was still alive. It felt surreal that she wasn¡¯t dead, and simultaneously, it still felt surreal that his father was dead. His memories were torn in two. His life before today, his life after today, they would likely never fully merge into one life in his mind.


    ¡°Perelor, we have to get out of here.¡±


    He was silent.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    ¡°Perelor! You¡¯re¡­ better at this than I am. We have to try.¡±


    More silence. He should have said something. He didn¡¯t. The words simply wouldn¡¯t come out.


    ¡°Perelor, please.¡±


    Eliel¡¯s voice was desperate. It broke as she spoke.


    She¡¯s hurting, too, he thought. She lost him too.


    ¡°Alright. We can try.¡± He forced his eyes back open, trying to think. It wasn¡¯t easy, he¡¯d lost a lot of blood. The thoughts he did manage didn¡¯t amount to much.


    I need Ever. Wielding the First Power, even a little of it, would sharpen his mind. Perhaps enough to figure out a plan. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to connect to it, to the Everrealm. For a moment, it worked. Voices flooded his mind, thoughts of the guards, of Eliel, of those fighting and dying nearby.


    And then another voice. A voice he recognized, combined with the ring of boots striking metal. Fear overpowered him, and he lost his hold on the Power. He tensed involuntarily.


    ¡°Larsh,¡± he whispered.


    The footsteps continued, and a moment later, Perelor looked up to see her, Jadis Larsh, commander of the Talar forces, memory burner and murderer, sweeping her eyes over them. Her face was sharp and angular, and though her eyes had faded back to their normal violet, they still seemed to pierce Perelor. She nodded, then turned to the guards.


    ¡°My cruiser will be here shortly. Unbind them, and move them inside. Leave some room. I have other prisoners to accommodate.¡± She glanced at Perelor. ¡°You are conscious, I see. You¡¯re resilient. It will be a good trait, I think, when you are properly broken.¡±


    She didn¡¯t let him reply, instead striding forward until she reached the end of the landing platform ahead, where a troupe of other guards waited. She folded her arms, staring out over the city. Perelor had to arch his neck painfully to see her from where he was, but he did so anyway, staring hatefully at her back.


    She¡¯d caused all this. And she¡¯d cause more, if he didn¡¯t stop her.


    He turned back to Eliel, meeting her eyes, then nodding to the guards. She gave her own curt nod of understanding.


    When the Talar soldiers untied them to move them, that would be their best chance. Perelor could memory burn, and Eliel could at least try to. Then they could fight Larsh, kill her, take her cruiser, and escape. Perelor didn¡¯t know how to fly a ship, but it couldn¡¯t be too hard. He¡¯d figure it out.


    If you make it that far, he noted. The plan was desperate, and not well fleshed out. Furthermore, there was Larsh to worry about. She¡¯d likely kill them before they got the cuffs off. They¡¯d try it anyway.


    This is for you, father. For you, and the oath I swore today.


    He closed his eyes, readying himself to Reach again. He¡¯d have to keep doing so, even after the guard hit him. It wouldn¡¯t be easy, but it was possible. He¡¯d seen Yaenke do it.


    To his surprise, though, even as he relived the memories around him, no spear to the gut came. Instead, a trickle of Ever began rushing through his veins. He smiled, confidence increasing as his mind quickened. If he had Ever, he could make it.


    ¡°He¡¯s here.¡±


    Larsh¡¯s voice rang again in Perelor¡¯s mind. He shouldn¡¯t know it as well as he did ¨C she¡¯d hardly spoken to him as she¡¯d cut through the Ethean guards, then thrown him aside, then killed his father. Yet, he felt as if he knew that voice better than his own.


    And it terrified him.


    His eyes flashed open, and the Ever fled as he failed to relive the memories, caving to his moment of weakness. He froze, realizing Larsh was staring down at him, her eyes now glowing with crimson Void. With the power of death itself.


    ¡°You almost managed that,¡± she breathed. She turned to the guards. ¡°Beat him until he learns his lesson, though don¡¯t kill him.¡± She straightened. ¡°I have another prisoner to take. Stay at your stations, no matter what happens.¡± She shook her head. ¡°Perelor Krot and E¡¯vin Yaenke, all on the same day. A victory indeed.¡±


    She strode away, moving with the same graceful speed Perelor had seen her use when she¡¯d fought the Etheans earlier. As she faded from view, the two guards approached. The bearded guard slid his helmet back on.


    ¡°Now, kid,¡± he said, voice now metallic from the vocoder in his helm. Though it was designed to be intimidating, the way the man spoke, it almost felt¡­ weary. ¡°You get to know what it feels like to be Elekhai. Get used to pain. It¡¯ll be quite familiar soon.¡±


    The helmet lingered on Perelor for a long moment, expressionless. Then the guard reached for his belt, retrieving a slim, metal rod from it, pointed at the end. A shock rod. Perelor¡¯s eyes widened. Eliel shouted, but the soldier thrust the weapon forward. Electricity blazed through Perelor¡¯s body, and despite his loss of blood, despite his grief, despite the tiredness, he began to scream.


    ***


    The palace courtyard was a chaotic field of flames, metal, and corpses. Some of those corpses still walked, lasertips in hand, but they were corpses all the same; battles like these did not end with survivors. Fire gulped down once-green gardens, turning color to ash, cracking the metal of intricate bronze statues. Ethean soldiers, some in blue uniforms, others wearing the clothes they¡¯d slept in, fought against their Talar counterparts pouring through the gates. Though the palace shield had fallen, it seemed Larsh had no intention of destroying the building, at least not yet, for the enemy bombers had not descended upon it, and instead, a steady flow of purple-clad warriors pushed the Etheans back. Most of the fighting was hand-to-hand; both sides had Dispellers, making plasma guns useless. Though Yaenke could not see well in the dim light the flames provided, he felt his boot stick to patches of drying blood as he wove his way through dueling warriors, careful to avoid any packs of Talar.


    His destination, the west armory, was in the center of the courtyard. Though the outside was made to look like an obsidian wedge, it had been cracked by explosives, revealing its cement interior. Most of the inside had been looted; hooks sat empty, and equally empty supply packs lay on the ground.


    Yaenke had expected that. He leapt through a blasted-out hole in the wall, then moved to a specific rack on the east side of the building. Everything had been claimed, save for a few unused Adrellian shots. A body lay here, too, one eye staring lifelessly at the sky, the other stabbed out. Yaenke stepped over it, then pressed his hand to the cement underneath the rack. It was smooth and hard ¨C this wasn¡¯t cement, but a hidden patch of anthrenite. He Reached for Ever from his Surgeblade, then pushed that Ever into the stone.


    The anthrenite glowed, then ground against the nearby rocks as it slid away, revealing a hidden compartment beneath. Inside it lay two more Surges, these without a corresponding blade. One glowed white, the other red. Yaenke set aside his Surgeblade, tucking both of the other Surges into his pockets. One of them, the white Surge, would give him access to Purity, the Second Power. The other would give him access to Void, the corrupted Third Power. He could only use one of the Three Powers at any given time, but it didn¡¯t hurt to have options.


    He rose, snatching his Ever Surgeblade from the ground. He moved behind the obsidian wall, looking outward from a hole at the battle. He couldn¡¯t fight his way to the gates. Even if he succeeded, he¡¯d expose himself as a threat, and the chase would not cease until he was dead. The Talar likely defended the other exits, too.


    I¡¯ll escape through the Undercity, then. Thau it. The nearest entrance to that was back in his apartment, sealed by a similar anthrenite device to the one that had hidden his Surges here.


    For a moment, he hesitated, the screams of the dying Ethean men ringing in his ears. Their thoughts crowded his vision and hearing, desperate, hopeless.


    Could he really leave them? Could he really betray them, as he had the Governor?


    The secret, he reminded himself firmly. The secret so heinous he dared not even whisper it in his thoughts. He¡¯d killed the Governor to protect it. As terrible as it was, these men¡¯s deaths were a small price to pay to keep it hidden.


    By that same logic, you should be dead, too. Killed by your own hand, to protect the secret.


    Coward.


    He cringed, but pushed the thought back. He¡¯d fought that logic a thousand times, over several thousand years, and he knew how to defeat it. He ran back across the courtyard, ducking into a palace entrance nearby. He shut the door, then slid into a side passageway as a troupe of soldiers marched past. He did not want to hurt them, should they label him a traitor.


    He took an obscure stairway up to his apartment, though he still passed several servants, all desperately searching for an exit unblocked by the Talar. They would find none. When the Ethean line fell, the civilians here could only pray Larsh was kind enough to spare them.


    One of those servants, though, was a messenger. He wore a soldier¡¯s uniform, though his included green stripes, indicating his duty. He shouted, loud enough Yaenke could actually hear him over the din of battle and panic.


    ¡°Rion is dead! And his second! Command has been changed to General Vyrik!¡±


    Yaenke paused as the messenger passed. The man seemed too caught up in his job to realize that Yaenke, a Captain, was fleeing. But Rion¡­ dead¡­


    Perelor was supposed to be with him, Yaenke realized. And Eliel, too.


    He hated himself for doing it, but, instinctively, he closed his eyes, Reaching for memories. The Surge could not assist him in this, and he was forced to use his own powers. The powers of a memory burner. Powers that, if others knew about, would put him in even more danger.


    The Confederacy isn¡¯t here, he chided himself. But Larsh is. Don¡¯t be a coward. He Reached harder, mentally pulling with as much willpower as he could muster.


    His mind expanded even more than it had when using the Surgeblade. Ten times more. Hundreds of streams of thought shot through his memory, and though his faculties were heightened by the Ever in his flesh, he still felt overwhelmed.


    But, within that stream of thoughts, he detected the presence he¡¯d been looking for. A young boy¡¯s panicked cries, as he was beaten with a shock rod. Though Yaenke could not feel the pain of the beating, he saw the electricity leaping across the boy¡¯s skin, saw the blood seeping from burns that hadn¡¯t quite cauterized. Saw his sister, sitting beside him, crying.


    He stopped Reaching. His mind slowed. He drew in Ever from his Surgeblade, but it helped little.


    Did he protect the secret?


    Or did he save the Endowed, the very hero prophesied to destroy his terrible creation?


    He cursed. Then cursed again. Then slowed to a stop, making his decision.


    Thau it, but I¡¯ve come to like those children.


    He turned and ran toward the source of Perelor¡¯s thoughts.


    ***


    Agony. There was no other word to describe this but agony. Though Perelor was surprised at how little of that agony came from the burns.


    The guard hit him¡­ three times before ceasing? Four? Five? It could have been hundreds, for all Perelor could tell. His skin seemed to gasp as smoke rose from it, his legs twitching, aching, but too shocked to feel any pain.


    No, the real agony came from the reminder. The memory of his father¡¯s burned body, laying on the floor. Of eyes that were not eyes, just ash. Of a hand, skeletal, stained red and orange and black, reaching to grip Perelor¡¯s own. Words whispered in his mind, words from a ragged voice, one he loved more than anything.


    Keep your sister safe, son. Believe. I love you.


    Love didn¡¯t matter. His father was dead. Perelor was surprised at how quickly he accepted that. It felt like a toxin dagger stabbing into his chest, but he accepted it.


    He forced his one good eye open. Colors swam before him. He could hardly make out any shapes, but he was able to glance sideways and see a long, white blotch beside him.


    Eliel¡¯s hair. Eliel was still alive. That was all that had mattered to his father. It was all that mattered to him now.


    ¡°Should we beat the other one? The reports say she¡¯s a burner, too.¡±


    A long pause. Perelor tensed. Keep your sister safe, son.


    ¡°Nah,¡± the other guard said finally. ¡°The reports say she¡¯s not very good at it. If she tries anything, though, we¡¯ll do what we have to.¡±


    The guard¡¯s mask lingered on the two children for a moment, but then he backed away. ¡°Just a reminder for them,¡± Perelor heard him whisper. He sounded regretful, though Perelor couldn¡¯t quite tell through his thick Talar accent. ¡°Not like things will get any easier from here.¡±


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± Eliel¡¯s voice was high pitched. It was the voice she used when she was panicking, perhaps on the verge of a Soulcursed episode.


    Perelor was silent. Alright? How could he be alright? Father was dead. Ethea had fallen. And¡­


    And she¡¯s just trying to help.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± he gasped. He tried to keep the pain out of his voice. He failed. Eliel leaned forward. He still couldn¡¯t see well, though the blobs of color were starting to form back into shapes.


    ¡°You¡¯re not,¡± Eliel said softly. ¡°Voidlings.¡±


    She was angry. And afraid. And she just sat there, shivering. Were those tears on her face?


    It¡¯s going to be up to me to do this, Perelor realized. They still had to try to escape. And Eliel had never been good at memory burning, even if she had the ability. Drawing in a ragged breath, he Reached again.


    Then froze.


    ¡°Yaenke,¡± he whispered. He could feel the man¡¯s thoughts. He was close. And he was coming to rescue them.


    We might make it. For the first time in several hours, hours that had felt like days, Perelor felt hope leap in his chest. Memories flashed before his eyes, and a moment later, he was glowing with Ever.


    For a moment, the guards didn¡¯t notice. Then, suddenly, their masks swiveled toward him. They immediately stepped back in surprise.


    ¡°What? I thought they couldn¡¯t Reach without¡­¡±


    They didn¡¯t get any longer to protest. Though pain still pounded across Perelor¡¯s skin ¨C Ever couldn¡¯t heal physical wounds ¨C his mind was now sharper, faster. He burned a touch of Ever to release his hands from their cuffs, then threw them forward, burning more to send the two Talar flying backward. They tumbled over the edge of the landing pad, screaming as they fell.


    Perelor stood, then watched the empty ledge for a long moment, wondering if he should feel remorse. He¡¯d just killed two men. He hadn¡¯t killed anyone before today, though he¡¯d been trained to. Strangely, though, he didn¡¯t feel guilt. Not the slightest bit of it. Should he?


    Shaking his head, he turned toward his sister. He snapped his fingers, using a little more Ever, and her bands released. Her head tilted up toward him. His vision was mostly clear now, and he could see her eyes.


    There was hope in them. Awe. Even after everything that had happened today, she still thought they had a chance.


    He stretched out his hand, helping her to her feet, though he suspected she did most of the work, his muscles still quivering from the shock rod. Finally, he turned toward the landing pad, poking around the corner of the wall they¡¯d been chained to.


    They¡¯d been restrained in a place such that the other guards hadn¡¯t seen the incident, and apparently, the din of battle was loud enough they hadn¡¯t heard the screams, either. They stood all around the pad in trios, straight-backed, but didn¡¯t seem worried. Perelor let out a relieved breath. Eliel scooted behind him.


    ¡°What do we do now?¡±


    Perelor hesitated. Did they even try to fight that many guards? Perelor might manage it alone, with his memory burning, but Eliel would undoubtedly get shot if they found her. Furthermore, if they attracted attention here, they might not be able to escape in any of the ships on the pad; they¡¯d just get shot down.


    ¡°We wait,¡± Perelor said finally. ¡°Yaenke¡¯s coming. I felt him.¡±


    To his surprise, Eliel didn¡¯t protest. She just nodded. ¡°Alright. If you say so, I believe you. We¡¯ll get out of here with his help.¡± Her breathing was rushed, almost too fast. She was nervous, no matter what she pretended.


    Keep your sister safe, son.


    I¡¯ll try, father, Perelor thought. I¡¯ll try.


    ***


    As it turned out, the Talar forces had breached the palace. The North Gate¡¯s defenses had crumpled under enemy pressure. Some of the soldiers whispered that a memory burner had helped with that. Yaenke could only pray they were wrong, for there was only one person that could be.


    If it were true, though ¨C and it likely was, knowing Larsh ¨C Yaenke needed to move fast. He could feel Perelor¡¯s echoes still, though they were less tortured than before. He was on a landing pad nearby, one Yaenke recognized. He could get there easily by breaking a window and flying there with Ever. He had that Ever now, too, his Surge had recharged while he ran.


    He hesitated a moment. Was it worth risking himself for this? Worth risking everything for this?


    ¡°God Above curse me,¡± he muttered. He kicked the nearest window. The glass cracked, exploding outward into the night. Yaenke flung himself through the window without another thought.


    He hung, weightless, falling for a long second. Then he burned Ever, pushing his body upward. He had to be careful to distribute the force equally throughout his feet. If he pushed too hard in one spot, he¡¯d end up crushing his limbs. Even with the force equalized, flying was hard. You had to be very precise with how much Ever you burned; too much and you¡¯d shoot upward too far, too little and you¡¯d fall.


    Fortunately, Yaenke had plenty of practice. He raced toward the pad, weaving between plasma bolts fired by soldiers below. Some of those bolts had been fired by Etheans ¨C it was rare indeed to see a Surgewielder fly, and, with his body glowing, most of his allies probably didn¡¯t recognize him. He dodged the blasts easily, though, whether they came from friend or foe.


    It was only a few moments before he arrived at the landing pad. He couldn¡¯t see Perelor just yet, though there were dozens of Talar guards scattered among small cruisers and fighters. They yelped as they saw Yaenke descending upon them, shouting orders in their native tongue rather than their usual Common. Yaenke spotted at least two Surgeblade wielders among them. Those two immediately lit up with blue Ever, pushing themselves into the sky to meet Yaenke.


    They didn¡¯t stand a chance. Both were glowing brighter than him, but he had the benefit of experience. Millennia of experience. He dodged a blast of flames from one, then beheaded the other with a flick of his sword. The remaining soldier¡¯s eyes widened. Clearly, though he was trained, he hadn¡¯t seen battle before. His shock kept him paralyzed until Yaenke ran him through the chest. Their bodies immediately stopped glowing, then fell to the ground below. Yaenke burned Ever to throw their Surges aside; you could only effectively wield one Surge at a time, even if they were Surges of the same Power. Then, he landed himself, burning the rest of his Ever to send a shockwave pulsing outward. The ships rattled, and soldiers went flying.


    Yaenke hesitated. He could kill most of these soldiers himself, between his training and the extreme advantage his Surge gave him. But if he attracted too much attention, he¡¯d be pursued, and eventually killed. Or, worse, captured and interrogated.


    He cursed. He shouldn¡¯t have done this. Not for Perelor, not for anyone. But he was already here. He might as well find the kid.


    To his surprise, the kid found him first. Perelor darted out from behind a crate, dragging his sister behind him. Both of them were bloodied, though Perelor seemed more significantly wounded. Burns covered the teen boy¡¯s skin, and his normally white hair was stained by dark, dried blood. He was, however, glowing with Ever. Perelor was a memory burner, someone able to use Ever without a Surge, and use far more of it than any Surgewielder could dream of. Eliel, his older sister, was technically a memory burner, too, though she wasn¡¯t very good at actually using her powers.


    ¡°You came,¡± Perelor wheezed. ¡°I thought maybe I was hallucinating.¡±


    Eliel frowned. ¡°You said you were sure.¡±


    Perelor shrugged apologetically, eyes darting to the Talar soldiers, who were regrouping. ¡°I may have embellished the truth a bit. Do you have a sword, Captain?¡±


    Yaenke hesitated. Perelor shouldn¡¯t be fighting. He was fourteen. His sister was sixteen. He could see the pain in their eyes, could feel Eliel¡¯s thoughts. They¡¯d been there, when their father had died.


    But then, having a memory burner on their side dramatically increased their chances. ¡°I don¡¯t have a sword,¡± he said finally. ¡°You¡¯ll have to use Ever.¡± He fell into stance as a pack of Talar approached, swords in their hands. ¡°I¡¯ll deal with the melee fighters. You keep their ranged men off of us.¡±


    Perelor nodded, his expression grim. ¡°Got it.¡± He closed his eyes, and a moment later, his skin glowed a bright blue ¨C far brighter than Yaenke¡¯s did, enough it was hard to look at him. A moment later, the Talar attacked.


    It was a massacre. Yaenke lunged to intercept the sword-wielding Talar, burning trace amounts of Ever to throw their swings off base, then slashing through their chests with impunity. Blood sprayed across the cement ground, and onto Yaenke¡¯s robes. Behind him, Perelor sent bolts of lightning flying into Talar gunmen. Within less than a minute, the entire enemy force was annihilated, mostly due to Perelor.


    You taught him well, a part of Yaenke whispered. And for a moment, he was proud.


    Then he saw the corpses on the ground, and remembered. He shivered, then dashed over to the two teens, grabbing Perelor¡¯s arm.


    ¡°We need to move. Before the Talar seal off access to the Undercity.¡±


    Perelor frowned. ¡°We could use these ships.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯d be shot down.¡±


    ¡°If we use a Talar one, we might be able to slip through the siege. Escape.¡±


    ¡°No. We have to retreat. Wait it out.¡±


    ¡°But¡­¡±


    ¡°Your friend is right.¡±


    Yaenke tensed. The voice was not Perelor¡¯s voice, nor Eliel¡¯s. Nor that of any Ethean. That was the voice of Jadis Larsh. Perelor, too, seemed to recognize it, for he stepped back, gasping. Eliel stood silent, eyes widening.


    Slowly, Yaenke turned, heart pounding. Sure enough, there she stood, robes billowing in the night wind, face barely illuminated by the dim lights focused on the pad. She had regal features: thin eyes, a sharp nose, and soft lips, highlighted with red makeup. Though she had killed many today, her purple clothes had no blood upon them. She was glowing a deep red ¨C her skin was Infused with Void, the Third Power. The Power that had been corrupted. She smiled as she met Yaenke¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°I should have known you¡¯d come for him, E¡¯vin. I expected you would be smarter than that, but you¡¯ve never been a practical man.¡± Her smile fell. ¡°Though the world would be a far better place if you realized how dangerous your existence really is.¡±


    Yaenke fell into stance, though he was shaking. Endowed, he was shaking.


    Suddenly, Perelor ran forward, screaming, unleashing a hail of lightning toward Larsh. The lightning, however, deflected away from her, striking the ground nearby, making the concrete sizzle. As Perelor ran, a tendril of red light flew from Larsh¡¯s hand, like a living, crimson snake. It lashed around Perelor¡¯s left leg, then snapped to the side, throwing him to the ground. He rolled, groaning. While he was down, a second tendril exploded from Larsh¡¯s other hand, smashing into Perelor¡¯s head. He fell still.


    Eliel sobbed, running toward her brother. His chest was still rising and falling, but she probably couldn¡¯t tell that. Larsh didn¡¯t stop her. Instead, she stepped toward Yaenke, tendrils still expanding from her hands.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to do this,¡± Yaenke whispered. ¡°There are other ways of fighting, Jaela.¡±


    She snorted. ¡°That name no longer means anything.¡± Her mouth opened in a smile again. A crazed, uncontrolled smile. ¡°Besides, you¡¯re afraid. You think you can¡¯t win this fight.¡± She seemed to be almost talking to herself, her voice barely audible to Yaenke. ¡°You¡¯re wrong, of course. About a great many things. But when have you ever been logical?¡±


    She¡¯s trying to decide if she wants to fight me, Yaenke realized. Trying to decide if I¡¯ll use the secret.


    He hesitated. He could use the secret. Could end all of this, if he wanted to. With his heart beating fast in his chest, he genuinely considered it.


    But no. In the end, the cost was still too high. In the end, he was still a coward.


    However, Larsh was distracted.


    Pulling in the Ever his Surge had produced while Larsh talked, Yaenke attacked. He threw all of it into a single blast of plasma; though Larsh would probably avoid it, it would divert her further. As he¡¯d predicted, she twisted aside, but as she did, he ran forward, swinging his sword at her chest.


    The tendrils writhed inward. Though they appeared to be made of light, they acted more like a fluid form of steel, blocking Yaenke¡¯s attacks. They weren¡¯t nearly as fast as he ¨C Yaenke was a master swordsman ¨C but there were two of them and one of him, and he couldn¡¯t manage to get a hit in. Within a few seconds, one of them slipped through his defenses, knocking his feet out from under him. He cursed as his knees hit the cement, then yelped as the second tendril struck his head, throwing him in a roll across the ground.


    His vision swam. Desperately, he reached into his pocket, trying to grab one of his other Surges, the ones he¡¯d retrieved from the armory. Before he could, the two tendrils slammed into his arms, pinning them to the ground. He could barely crane his neck enough to see Larsh stalking toward him. Her smile was gone, replaced by pursed lips and grim eyes.


    ¡°Aezer said you would put up more of a fight. Apparently, he was wrong. It¡¯s very rare he¡¯s wrong.¡±


    ¡°Voidlings are wrong about many things,¡± Yaenke hissed.


    ¡°On that, we agree,¡± Larsh said. She stepped onto Yaenke¡¯s stomach, then released the tendrils. She then extended her right hand, and a blade formed in it. A red blade, made of pure light, the way the tendrils had been. Yaenke¡¯s eyes widened. Larsh snorted.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to kill you. The information you have is too valuable.¡± She leaned in close, her breath against his ear. ¡°But know this, last of the Erak¡¯sai. I will make you wish you were dead. By the time I am done, you will beg for Torment. And I will count it all pleasure, for after the harm you have brought to the galaxy, you deserve far, far worse.¡±


    Fear spiked in Yaenke¡¯s chest. He could see the hatred in her eyes. Hatred he¡¯d only seen in one other person. She meant what she said.


    The secret, part of him whispered. Use it. Better she die, than she know.


    He considered, again, for one treasonous moment. Then he closed his eyes.


    I deserve this, he thought.


    Something cold struck his flesh. Everything went black, and the nightmares began again.


    ***


    Captain Yaenke¡¯s head lulled back, and Eliel Krot¡¯s last flicker of hope faded. She clung to her unconscious brother¡¯s hand, crying. Knowing, deep down, that this was all her fault. She should never have shown Dad her scar. What was she thinking, claiming to be the Endowed? As if she, of all people, could defeat the Void.


    Larsh stood up, though her eyes lingered on Yaenke for a long time. Part of Eliel wanted to run. She¡¯d be caught, maybe even killed, but a blaster bolt to the back would be merciful at this point.


    She didn¡¯t, though. She just kept clinging to her brother¡¯s hand. Perhaps he could stop Larsh. He¡¯d always been better at this than her.


    Finally, Larsh turned toward Eliel. She looked at Eliel for only a moment, though, before her gaze went down to Perelor. Her expression was unreadable as she stepped toward him, lightly shoving Eliel aside. Eliel did not resist. She just backed away. Whimpering, like a veirehound pup.


    Larsh rolled Perelor over with her foot, revealing his face. His nose had been crushed by the cement, and even more cuts and bruises ran across his skin. That skin was growing pale.


    Larsh raised her hand. A tendril leapt from it, snatching something from Yaenke¡¯s pocket, then retreating backward to drop it in Larsh¡¯s hand. It was a small white jewel, a Purity Surge. She pressed it against Perelor¡¯s chest.


    Instantly, Perelor¡¯s wounds sealed. Burns turned back into skin. Dried blood melted, then fell away. Flesh knit itself back together. Within moments, Perelor looked just as he had before the invasion. A fourteen year old boy, laying peacefully asleep.


    Except for one thing. His eye, the one that had been cut earlier. It was no longer bleeding, but a rune had been burnt into the iris. Eliel could not read Talar, but she recognized that rune.


    Elekhai, it read.


    Slave.


    Larsh¡¯s eyes lingered on Perelor a moment longer. Then she turned back to Eliel.


    ¡°Rion said you were the Endowed,¡± she murmured.


    Eliel said nothing. She just trembled. Was this the part where Larsh finally killed her? Where she was defeated, just as every other person who claimed to be the Endowed had been? Her neck burned, as if expecting Larsh to lash out and snap it.


    To her surprise, no death came. Larsh just snorted.


    ¡°For your sake, child, I hope he was wrong. But if he was not, I ask you to save us.¡± Her eyes moved to the sky, watching the battle above. ¡°I wish, sometimes, that I could believe. In the end, though, hoping is foolish. That prophecy has never amounted to anything more than broken promises.¡±


    She was silent for a long time, staring up at the starry, smoky blackness. Long enough Eliel knew she should have run.


    She didn¡¯t. She waited until Talar soldiers rushed onto the pad, binding her, her brother, and Yaenke in electric chains. She sat quietly as all three of them were branded by a green-robed man with a Purity Surge. She didn¡¯t even weep as they were shipped away on a cruiser, away from Ethea and everything she¡¯d ever known.


    Her father had believed in her. He¡¯d thought she was the Endowed, the mythical hero prophesied to destroy the Void, take back the afterlife, and end all suffering. He was dead now. She couldn¡¯t help but wonder if his spirit was watching her, disappointed.

 Chapter 2 - Open Wounds

    8 Years Later...


    They shall be born with a scar already on their skin, and it shall mark them as the Endowed, chosen by the Powers.


    -Excerpt from The Book of Eternity


    Keep your sister safe, son.


    The oath Perelor had sworn that day was all he could think of as he twisted the lasertip in his hands, unsure how best to grip the weapon. It was spear-like, a long staff with a blade at the top. Part of the blade had been cut open to make room for a blaster; this weapon was designed for common infantry, and was a mix between a ranged weapon and a melee weapon. The trigger for the gun was in the middle of the staff, where Perelor¡¯s hand rested now. He had to be extra careful not to hit it by accident.


    He¡¯d hoped his skill with the sword would translate more easily to this, but it hadn¡¯t. His former style of fighting had involved a lot of parrying, and lasertips were downright terrible at that. The weapon was far better at stabbing than slashing, too ¡ª the exact opposite of a sword. The differences were irritating him. He needed to be good at this. His ability to protect his sister, and keep his word, depended on his ability to fight.


    But, this was his weapon now. Larsh had refused to give him a sword, and frankly, he wasn¡¯t sure if he deserved one anymore. So he worked with what he had.


    Unfortunately, he hadn¡¯t been given a teacher, either, not until recently. Few of the slaves here in the Talar camps were even allowed a weapon, and fewer still were willing to practice. So far, Crelang Deonto was the only one he¡¯d found who would spar with him for longer than a few minutes. A tall, pasty man with long black hair, Crelang stood before him now. He was a few years Perelor¡¯s senior, and more muscular, too ¡ª he was a former Herreon soldier, and he¡¯d stayed fit during his years of captivity. There was something off about him today, and Perelor couldn¡¯t figure out what. Right now, though, they stood in a gravel pit set at the bottom of a bumpy slope. It wasn¡¯t designed for sparring, it was just a spot where nothing had yet been built, but it was what they had.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to want to adjust your stance,¡± Crelang said. ¡°Remember, you¡¯re not supposed to focus on defense here. Offense is your best defense with a lasertip.¡± He frowned. ¡°And you¡¯re going to want to stop twisting that handle. It¡¯s a waste of energy.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± Perelor forced himself to stop. It was difficult, it was more of an anxious tick than a conscious movement. He fell into a more offensive stance, feet forward, the lasertip¡¯s blade pointed directly at Crelang¡¯s chest. ¡°Like that?¡±


    ¡°Close.¡± Crelang stepped forward, prodding Perelor¡¯s limbs to adjust his position just slightly. ¡°There. Like that.¡± Suddenly, he swept his weapon forward, smacking Perelor¡¯s legs and forcing him off balance. Perelor stumbled for a moment but then fell back into the same stance. Crelang squinted, staring him down with a critical eye, then smiled.


    ¡°You got it first try. Good. You¡¯re learning quickly.¡±


    ¡°I have an excellent teacher,¡± Perelor said.


    Crelang¡¯s grin widened. ¡°You¡¯re searing right you do.¡± He fell into stance himself, then began circling Perelor. ¡°Is your blade dulled?¡±


    Perelor nodded, briefly raising his lasertip to show the rubber coating the blade. They¡¯d had to steal that rubber. Crelang had seemed a little too eager when they¡¯d done that.


    ¡°Good. We begin.¡±


    He lunged forward. Perelor parried. The metal staves clanged as they struck one another.


    Most people thought melee fights lasted a long time. If both fighters were skilled, they sometimes did. But, more often, they were over in an instant. The less experienced warrior made a single mistake, and their more experienced counterpart took advantage of it, ending the duel immediately.


    That was exactly what happened here. Perelor was too slow on a riposte, and Crelang batted his weapon aside, then shoved the rubber-covered tip of his own weapon into Perelor¡¯s chest. Perelor stumbled back, gasping. Crelang kicked him, knocking Perelor down. Perelor raised his hand in surrender.


    ¡°The kick wasn¡¯t necessary,¡± he wheezed. ¡°In an actual fight, I would¡¯ve been dead from your first blow.¡±


    ¡°In an actual fight, you¡¯d try to kill me, even after I stabbed you. You wouldn¡¯t do a very good job, but I¡¯d still need to get you out of the way.¡± He smirked. ¡°Plus, in an actual fight, you¡¯ll be dealing with pain. You need to get used to that.¡±


    Perelor snorted. ¡°I know how to deal with pain.¡±


    ¡°Maybe. Most soldiers seem to think they can, but I¡¯ve found few truly do. You need to have been through Torment itself to stay calm when you¡¯ve been stabbed.¡± His eyes grew distant for a moment.


    You¡¯d be surprised what I¡¯ve been through, Perelor thought bitterly. But he said nothing. Crelang was just doing his best to train him. If that meant a kick to the stomach, Perelor would deal with it. He was about to be assigned to the slave squadrons, and he had to survive. Eliel depended on it.


    Crelang stepped back, preparing for another bout. Perelor stood, catching his breath. Crelang raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°Tired? Really?¡±


    Perelor sighed. ¡°We¡¯ve been going for three hours. Yes, I¡¯m tired.¡±


    Crelang smiled. ¡°I¡¯m just teasing. For now. You¡¯ll need to improve your stamina.¡±


    ¡°Of course I will.¡± Perelor rolled his eyes.


    ¡°You¡¯ll need to work on your sass, too,¡± Crelang said slyly. ¡°If you get good enough at it, you can kill the enemy with sheer sarcasm.¡± His face grew grim. ¡°Again.¡±


    His muscles protested the movement, but Perelor fell into stance, keeping a careful eye on Crelang. Though he insisted otherwise, Crelang was incredible with his lasertip. And he knew how to teach the art, too. Though he hadn¡¯t given many details about his past, Perelor suspected he¡¯d been a high-ranking military man before he¡¯d ended up here. He¡¯d won every duel he¡¯d fought with ease, and had survived several raids with the Talar slave squadrons himself.


    Perelor would figure out how to beat Crelang, though. He had to be at least as competent with this weapon as he had been with the sword.


    For all the good it did you that day, a part of him whispered. The voice was unsettling, and his guard fell for a moment. Crelang stepped forward, stabbing at Perelor¡¯s stomach. Perelor batted the blow away, but awkwardly, leaving him open. He winced, waiting for Crelang to strike the finishing blow. Another bout lost¡­


    Alarm bells rang.


    Immediately, both Crelang and Perelor stepped away from each other, exchanging worried glances. The alarm didn¡¯t always mean the Artensians were coming, but when it did¡­


    Perelor shivered, looking to the sky. Nothing. He let himself relax a little, then even more when a messenger came running by. ¡°Whipping at the North Square!¡±


    Beside Perelor, Crelang, too, let his shoulders slump. Slowly a smile crossed his face.


    ¡°They won¡¯t take attendance, you know.¡±


    Perelor nodded. They wouldn¡¯t; there were too many slaves to do that. They¡¯d send guards patrolling through camp, but those weren¡¯t hard to avoid. Times like these were usually when Perelor and Crelang would practice memory burning together. It was even rarer ¡ª and even more important ¡ª than sparring time; Crelang was the only other competent memory burner Perelor had ever encountered. At least, the only one who would admit to their powers.


    ¡°I know.¡± He hesitated. ¡°Let me get Eliel first.¡±


    Crelang frowned. ¡°Perelor, as much as I love your sister¡­ she¡¯s not exactly good at the whole burning thing. Besides, what if she has an episode?¡±


    That¡¯s exactly why I have to be near her, Perelor thought. Beside him, Crelang nodded in understanding. Perelor chided himself. He wasn¡¯t Infused with any Ever. Because of that, other memory burners, including Crelang, could read his thoughts. That wasn¡¯t a problem right now, but if Larsh or one of the other memory burners she employed came near, they¡¯d be exposed.


    ¡°I see,¡± Crelang said. ¡°Well, get her quickly. They like making a show of it, but they won¡¯t take too long. Got to keep us working.¡± He said the last part bitterly.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be quick,¡± Perelor said. He Reached, burning nearby thoughts to infuse himself with Ever, not much of it, but enough to keep his mind shielded. ¡°Don¡¯t do anything stupid while I¡¯m gone.¡±


    ¡°No promises,¡± Crelang said. ¡°At least, not by your definition of stupid.¡± He grinned again. He did that a lot. Perelor wasn¡¯t sure how he managed it, in a place like this.


    Knowing him, though, that promise was the best Perelor was going to get. Perelor jogged away, off of the gravel and into the dirt-covered streets of the slave camp.


    The camp wasn¡¯t exactly what Perelor had envisioned when he¡¯d first heard of the Talar slave system, back on Ethea. It was hygienic; each Elekhai had enough space to avoid the spread of infection, and there was running water and comfortable enough cots in each of the cement huts. There were restrooms and baths, too, though slaves didn¡¯t wash quite as regularly as Perelor had when he was free.


    No, the conditions weren¡¯t awful. What was awful was the feeling of the place. Everything was perfectly utilitarian. The clothes were all the same, purple and gray uniforms, with occasional variations in the collars and embroideries depending on the slave¡¯s profession. Decorations were not allowed. Each cement hut had the same dimensions, same layout, regardless of who lived there. Even the way the slaves groomed themselves was regulated. The overall message was clear: you are not a person, you are an object. A tool. Outlive your usefulness, and we will throw you away.


    It was wrong. Horrifyingly wrong. The downcast faces of those Perelor passed tugged at his heartstrings. Tugged at his honor. A part of him wanted to light up with Ever right now, and burn as many of the guards as he could to cinders.


    But, of course, that would accomplish nothing. Memory burners were powerful, but they weren¡¯t gods. He¡¯d just get himself killed. There was nothing he could do.


    That was what he hated most.


    Weaving his way through the crowd, which was making its way toward the North Square, Perelor arrived at his cement hut in just a few minutes. Inside, there were four cots ¨C one for Perelor, one for Eliel, and two for the other slaves that had been assigned to this building. Perelor knew little about them, he¡¯d never been able to get them talking. Currently, one was lying on his cot, coughing up a storm. The man was getting old. Perelor worried the guards would dispose of him soon; in their eyes, he was just a waste of food. When they tried that, Perelor¡¯s honor would demand he interfere.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    He didn¡¯t have time to fret about that now, though. Because Eliel wasn¡¯t here.


    Panic rose in Perelor¡¯s chest, though he quickly forced it down. She was probably just at the North Square, watching with everyone else. It would be difficult to find her, but with his memory sense, it wouldn¡¯t be impossible.


    He dashed back into the crowd, which grew thicker as he made his way toward the Square. He had to squeeze and shove to get near the front. He froze when someone he pushed fell over, but another slave quickly helped them back up, and he forced himself to continue onward.


    It was loud here, loud enough Perelor doubted Eliel could hear him, but he shouted her name anyway. As he did, he focused on the thoughts of those around him. It wasn¡¯t easy, with so many active minds nearby, but he could pick out a few voices that sounded almost like her. A young girl, near the back of the crowd, clutching a doll¡­ no, that wasn¡¯t it. A woman, who stared down at her feet, lifted her wrinkling hands¡­ no, Eliel wasn¡¯t that old.


    He focused on the last potential voice, then froze. That was Eliel. He knew the pulse of her thoughts as distinctively as he knew her face. And she was being held by a Talar guard, blood dripping down her cheeks, blood that mixed with tears and sweat.


    Perelor screamed. The sound drew curious eyes, but he did not care, and he couldn¡¯t have contained it if he tried. Growling, he pushed his way through the crowd, shoving, elbowing, doing everything he could to make his way to Eliel. Eventually, people parted for him, and he burst out of the crowd, finding himself in the center of the North Square.


    It wasn¡¯t a beautiful place, not at all like Squares in the cities of Ethea ¨C it was just a large cement pad where slaves would gather to witness an event, usually a punishment. In the center, a small stone cube rose above the rest of the structure, just large enough for a dozen or so men to stand on it.


    Right now, that cube was surrounded by Talar soldiers. On top of it, a man in gleaming insect-like armor held a long, segmented metal whip. It crackled and popped, electricity flowing freely through its center. Beside that man, two more Talar soldiers held a prisoner.


    Eliel.


    As he¡¯d seen with his memory sense, she was already caked in blood. A long gash ran across her forehead, not deep enough to strike bone, but deep enough that she was growing pale. Her eyes turned to Perelor as he exited the crowd. They were wide. She wasn¡¯t even shaking; she¡¯d frozen up, as she often did in situations like this.


    Keep your sister safe, son.


    Perelor snarled, stepping toward the guards surrounding the platform. They leveled their blasters at him. Perelor hesitated.


    ¡°No closer!¡± one of them yelled. ¡°Back away, or we shoot.¡±


    For a moment, Perelor stood still, debating if he should advance anyway. Then one of the soldiers fired a warning shot into the ground. The shriek forced Perelor to his senses, and he stumbled back, raising his hands in surrender ¨C for now.


    They won¡¯t hurt her. They can¡¯t. I won¡¯t let them.


    His eyes drifted toward the whip, and suddenly, he wasn¡¯t so sure. Dread crept up his spine. He wouldn¡¯t lose her. He couldn¡¯t.


    She was all he had left.


    Someone handed the whip master a vocoder, which he placed near his mouth. He spoke, and his voice echoed across the entire Square.


    ¡°Those of you who worked in the mines know well why we are gathered here today.¡±


    There had been gossip before, but now the slaves fell silent. One of them, near Perelor, looked down at his feet. He was wearing a miner¡¯s uniform.


    Maybe he knows what happened.


    The whipmaster gestured toward Eliel. ¡°This Elek thought it wise to try and stall our war effort. She collapsed a vein of ethium, on purpose. Two men died, both of them Elekhai themselves, though she did not seem to care.¡±


    This drew a couple of shouts of outrage from the crowd. One of those cries Perelor could distinctly make out: hang her.


    No! I won¡¯t let you. He almost stepped forward again, but then his eyes fixed on the guards again. Two of them still had their blasters aimed at his chest. If he tried anything ¨C even Reaching for Ever ¨C he¡¯d be shot.


    ¡°I just wanted to help,¡± Eliel mumbled. ¡°I didn¡¯t think I would end up¡­¡±


    ¡°She has been sentenced to two dozen lashings,¡± the whipmaster continued, ignoring her. ¡°To be administered immediately.¡±


    The guards holding Eliel suddenly threw her to the ground, then forced her back onto her knees. She yelped, eyes staring pleadingly at Perelor. The whipmaster stepped behind her, raising his weapon.


    ¡°One.¡±


    He swung downward. The whip sizzled as it struck Eliel¡¯s flesh, electricity burning her cracked skin. She shrieked. Blood flowed freely down her back. Perelor knew instantly from that one blow that two dozen of these lashings would kill her.


    The whipmaster cocked his whip back again. ¡°Two.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Perelor yelled. ¡°Stop! Stop!¡± He was surprised at the forcefulness of his voice. He stepped forward, hands in the air, an idea forming in his mind. The guards did not shoot, though their hands tightened on their blasters. ¡°Stop.¡±


    The whipmaster¡¯s head immediately turned to Perelor. He snorted.


    ¡°You really think it wise to interrupt me, boy? I will kill you, too.¡±


    Perelor didn¡¯t flinch. Instead, he looked up, meeting the whipmaster¡¯s helm-covered gaze. ¡°I take the whippings,¡± he said. ¡°All two dozen lashings. I take all of them.¡±


    The whipmaster was silent for a long moment. Then he let out a static-filled chuckle. ¡°You invoke the tradition of atonement?¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± Perelor said. It was a Talar thing, and he knew little of it, but he¡¯d seen people use it a few times before. In theory, you could take someone else¡¯s punishment for them.


    In theory. Perelor had learned from experience that, though tradition ran strong here, Talar cruelty was not something to be underestimated.


    The whipmaster motioned to the guards standing beside Eliel. He took off his vocoder, and they stepped away, talking for a moment. Perelor remained standing in the center of the square, hands above his head, the other Talar soldiers still pointing their blasters at his chest. His heart pounded. Would they just kill him, and then whip Eliel anyway? Had he just doomed them both?


    It took several minutes, but finally, the conversation ended, and the whipmaster stuck his vocoder back on.


    ¡°In an intriguing turn of fate,¡± the whipmaster said, ¡°this young Elek has invoked the right of atonement. He shall intercede between death and the girl, as the Endowed shall intercede between Oblivion and mankind. We will lash him until he either dies, or takes her punishment in full.¡± The whipmaster¡¯s head turned down to Perelor. ¡°Should he die, however, the girl will receive the remaining lashes. Justice does not see the hand that pays it, but it will be paid.¡± He paused. ¡°Unless you wish to back down?¡±


    Perelor¡¯s stomach sank. He¡¯d seen beatings like this before. Usually, the victim died at around ten strokes. He might be able to survive a little longer than that, but even if he survived fifteen, that still meant another eight for Eliel. That still might be enough to kill her ¨C she wasn¡¯t exactly healthy, these days, with the lack of treatment for her Soulcurse.


    But then, it was her only chance. Their only chance. He raised his voice.


    ¡°I accept.¡±


    The whipmaster nodded. ¡°So be it.¡± He waved his hand, and the guards who had pointed blasters at Perelor strode toward him. One slammed the butt of his gun into Perelor¡¯s stomach, and he doubled over. The soldiers each grabbed one of his arms, dragging him to the cement platform, then lifting him atop it. In the corner of his vision, he could see another set of guards dragging Eliel away. She looked a little less pale now, though her eyes were glazed over with shock.


    I¡¯m sorry, he thought. I should have stopped this earlier. He met her eyes. This might be the last time he saw her, he realized. Twenty-four lashings was a death sentence, and he¡¯d just taken it.


    Strange, how little he cared about his death, even in the face of it.


    The Talar wasted no time. The guards kicked Perelor to his knees, then stepped back. Without hesitation, the whip master snapped his arm downward, and the electric, metal chain struck Perelor¡¯s back.


    The blow came with such force, he nearly fell on his face. He felt his flesh burn and smoke, and blood dripped down his spine. He gasped as the pain hit him, an explosion of agony lashing across his skin.


    ¡°Two!¡± the whipmaster yelled.


    The whip came down again. Again flesh burned. The pain intensified.


    ¡°Three!¡±


    The whip came down again. And again, and again, and again. Pain became a blur. Black spots danced across Perelor¡¯s eyes. The voice of the whipmaster became distant. He didn¡¯t know how far he¡¯d made it anymore. Six? Ten? His clothes were wet with sticky redness. His thoughts felt disconnected, as if this were happening to someone else. Was this how it really felt to die? Just an increasing numbness, until finally you descended into Torment?


    For a moment, fear gripped him, and he debated rising, and letting Eliel take this burden. Then he remembered his father¡¯s charred eye sockets, and he let out a growl. Those thoughts were traitorous. Dishonorable. He steeled himself.


    But he was not made of steel. And the whip kept coming down. Hit after hit, cut after cut, he felt himself fading. He could have sworn he saw fiery red lines of light, writhing around him, spirits that signaled what was to come.


    Then the whip stopped.


    ¡°Twenty-four.¡± The whipmaster¡¯s voice was not so excited anymore. Now he sounded as shocked as Perelor felt.


    Perelor closed his eyes, bracing himself for another strike. He was delusional, wasn¡¯t he? He had to be. No one survived two dozen lashings.


    Nothing hit him, though. Instead, a guard rolled him over. Perelor¡¯s body ached as it moved, though that added very little pain compared to the agony that spread across his back. Another soldier hoisted him to his feet. He trembled on weak legs, then fell. The guard yanked him back up, and this time, he kept his footing, though his vision still swam. He could hear people talking. They sounded so distant, though he knew they weren¡¯t. One set of voices was the whipmaster, talking with Traegus Yral, the local noble. When had he arrived? The other, though, was his sister. She was crying.


    ¡°No, no, no, no. I¡¯m sorry, Perelor. I¡¯m so, so sorry. This is all my fault¡­¡±


    Briefly, he saw someone moving toward him, though a flash of purple indicated a guard pushing that someone back. Perelor stumbled forward, barely catching himself. He felt so weak. He almost reflexively pulled in Ever; at least then his mind would still function.


    Finally, a hand shoved Perelor forward, hard. He flew off the whipping platform, crashing to the cement below. The skin on his face tore as he hit, opening up gashes in his cheeks, though he hardly cared.


    ¡°The boy has taken the girl¡¯s punishment,¡± a voice declared. Shal Yral¡¯s voice, rather than the whipmaster¡¯s. ¡°His fate will be determined by the Endowed now. The girl is free.¡± The way he said that last sentence implied something different: she is free ¡ª for now.


    Groaning, Perelor rolled onto his left side, the place that hurt the least to lean on. Vision gradually clearing, he watched as the crowd dispersed, moving silently back to their daily tasks. In the background, he heard his sister sobbing, protesting as guards held her back. Finally, he heard Traegus interfere, letting her pass.


    ¡°Perelor! I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m so sorry, I never wanted this.¡± She kept repeating that as she rushed toward him, falling to her knees. Tears streamed down her face, tears that were mixing with sweat and blood. She¡¯d lost plenty of it. She needed medical attention.


    So do you, a piece of him whispered. Lay down. Wait for Crelang.


    But his father¡¯s charred eye sockets disagreed. It took all his strength to stand, but he stood, extending out his beaten hands to steady himself.


    ¡°We need¡­ to get you¡­¡± His voice was a rasp. He collapsed.


    Eliel caught him, then swung his arm over her shoulder. Limbs exhausted, mind numb, Perelor had no choice but to let her walk him back through the camp, then lay him down on the cot.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to get Crelang,¡± she said. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sorry, Perelor. I just wanted to save the trapped miners, I never thought it would collapse.¡± She shook her head. ¡°Focus, Eliel. Hang on, I¡¯ll get Crelang.¡± She left.


    Perelor cocked back his head, staring at the gray cement ceiling. It was strange, his mind was so foggy, yet so clear all the same. He understood little, yet he understood what was important.


    Keep your sister safe, son.


    ¡°Okron,¡± he whispered. He rarely addressed the Goddess anymore, but he did today. ¡°Please don¡¯t let me lose her. She¡¯s all I have left. Please don¡¯t let me lose her. She¡¯s all I have left. Please don¡¯t let me¡­¡±


    He repeated that prayer, over and over, nearly delusional from blood loss, until finally, his body gave in to unconsciousness.


    Just a year later, that prayer would go unanswered.

 Chapter 3 - The One Who Cannot See

    6 Years Later...


    Hope conquers fear.


    -The Rift Code, Line 2


    The Talar slave squadrons were a death sentence, but a simple one. You fought, and you died. There was no hope for rebellion, no chance of escape. You fought, and you died.


    That was the point. The squadrons were not truly a fighting force; they were a spectacle. Oh, the Talar would deny it. Fight the enemy boldly, kill as many as you could, and you could go free. Prove your valor, they said, and you could earn your place in the army.


    As if the Talar knew anything about valor.


    But, Perelor had none of that left himself anymore. Twisting his lasertip in his hand, he swept his eyes over the still-forming crowd, arms folded behind his back, falling into line beside the other slave captains. They were cleanly dressed in their native country¡¯s uniforms, with a camera attached to the side of their heads, just as their masters demanded. Though they twitched uncomfortably, they stood at attention, eyes fixed firmly on the purple-clad Talar guards who oversaw them. None bore any weapons except Perelor; that was technically against the rules until the recording started. No one tried to take his lasertip away, though ¡ª the Talar had learned not to try that a long time ago.


    Strange that this group was so obedient. Slaves who came here were usually selected because they¡¯d tried to fight Larsh¡¯s growing regime. Granted, they were tortured beforehand, and pain broke people in ways the innocent wouldn¡¯t think possible. Perelor understood that far more now than he had in his earlier years.


    The new slaves assembled into a jumbled formation on the dusty ground in front of the captains. Like their superiors, each was dressed in their home country¡¯s colors, creating a chaotic patchwork of hues. More importantly, a camera had been attached to the side of each person¡¯s head. That camera was more armored than the slaves themselves, the cylindrical body covered in a thick sheet of titanium, the lens layered over multiple times with heavy glass, the antenna sheathed in carbon fiber. The slaves didn¡¯t matter, just the cameras. Perelor¡¯s hand tightened angrily on his lasertip.


    The slaves finished forming up, and the choosing began. As always, Cyrla ¡ª the overseer of the squadrons ¡ª asked Perelor if he wanted the first pick, and, as always, Perelor refused. He took the leftovers. He stepped away from the slaves as the others began their bickering, leaning against an old crate. Closing his eyes.


    Keep your sister safe, son.


    Five years. Today was the anniversary of the day he¡¯d failed, and Eliel had been torn from him. Five years of punishment from Larsh, and five years of watching men he wished he could care for die, over and over and over.


    His eye, the one with the slave brand seared into it, burned. His arm ached, too, and the dagger waiting on his belt whispered to him. He hadn¡¯t been able to resist the temptation last night, and his healing Surge was missing a large chunk of its charge. If he weren¡¯t in public, he suspected he¡¯d give in again. The memories were just too strong today. Why couldn¡¯t he just forget, truly and properly this time?


    He twisted his weapon in his hand, drowning out the thrum of engines, the chatter of slaves. The echoes, which still whispered, even if they were too quiet now for him to make out the words. He pushed all the sounds away, and tried to let the memories fade. For a moment, it almost worked.


    Flames.


    Blood.


    Screams.


    Rubble.


    And a blade he so desperately wanted to thrust through himself¡­


    ¡°Okron save us. Okron save us. Okron save us.¡±


    The sound caught him off guard, and pushed the old memories away. His eyes flashed open, darting toward it. It came from a boy, near the back of the remaining crowd. He was trembling, and his eyes were glazed over and scarred.


    Perelor¡¯s teeth ground together. Who sends the blind to war?


    The child¡¯s camera stared at him in reply. Perelor forced himself to relax, then returned to fiddling with his lasertip. The boy would probably end up in his squadron anyway. The other captains always took the fittest slaves they could; it gave them the best chance of survival, they said. As if survival were possible. He tried to close his eyes again, though the boy continued to pray, and the cries kept him on edge. That was Talar the kid was speaking. They even sent their own to die, it seemed. Not that this should surprise him.


    There was a pause as a captain finished making his picks, then marched off with his new men. The next officer stepped up, a man in green and silver Herreon robes. Iravin, was that his name? No, that wasn¡¯t quite right. Irik? No, that wasn¡¯t it either. Names were hard here, with so many deaths in such a brief period. But he recognized the face. This was the Voidling who had tried a charge during the last battle. He¡¯d gotten half of his men killed, yet somehow made it out unscathed. Idiot. He began making his way through the ranks, his expression hawkish as he chose his slaves.


    The boy was still praying, his voice growing louder and more hysterical. Finally, a guard slid in between the crowd, grabbing the kid by his shoulder, then slamming the butt of his rifle into the child¡¯s stomach. The praying ceased, and the guard stepped away, but the choosing captain¡¯s eyes immediately whipped toward the boy.


    ¡°A blind one?¡± he hissed.


    The guard shrugged.


    ¡°Are you trying to get us killed?¡± the captain continued. Iralik, that was his name. Perelor remembered it now. ¡°We can¡¯t take him into combat; he¡¯ll muck up our fighting. I request his execution. Immediately.¡±


    Perelor growled. Killing the boy? For nothing? All you had to do was tell him to hang back. Give him a guide, so he didn¡¯t get in the way. That was all it took.


    The guard hesitated, then shrugged again. ¡°Suit yourself.¡± He grabbed the boy¡¯s shoulder, then threw him to the ground, then tossed a lasertip toward Iralik. ¡°Just do it with your own hands. Don¡¯t need any more blood on my armor.¡±


    The boy whimpered. Iralik pointed the lasertip at the child¡¯s chest, though he hesitated himself, finger lingering on the trigger. Time slowed.


    You know what you have to do, son, his father¡¯s voice said.


    So he can die later?


    Honor doesn¡¯t get to choose its battles, his father replied.


    He paused. Cursed. Then stood straight, snapping his lasertip outward as he strode toward Iralik.


    ¡°Enough.¡±


    Iralik¡¯s eyes turned up toward Perelor. He growled. ¡°He¡¯ll get us killed.¡±


    ¡°Enough,¡± Perelor repeated. Iralik¡¯s expression hardened, and his hand itched toward the trigger, but Perelor was close enough now that it didn¡¯t matter. He thrust his blade forward, forcing Iralik to parry. A quick flick of Perelor¡¯s wrist, and Iralik¡¯s lasertip rammed into the ground. Iralik¡¯s eyes widened with shock, shock that quickly morphed to pain as Perelor kicked him, then snatched his opponent¡¯s weapon from a loose fist. Both weapons in hand, Perelor whirled to face the nearby guard, who stepped back, raising his hands in surrender.


    ¡°Torment! Relax, Krot.¡±


    Captain Iralik rose to his feet, grimacing, then growling. ¡°He¡¯s my pick,¡± he hissed. ¡°I pick him, and I say that he dies.¡±


    Perelor didn¡¯t flinch. ¡°I have seniority. I pick before you. He¡¯s mine.¡±


    ¡°You gave up that right,¡± Iralik spat. ¡°You said you would take the leftovers.¡± He snatched his lasertip back, aiming it at the boy. Before he could fire, though, Perelor slammed his own lasertip like a staff into Iralik¡¯s skull. The other captain tumbled back to the ground. This time, Perelor stepped on top of him, pressing the tip of the blade into Iralik¡¯s neck, just enough to draw a few drops of blood. Then he leaned downward, his breath in Iralik¡¯s face.


    ¡°You know why I take the leftovers, Captain? Because I don¡¯t need good soldiers on my team to survive. I¡¯ve been here five years. You¡¯ll be lucky if you last a few weeks. Cross me again, and I¡¯ll make sure those weeks turn into days.¡±


    For a moment, Iralik¡¯s face twisted with hatred, but then that expression wilted. Slowly, Perelor stepped off of him. ¡°Go finish your choosing,¡± he said. He grabbed the blind boy¡¯s hand, pulled him to his feet, then helped him back over to the crate, eyeing Iralik as he walked. Searing Voidling. Unfortunately, men like him were common here. That worried Perelor. His sister¡¯s ailment wasn¡¯t that much different from being blind, not in war. If she ended up in a place like this, would they kill her, too?


    Iralik finished choosing, as did the two captains after him, and Perelor found himself facing the remaining slaves ¡ª his new men. They were a sorry lot. Half of them were looking at the ground, the other half twitching uncomfortably. The majority were undoubtedly Soulcursed, disabled by the interference of the Void in the physical realm. That made sense; the other Captains hoarded as many of the non-Soulcursed slaves as they could. Better odds of survival.


    Perelor didn¡¯t need the odds in his favor, though. The Purity Surge in his back ensured that much.


    ¡°Listen up.¡± His voice was weak. Tired. It always was these days. ¡°We¡¯re taking Cruiser A today. Lasertips are inside. You should already have some basic training. Unfortunately, that is all you¡¯ll receive.¡± His fist tightened in frustration.


    This was the part where he was supposed to give some grand speech about valor, and how, if the slaves proved themselves, they could escape these camps. He was supposed to tell them why they were in their native uniforms, and that if they fought well enough, they could prove their planet worthy of becoming part of Talar.


    But, it was a lie. And true valor, the kind of valor his father had believed in, that didn¡¯t lie.


    ¡°Men,¡± he whispered. ¡°You are going to die. I will do my best to save you. But I¡¯m also not going to lie to you. We¡¯re launching a frontal assault, and most of you will not make it out alive. I advise you to abandon your hope. It will only serve for sorrow here.¡±


    The men bristled. A few wept. ¡°Okron save us,¡± the blind boy whispered.


    She won¡¯t, Perelor thought bitterly. I wish she would, but she won¡¯t.


    ¡°Sir!¡±


    Perelor turned toward the noise. The speaker was a young man, somewhere in his late teens, who stood with one hand in a fist behind his back, the other in a salute at his chest. Like Perelor himself, he had bright white hair, and wore a blue and silver Ethean uniform. Perelor frowned. He knew little of what had happened on his homeworld since the invasion. This man¡¯s presence here wasn¡¯t exactly comforting, though.


    ¡°Yes, soldier?¡±


    ¡°The Talar claim we can go free if we fight with honor. How do we do that?¡±


    Perelor snorted. ¡°The Talar know nothing of honor.¡± He motioned forward. ¡°Form up.¡±


    The others started clumsily falling into a formation, but the Ethean stayed at attention. ¡°Captain. I don¡¯t intend to stay here any longer than I have to. The Talar say I can go free if I fight with valor. Is that true?¡±


    He raised his voice as he spoke, and the others perked up. Perelor swore under his breath. One of the hopeful ones. Those were always the worst. Given enough time, they ended up like Iralik. Broken, and bitter.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    But, he¡¯d need to address it. Mutinies were all too common here. He cleared his throat, then spoke as loud as he could.


    ¡°What did they tell you valor was, soldier?¡±


    ¡°Fighting the enemy bravely, sir,¡± the Ethean said. ¡°Taking down as many of them as we can, no matter the danger.¡± He let his salute fall. ¡°We can do it, sir. If we fight hard enough, our entire squad can go free. We can see our families again.¡± He turned, meeting the eyes of the slaves. ¡°We just need to work together, fight hard enough. We can leave this place.¡±


    Some of the slaves remained downcast, but others perked up. The blind boy straightened beside Perelor, muttering another prayer under his breath ¡ª a prayer for good fortune. Others muttered their assent. Perelor could feel their echoes, faint, but there, hopeful. They believed this man, as much as they could believe in anything. They genuinely hoped they could go free.


    They placed that hope in a lie. A lie that would simply kill them faster.


    ¡°At attention!¡± Perelor yelled. For once, his voice did not betray him. The slaves immediately snapped into posture, at least, what little posture they could manage. Perelor sheathed his lasertip, then began stalking through their ranks, heading straight for the Ethean. The man¡¯s eyes widened, and he placed his hand back on his chest ¡ª a traditional Ethean gesture of respect. Perelor raised an eyebrow, nodding to the hand.


    ¡°Trying to gain my pity, are you, soldier?¡±


    The Ethean paled. ¡°No, sir.¡±


    ¡°Then put the searing hand down. I¡¯m not Ethean anymore. Neither are you.¡±


    The man hesitated. Perelor growled. ¡°I said put it down, soldier.¡±


    His hand snapped back downward. ¡°Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.¡±


    ¡°You have military training. Shame they wasted it on you. What¡¯s your number?¡±


    ¡°My name is¡­¡±


    ¡°I said your number, soldier.¡±


    The Ethean gulped. ¡°I¡­ N527, sir.¡±


    Perelor hesitated a moment, then made his choice. ¡°Well, N527, you¡¯re demoted. You¡¯ll be on the first row during the battle today. Enjoy Torment.¡±


    He turned and walked back to the front of the squadron before he could regret his decision. ¡°Forward march! Ahek, we¡¯re late. You can thank N527 for wasting our time.¡±


    He moved ahead, and the slaves followed. The blind boy, who was still at the front, stumbled behind Perelor, still muttering his prayer, helped along by a solemn, elderly Herreon man. He was far too old to be fighting. Most of them were not fit for this, whether because of a Soulcurse or their age or just their lack of training. This was no march of soldiers, this was a funeral procession of corpses waiting to die. Perelor wished he could change that.


    But he couldn¡¯t, and so they would die, just as the men who had died before them. The faces of those fallen souls flashed through Perelor¡¯s mind. He cringed.


    I¡¯m sorry.


    Making their way across the dusty surface of the staging ground, the squadron arrived at their troop carrier a few minutes later, grabbing the lasertips that waited nearby. The ship consisted of a belly where the troops waited, along with a single cockpit. It was larger than usual; it had been made from a gutted-out luxury cruiser, though the new additions were nothing to gawk at: the armor was thin, and the only weapons were a pair of pitiful plasma guns at the front. The doors were open, and the slaves filed in, moving to spots on the floor where their number sat scratched into the metal. N527, the Ethean, hesitated, but Perelor shot him a glare, and he swapped out one of the men in the front. Perelor couldn¡¯t help but notice the blind child was in the first row. He pursed his lips. Searing Voidlings.


    You just condemned someone, too, his father¡¯s voice chided him. Don¡¯t pretend you¡¯re any better than them.


    He winced, but the damage was already done. Breathing in, he made his way to the front, inspecting the men as he went. It was an average crew, at least for the leftovers. They¡¯d probably lose, oh, thirty out of the forty? Maybe twenty if he fought hard¡­


    No. Don¡¯t lie to yourself. There¡¯s nothing you can do.


    He cleared his throat, then barked out his next orders. ¡°Split into five groups. Practice thrusts and parries. But be careful. If you wound another soldier, their blood is on your hands.¡±


    The soldiers ¡ª if you could call them that ¡ª obeyed, splitting up by row. Perelor watched as they trained, noting by the hum of engines outside that the fleet was beginning to take off. After watching for a few moments, he turned and moved into the cockpit.


    There, three men awaited, a pilot, a copilot, and Arrus, his second-in-command. He was a thin, tan-skinned Talar teen, no older than sixteen by Perelor¡¯s estimates. His hair was a bright blonde, rather than the usual Talar brown, and he wore a purple uniform, though a large rune at its center marked him for what he was: a Soulcursed. An Elekhai, in Talar terms. Arrus was a strange case here; he¡¯d been born into Talar nobility, but had fallen from grace the moment he¡¯d been discovered to be Soulcursed. Fortunately, his noble birth allowed him to wield a Surgeblade, which he wore now on his left hip. Perelor still wasn¡¯t sure why he was allowed that. Supposedly it had been a gift from a noble from House Magala, though he didn¡¯t understand why any Talar leader would care enough to give one away. He smiled as Perelor entered.


    ¡°Well hello there. You¡¯re in a lovely mood today. Your poor victims might not even be able to pull the trigger.¡±


    Perelor grunted, then sniffed. Arrus was wearing heavy cologne. Where had he gotten more of it? ¡°I¡¯d rather they know the truth. Besides, you¡¯ve seen the people who come through here. Do you really think any of them are going to get out alive?¡±


    ¡°No. But that doesn¡¯t mean you have to tell them that.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll thank me when they know the truth.¡±


    ¡°Will they? They already know what¡¯s going to happen.¡± Arrus sighed. ¡°It¡¯s going to be a bad one, I think. The Miradorans have intercepted our transmissions. They know we¡¯re coming.¡±


    ¡°Then it¡¯s good I¡¯m telling our men the truth.¡±


    Arrus frowned, but said nothing. ¡°We should be leaving soon. I don¡¯t have much else to tell you. Except¡­¡±


    ¡°Except?¡±


    Arrus hesitated, wincing. ¡°There¡¯s a new shipment of slaves coming in. All the way from Xilia.¡±


    Perelor froze. ¡°Have you checked?¡±


    ¡°You know how risky that is for me.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Perelor sighed. ¡°Alright.¡± He couldn¡¯t ask that of his friend. Though I could go myself¡­


    There was a long pause. Then Arrus straightened. ¡°Any luck with your powers recently?¡±


    Perelor scowled.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take that as a no.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a memory burner, Arrus. Not anymore.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think it works like that.¡±


    ¡°I used to think that, too. But they don¡¯t work now, no matter what I do.¡± He shook his head. ¡°I should go tell the men. They deserve to know how they¡¯re going to die.¡± He strode to the door. ¡°Keep yourself out of trouble.¡±


    Arrus smiled, somehow, even though there was worry in his eyes. Pain. Okron, how did he manage it? ¡°According to you, we¡¯re always in trouble.¡±


    Perelor snorted, then strode back into the hold. There, the men were still clumsily practicing with their lasertips. They were horrible at it. Their form was off, their stances were downright awful, and half of them were tripping over themselves. They were cannon fodder, but then, that was the point.


    ¡°Enough practice,¡± Perelor called out. The slaves halted. ¡°Our orders have come in. We¡¯re going to storm the beach, and open up space for dropships. Your cameras will be live, so don¡¯t try anything against regulations. Understood?¡±


    The slaves mumbled their affirmation. Perelor gave them a curt nod. ¡°Fight well.¡±


    And die well, too.


    The ship rumbled, then took off, jerking slightly as it made its way up through the atmosphere. Perelor¡¯s eyes instinctively turned toward the hold window, right behind where he stood. In standard troop carriers, it would cover half the wall, allowing soldiers to see through the ship¡¯s shields and out into the battlefield. Here, it was little more than a slit, designed instead to keep the slaves from seeing the fighting, lest they rebel.


    The ship moved fast, and within a few moments, they were out in space. The wormhole glittered in the distance, a golden pinprick of light among the stars. Once they struck that pinprick, they¡¯d be able to teleport to any other planet in Delti. Then the slaughter would begin once more. He could practically hear the lasertips clashing, the plasma crackling. The scent of flesh burning. And the green mist, pouring out of the mouths of the fallen, turning red as it drifted upward, then faded¡­


    He shook himself from his stupor, cursing softly. The blind boy. He needed to take care of that. His eyes drifted to the child, who was shaking, and despite everything, still muttering a prayer.


    Voidlings.


    He walked away from the window, heading for the Ethean who had spoken up earlier. ¡°N527. To the front. I need to speak with you.¡±


    The young man whitened, but followed Perelor to the window. From there, Perelor pointed toward the blind soldier.


    ¡°You¡¯ve noticed him, I assume?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    ¡°And what do you think of it?¡±


    The man hesitated. ¡°They¡¯re vret for it,¡± he hissed. ¡°I hope they all burn in the Tomb.¡±


    Perelor nodded. ¡°Good. Because that¡¯s exactly what I think of it.¡± He met N527¡¯s eyes. ¡°Do you know what those cameras on your head are for, soldier?¡±


    ¡°To know if we¡¯ve proved our valor.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the story. But do you know what they¡¯re really there for?¡±


    N527 hesitated, then cursed. ¡°Yes. I know. I¡¯ve seen the recordings, before I ended up here. They¡¯re capturing our deaths, to broadcast as propaganda. To keep people afraid.¡±


    Perelor nodded. ¡°Then you know why I demoted you. We won¡¯t prove our valor, soldier. We can¡¯t. This place isn¡¯t just brutal, it¡¯s designed to kill us.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± N527 said. ¡°I thought perhaps I could invigorate them. I¡¯m sorry. That was the wrong way of going about it.¡±


    ¡°No harm done, soldier.¡± Hopefully. Perelor pointed toward the boy again. ¡°But I have a task for you. The child is a liability. I hate to say it, but it¡¯s true. I want you to help him. Switch spots with one of the men nearby, and make certain he doesn¡¯t fire his lasertip, or trip us up. Hang in the back once we land. Bladewielders willing, that¡¯ll increase everyone¡¯s odds.¡±


    N527 nodded. ¡°I can do that.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡± Perelor cursed. ¡°Searing Voidlings.¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t agree more.¡± N527 hesitated. ¡°What¡¯s your name, sir? I don¡¯t think you ever told us your name?¡±


    Perelor tensed, falling silent.


    ¡°Sir?¡±


    ¡°Never learn a soldier¡¯s name,¡± he hissed.


    The intercom beeped. Perelor dismissed N527 with a wave of his hand, turning toward the window, thankful for the abrupt end to the conversation. How could he even explain his logic to someone who had not fought here yet? Well, he¡¯d understand soon enough what Perelor meant.


    They were almost to the wormhole. Arrus exited the cockpit a moment later, Surgeblade now drawn. His face was creased with worry, though he pushed that worry away as the slaves¡¯ eyes turned to him, smiling at them and flourishing his blade. Perelor fell into line beside him, yelling to the slaves.


    ¡°To your posts, and stay there. Battle stances. This won¡¯t be an easy ride, but I want you ready at the end.¡± He turned to Arrus.


    ¡°Anything new?¡±


    ¡°Nothing. Command has gone silent. We¡¯ll find out how bad it is when we get there, I guess.¡± He glanced backward. ¡°A blind kid?¡±


    ¡°Yup,¡± Perelor said. ¡°Voidlings.¡±


    ¡°Amen to that,¡± Arrus muttered. ¡°Did you at least pair him up with someone?¡±


    ¡°Yes. N527. Tried to speak up earlier about attacking. Felt bad about shutting him up, so I gave him a job.¡±


    ¡°Huh. Well, hopefully they make a good team.¡±


    ¡°They won¡¯t. But we can hope.¡±


    The sirens grew louder. Arrus tensed. ¡°Endowed save us,¡± he whispered.


    If we can save her first, Perelor thought.


    The ship¡¯s speakers crackled to life. ¡°Preparing for entry. Five.¡± The voice over the intercom was a robotic monotone, unflinching, uncaring.


    ¡°Four.¡±


    Perelor twisted his lasertip toward the slit, relaxing his muscles, forcing his hands to steady, his mind to clear. He drew in Purity from the Surge on his neck, and his skin began to glow an intense white.


    ¡°Three.¡±


    The men behind him breathed in, breathed out. Perelor tried not to think of their fate. Tried not to hope that he could save them. At least he didn¡¯t know their names. It had been worse before, when he hadn¡¯t learned it was better not to know.


    ¡°Two.¡±


    Perelor glanced toward Arrus. The young man¡¯s Surgeblade was bared, and he was now aglow with Ever. Though the glow was dimmer than others he¡¯d seen, it was still fearsome, an azure beacon of hope.


    ¡°One.¡±


    Hope is dead, Perelor reminded himself. At least, until he found Eliel. Somehow, she would bring it back, bring him back. He clung to that.


    ¡°Enter.¡±


    ¡°For Eliel,¡± he whispered, then closed his eyes as they teleported to Torment.

 Chapter 4 - A Flame In The Rain

    Pain is a shield. It is heavy to bear, but it can save your life.


    -The Rift Code, Proverbs


    Perelor drifted in a field of golden mist, eyes closed, and for a moment, he was in the past. Watching as his father came home, hugged his mother, kissed a young Eliel on the cheek. Then picked up Perelor himself, and held him. The illusion felt so real, so perfect.


    That was how he knew it wouldn¡¯t last.


    White light flashed as the wormhole did its work, and Perelor found himself back in the ship, kneeling on the floor. His stomach swirled. Nobody knew exactly how Ancient Meridian had created the wormholes, but teleporting halfway across the galaxy was not a pleasant experience for the gut. However, he was mostly used to it by now, and he quickly recovered, then knelt beside the window, looking down at the planet below. It was largely covered in blue oceans, though black, volcanic islands dotted the entire surface. Perfect for farming: rich soil, and lots of water. It was a beautiful sight. Most planets were, from a distance.


    He didn¡¯t get to stare long, though, for the enemy awaited them, positioned just outside the wormhole, where the rest of the Talar fleet would also materialize. Fighters and battlecruisers held in formation, a sphere of metal and cannons the invading force would have to penetrate. He sucked in a sharp breath. This was the worst part, where everything was chance and his lasertip was only a handle to grip amid the chaos.


    As more of the Talar ships flashed into existence, the Miradoran fighters soared inward, cannons flashing as they attempted to stifle the invasion before more Talar reinforcements arrived. Plasma struck energy shields, resulting in a sinister, unceasing crackle. Several of the slaves retched, the strain of teleportation and combat maneuvers too much for them.


    ¡°Clean up the mess,¡± Perelor ordered. ¡°I don¡¯t want anyone tripping.¡± Arrus nodded, raising his hand and burning Ever to incinerate the slop. He called out to the slaves.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. We have an escort. We¡¯ll be fine.¡± He eyed Perelor, as if expecting him to add his own reassurances.


    Perelor said nothing. The camera on the side of his head seemed to demand his silence.


    A carrier nearby blew apart, its shields and armor spent. Perelor gasped as he felt the echoes of the Talar men inside. Usually, he didn¡¯t feel those anymore, but at war, when men were dying, they were too strong to ignore. They murmured in the back of his mind, flashes of smell, taste, sound, and light, a pulsing cacophony of thoughts, mostly thoughts of fear. He shoved them to the back of his consciousness. The echoes weren¡¯t evil, but there was a chance they¡¯d awaken memories of his past. Memories that could make him hesitate ¡ª and here, those who hesitated paid in blood.


    A fighter soared past their carrier, unleashing a hail of fire that struck the bottom side of the hold floor. Perelor flinched as the bullets exploded. They did no damage; their energy shield was still operational. It was still unnerving. Several of the slaves whimpered and screamed. Arrus called out again, assuring them this would pass, and that the cruiser would survive.


    It would. They had a fighter escort, and the slave squadrons always made it to the ground; a ship¡¯s destruction didn¡¯t give enough footage for Talar propaganda to be effective.


    A shame, really. A brief death would be far preferable to what came next.


    Talar fighters streamed out of the wormhole, then split into groups to fight back their Miradoran counterparts. The carriers moved forward as the invading forces cleared a path toward the planet below. Soon enough, they were about to enter the atmosphere.


    Perelor fell into stance, ready to run, ready to fight. Out the window, he saw a blur of flames as they passed through Mirador¡¯s thermosphere. A vast, blue ocean followed the flames, dotted with islands that were in turn dotted with grain fields and storage silos. As they drew closer to their target, he saw cannons hidden within the wheat, accompanied by men who swarmed in trenches all over the shore.


    ¡°Dropping in ten!¡± the pilot yelled.


    ¡°Be ready!¡± Arrus yelled. ¡°And fight bravely.¡±


    ¡°And say your prayers,¡± Perelor muttered. Out the window, Miradoran soldiers, in black and orange armor, aimed their lasertips and rifles toward the descending carriers. Perelor cleared his throat, then Reached and drew in even more Purity.


    ¡°File out, and do it fast! Then follow my lead.¡±


    The ship slowed to a stop. For a single moment, they waited in silence.


    Then Perelor felt a metallic click to the side of his head, accompanied by a barely audible female voice.


    ¡°Cameras are live.¡± In theory, that meant this battle would be broadcast to the rest of Delti through hacked comms channels, after the footage had been processed. A propaganda machine, to keep nations who had not yet entered this conflict further away from it.


    A propaganda film. These men¡¯s lives would be sacrificed for that, and nothing more. Unarmored foot soldiers would be no good in this fight. But they could die in spectacularly gruesome ways, so here they were.


    The carrier doors opened. Sound rushed into Perelor¡¯s ears, screams and shouts and crackling plasma. Immediately, Arrus raised his hand, burning much of his Ever to create a shield of blue plasma in front of the soldiers as they dropped. The rest of the slaves filed out in an eight-by-five formation, splashing into the water below. Waving them through, Perelor waited until they were all out, then leapt down himself.


    Water rushed up his leg, accompanied by a flurry of sound as the battle began. The ocean was knee-height here. Warm and clear, it pulsed up and down from the shore, the heartbeat of the island. Perelor rushed to the front of his squad as Arrus¡¯ use of Ever slowed. The shield grew visibly thinner. Bolts of energy began flying through it, rather than stopping as they struck.


    And death began.


    An Artensian man to the right of Perelor fell first, shot in the head, bone and sinew spraying outward as he collapsed, his white and gold uniform suddenly stained crimson. An orange-haired Herreon woman behind him died next, struck in the aorta. Liquid exploded from the wound as she fell, and the water swirled red. Green mist poured from both of their mouths ¡ª their souls, leaving their bodies. Perelor felt their echoes as their minds fled into the afterlife. The woman was a nurse, who¡¯d only been taken here because she¡¯d tried to help during a street fight between the Talar and some rebels. The man had a child, back home, who was in his early teens.


    Like Perelor, that child would never see his father again.


    The memories ended, and Perelor returned to the battlefield. Though he¡¯d felt as if he¡¯d spent several minutes reliving those snippets of the fallen soldiers¡¯ lives, it hadn¡¯t taken any time in the real world. The Everrealm was odd that way. He dropped to a crouch, returning fire. They were still far away from the enemy targets, but Perelor had enough experience that he managed to hit most of them. He was grateful he wasn¡¯t close enough to feel the echoes of the men he¡¯d slain. All this time, and he still hated killing.


    ¡°Kneel and shoot!¡± he yelled. The slaves who were veterans of the last few battles were already returning fire, but many of the newcomers just stood, stunned. Their hesitation proved to be a fatal mistake. Perelor saw at least four more fall, stunned silence turning into pained shrieks as fiery bullets tore into their necks and skulls and limbs and hearts. At the very least, though, their deaths made the others snap into action, and the survivors fell into crouches, lasertips flashing as they shot back. Few of the plasma bolts found their mark, but between Perelor¡¯s crew and the half a dozen other squads landing here, the Miradorans were forced backward. Between that, and Arrus¡¯ Ever shields, only four more slaves dropped.


    Only four. Perelor gritted his teeth as their echoes flashed through his head. Only four. Those were good numbers.


    It was hard to reduce them to numbers, when you were seeing through their very eyes.


    He returned to reality again, and attacked with more vigor. Supposedly there were memory burners who struggled with the echoes during fighting, finding it disorienting to jump between combat and thought. Not Perelor. Knowing who he fought for just made him more determined. He ran in front of the blind boy, who, thankfully, was still alive, then fired as fast as he could. They were getting closer to the beach, and Perelor could see silhouettes falling rapidly as he attacked.


    Unfortunately, his accuracy drew eyes. Several riflemen turned their attention solely on Perelor, and plasma bullets flashed in his direction. One struck his shoulder, ripping its way straight through his bone. He winced, but burned Purity. The Second Power took hold, and the wound healed itself instantly, bone popping back into place, flesh knitting itself back together. Purity could shift one¡¯s body in a variety of ways, but quick healing was certainly its most practical use here. Still, blood ran down his arm, staining his uniform, and the impact immobilized him for a moment. Another shot landed, this time hitting his left thigh, sizzling as it burned his muscle. He fell to one knee, skin scraping the rock below. Cursing, he stood back up as that, too, healed.


    N527 was still behind him. To his credit, he seemed to know how to use the lasertip, though his eyes were still wide and his face was pure white. Evidently, he¡¯d fought, but not in anything like this. He stumbled through the water, dragging the blind boy behind him. He was moving too slowly, and they were behind the main squadron. That was dangerous; Arrus¡¯ Ever shields were only effective when he was close by.


    ¡°Faster!¡± Perelor yelled. And, to his credit, N527 continued onward, hoisting the blind boy onto his back, then rushing to meet up with the rest of the squadron. Perelor raced beside him, distracting the Miradorans and taking any bullets that came too close. One of those bullets even grazed Perelor¡¯s good eye. He swore, healing it, then continued onward, blood running down his cheek.


    Ahead, Arrus led the squadron forward, lobbing fireballs into the Miradoran trenches to flush them out. Green mist was everywhere, thin enough it didn¡¯t block Perelor¡¯s vision, but there nonetheless, a constant reminder of death. Perelor swept his eyes over the squadron, taking a quick headcount. Arrus¡¯ Surgeblade was making a difference ¡ª thirty of the forty remained ¡ª but that was still ten lives gone. One of those hadn¡¯t even reached his twentieth birthday. He was scared, and he thrashed violently as Torment took him¡­


    The camera whined, and Perelor snapped back to reality. Fool, he chided himself. Stop caring. There¡¯s no time to care.


    They¡¯re all going to die.


    As if on cue, to their right, another slave squad broke apart, a group of Miradorans suddenly bursting out of their trenches, throwing grenades into the squadron¡¯s tightly knit formation. Bodies flew, then rained back down, some of them in multiple pieces, others charred beyond recognition. The few slaves who survived the initial blast stumbled back, bleeding from shrapnel wounds, then found their own death as they were mowed down from behind. Perelor¡¯s camera whirred faster as he took in the scene.


    Then the Miradorans turned toward Perelor¡¯s men.


    He swore as bullets flew into their side, flanking Arrus¡¯ Ever shield, which only protected against attacks from the front. Men fell faster than he could think, and it took all Perelor had to avoid reliving their echoes. Arrus turned, expanding his shield to cover the sides of the squad, but it was no use. The Miradorans were already rushing toward them, lasertips and daggers and swords in their hands.Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°Into stance!¡± Perelor yelled. In the chaos, no one obeyed. The Miradorans rammed into the squad¡¯s already scattered formation. Blades flew forward, and men on both sides fell. Perelor rushed into the fray, engaging three enemies at once. He took wounds to his stomach and arms as he slashed without thinking, ignoring the defensive and simply healing the blows as they came. It was an effective strategy. His spear tugged on his arm as it tore into other men¡¯s flesh, over and over and over.


    Arrus let go of the shield ¡ª the Miradorans couldn¡¯t fire on them anyway, now that their own troops were mixed in the fray. Instead, he spent his energy to send a bolt of electricity arcing between the enemy soldiers. It wasn¡¯t enough to kill them, but it was enough to confuse them into scattering.


    Perelor took advantage of that, lunging inward, cutting down men before they could recover. More blood spurted onto his tattered blue uniform, some his own, most of it others¡¯. Arrus lashed out with Ever again, summoning a large bolt of plasma this time, and a troupe of other Miradorans screamed as they burned to ashes.


    That took most of his Ever, though. He was hardly glowing at all now, and there were still enemies heading toward him, probably hoping to claim the Surge.


    No. Perelor snarled, burning more Purity, enhancing his muscles, making them quicker, stronger. His fist slammed into a Miradoran¡¯s back, with such force the woman¡¯s spine snapped. His spear tore through another soldier¡¯s chest as he spun around, twisting to fight his way toward Arrus, who was brandishing his blade now, preparing to duel a pair of Miradorans.


    I will not fail. Not again!


    A boot lashed out, and Perelor¡¯s head struck the water. A blade stabbed into his chest, then yanked backward, taking a chunk of Perelor¡¯s flesh with it. His lasertip fell from his hand. Gasping, he whirled around, only for a Miradoran boot to shove him back under. Muffled screams filled his ears. For a moment, the echoes overtook him, and he remembered everything. His father¡¯s death. Years in slavery. And that day¡­


    No!


    He pulled himself back out of the water, healing himself and throwing a Purity-enhanced punch at a Miradoran. The man doubled over, ribs snapping, but another beside him quickly snatched Perelor, impaling him directly through the spine. Pain shot up his back, accompanied by the feeling of his muscles locking. In his peripheral vision, he could see Arrus fighting off the two men, barely holding his ground.


    No¡­ not again¡­


    Deep down, though, he remembered, and knew that he¡¯d already failed.


    ¡°Erran naut tak veras!¡±


    Weakly chanting their war cry, another squadron slammed into the Miradorans from behind, slaughtering the rest of their forces in a single burst of plasma. Perelor sighed in relief as the Miradorans holding him fell limp, and his spine repaired itself, letting him move again. Arrus twisted back toward the trenches, burning the last of his Ever in a burst to reactivate the shield as the new squadron filed in behind. Perelor noted Captain Iralik at their head. The man shook his head as he approached.


    ¡°Vret,¡± he snorted. ¡°You almost lost your entire squad.¡±


    Perelor cringed, but swept his eyes over his slaves. Two, four, six, eight, nine¡­


    Nine. There were nine left. Nine left, forty to start. Thirty-one lost.


    The water grew colder. Echoes danced through his head, accompanied by flickers of memories he¡¯d long forgotten. The lasertip felt loose in his fingers.


    This is a bad one¡­


    ¡°Your squad is broken,¡± Iralik snapped. ¡°But this isn¡¯t over yet, and I don¡¯t intend to die without a fight. I¡¯m taking over your squad. There¡¯s more of mine left, anyway.¡±


    Perelor nodded numbly. ¡°I¡­ alright. Tell Arrus.¡±


    Iralik smiled. ¡°Good.¡± He raised his lasertip high. ¡°Forward charge. For valor!¡±


    Perelor¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°No! We need to wait for¡­¡±


    Iralik ignored him, rushing forward. Arrus¡¯ shield broke a moment later, his Ever spent. He¡¯d still be able to use a little of it as the Surge recharged, but not enough. Not even close to enough for an offensive.


    Cursing, Perelor turned backward. Several of the men, both Iralik¡¯s and his own, lagged, wounded. One had a gaping hole in his leg. He was screaming desperately as blood leaked into the water, his skin growing pale.


    You could heal him¡­


    But that was against their rules. He¡¯d tried it, and the Talar had executed his entire squadron as punishment. With the camera still running, it was foolish. And so, he would let the man die.


    The blind kid, though. Where¡¯s he?


    He saw no sign of him. N527, though, stood to the side, kneeling in the water. There was blood on his hands. He was staring numbly at it as it dripped down his fingers, eyes distant.


    ¡°Thaus,¡± Perelor swore. He ran to the Ethean. Bodies flowed all around him, some face down, others on their sides. All of them were taut with the fear of death, a fear now realized. He could hear their souls howling as they descended into Torment. Condemn him to the Tomb, but no matter how faint they seemed, he couldn¡¯t stop himself from hearing those screams.


    ¡°The kid. Where is he?¡± He already knew the answer, but it still needed to be said.


    ¡°He¡­ he¡¯s¡­ dead.¡± N527 shook as he said the words. ¡°They attacked us from behind. I fell into the water, and there was plasma everywhere, and¡­ and then he was dead.¡±


    Perelor nodded. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    N527 looked up, meeting his eyes. ¡°You were right. This is Torment.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ sorry.¡± He motioned toward the beach. ¡°We need to move.¡±


    N527 was silent.


    ¡°Soldier?¡±


    ¡°They were right,¡± he whispered. ¡°Back on Ethea, they said hope was dead. And they were right.¡± He released his cupped hand, letting the water flow back down his arm into the ocean below. His grip tightened on his lasertip. Tears welling in his eyes, he charged, running fast enough Perelor had to sprint to keep behind him.


    Ahead, Arrus blasted flames into the Miradoran trenches, furiously forcing the enemy out. That was both blessing and curse: on the one hand, it exposed their opponent, on the other, it made the Talar slaves easier targets. Plasma flashed, and men dropped. As he arrived within range, Perelor fired his lasertip, downing two Miradorans before pushing his way to the front, falling into line right beside N527.


    ¡°Get in the back,¡± he hissed. ¡°You¡¯re pale as an Ethean¡¯s hair.¡±


    No reply. A grenade exploded nearby, not close enough to do much damage, though shrapnel still flew toward them, forcing Perelor to step in front of N527, absorbing the metal shards. Though he healed quickly, they still sent sharp jabs of pain racing up his arms and legs and back. Purity might be able to mend his wounds, but it did nothing to reduce the associated agony.


    He was running low on Purity, he realized, between his lapse last night and the sheer toll this battle had taken on his reserves. Like Arrus, if he ran out, he¡¯d still be able to run on the Surge¡¯s generated power, but that was fumes compared to what he had now. If that did happen, he¡¯d almost undoubtedly fall.


    Strange, he realized, how welcome death felt these days.


    ¡°Get in the back,¡± he snapped again. ¡°You¡¯re in shock. You¡¯ll do no good up here.¡±


    N527 ignored him still, instead rushing forward and engaging another Miradoran. He won the duel, barely. Perelor cursed, forcing himself to look away. Nothing he could do if the man didn¡¯t obey orders. Nothing he could do even if N527 did obey.


    His squadron attacked another large pack of Miradorans, attempting to retreat into the fields farther inland. It was a bloodbath. Blades flew forward from both sides, slamming into unprepared chests. Perelor slew three men before the exchange was over. The kills were easy¡ª too easy, the product of years of muscle memory. Echoes danced in his head, terrified whispers of the men he¡¯d just slaughtered. They twisted his vision so much that he barely noticed when the skirmish was over.


    He glanced back. Six more men had fallen, though none from his squadron. Somehow, N527 was alive. With a wound on his upper arm, and caked in blood, but alive.


    There¡¯s no use in checking, Perelor chided himself. Not if he won¡¯t listen.


    His thoughts were interrupted as he saw another pack of Miradorans, taking up position in a patch of trees. Their rifles bristled from the branches, aimed directly at his men. Though they were far off, he could see the barrels well enough to know that those were rapid-fire rifles ¡ª weapons fast and powerful enough to end his entire squad in a few heartbeats.


    ¡°To the trenches!¡± he yelled. He ran himself, sliding into one of the sandy ditches nearby. ¡°Now! Move!¡±


    As predicted, plasma flew from the trees, a hail of fiery death, so hot and furious Perelor was surprised the sand hadn¡¯t turned to glass. Five more men dropped as the survivors slipped down and into cover. And N527¡­


    N527 hung behind, still shaking. A bullet struck his shoulder, and he collapsed. Perelor¡¯s eyes widened, and before he could think, before he could stop himself, he leapt from the trench, dashing toward the boy. The Ethean turned, meeting his eyes. Perelor knew instantly what he was doing.


    ¡°Okron forgive me,¡± he whispered. Perelor couldn¡¯t hear the words, but he knew them all too well. ¡°For welcoming death¡¯s embrace.¡±


    Energy ripped into his throat, and he fell without a sound. More bullets tore into his stomach and chest. Perelor slid to his knees beside the man. Another plasma bolt hit him in the chest, but he hardly cared. He grabbed his comrade, desperately pushing Purity into him, for a moment forgetting the Talar rules.


    Nothing happened.


    No¡­ we almost made it¡­ we almost made it!


    Green mist poured from N527¡¯s mouth, then rose upward, turning red as it dissipated completely. That mist screamed, ranted, writhed. As if the man¡¯s last act had been to condemn Perelor himself.


    Perelor sat for a moment, shocked. Then, another bullet tore into him, then another, and, no longer able to ignore the pain of the blasts, he cursed, then rose. He should have cried. Should have screamed. Should have mourned somehow, someway, for a brother who had given up.


    Instead, he just¡­ left. Slid back into the trench. A moment later, he heard the camera click, and its voice whispered in his ear.


    ¡°Recording complete.¡±


    Arrus walked over a moment later, announcing that they¡¯d been ordered to hold their ground. Perelor let out a relieved breath. They were safe, for now. The real soldiers were arriving, and they rushed onto the beach, slaughtering the Miradoran forces everywhere they went. These Talar were well equipped, in full armor, with grenades and blasters and sensors and all. The purple, almost royal glimmer of their helms seemed contradictory to the Torment of this place. Perelor distracted himself from his failure by watching them, occasionally firing a pointless lasertip blast into the forest.


    A figure came roaring through the front line, cutting through the Miradoran lines with hails of electricity. Traegus Yral, Arrus¡¯ father. Bullets deflected off his titrite armor as he pressed forward, a pack of Surgeblade wielders behind him. As he did, the battle moved further inland, well past the slaves. Perelor allowed himself to fall to his knees, wiping the sweat from his brow.


    Arrus approached him, Surgeblade gone; he¡¯d handed it off to another soldier to continue forward. ¡°You alright?¡± he whispered.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Perelor said.


    ¡°We both know that means you¡¯re not.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± he repeated. It came out more shaky this time, but Arrus just sighed, leaning against the wall of the trench.


    ¡°How many survived?¡± Perelor asked.


    ¡°Six,¡± Arrus said.


    Perelor nodded. ¡°At least I told them.¡± He sighed. ¡°I warned them. At least they were ready.¡±


    Arrus gave him a concerned look, but said nothing. ¡°Voidlings,¡± Perelor muttered. He leaned against the back of the trench, stretching out his legs. ¡°They¡¯re Voidlings for this. Searing Voidlings.¡±


    He wanted to do something. He wanted to lash out, fight, cry, do anything but sit there.


    But he also knew the futility of such a display. He¡¯d learned long ago that any resistance, any hope, any spark of life at all, was fleeting and aimless. Hoping as a slave was like trying to start a fire in the rain. You could fan it all you wanted, but eventually, the flame would be quenched.

 Chapter 5 - Prisoner

    They shall kneel to the Trett, and the Trett shall kneel to them, and together they shall master all power.


    -Excerpt from The Book of Eternity


    Xanala Erdor trembled, and she hated herself for it. There was no reason for her to be afraid. Her father had taken care of everything, the way he always did. The props were here, the stage had been carefully set, and the actors were perfectly manipulated into place; all she had to do was provide the power for the lights, and the performance would proceed as planned.


    And still she shook. Though it was not cold, ice crawled up her spine. Though the inside of the hover car was well-lit, she saw shadows everywhere.


    Hesitantly, she began to twitch her finger, moving it back and forth, back and forth. She poured her focus into that movement, forgetting everything except that singular muscle. It worked. Not well, but it worked.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be worried.¡±


    Her father, Lyrus, leaned against the seat across from her, one eye barely cracked open. Even half asleep he was an imposing man, muscular and tall, clad in the flowing white silk robes of the Second Masked Warrior. Those robes, and the title associated with them, gave him incredible power within both the Confederacy and the Church, more power than some planetary governors. He would use that power today, to kill a man. A Surgeblade waited at his hip, the jewel in its hilt full of white light.


    ¡°We¡¯re headed to Raerok,¡± Xanala said defensively. ¡°What do I not have to worry about?¡¯


    ¡°Everything,¡± Lyrus replied. ¡°You¡¯re not a burner while you¡¯re in that building, not until I say so. You are my daughter, here on a routine visit with me to investigate an escaped prisoner. Understand?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ understand.¡± Xanala swallowed. ¡°You know I¡¯m not good at lying.¡±


    Her father¡¯s other eye cracked open, and he raised an eyebrow. ¡°No, you¡¯re not. But you are today.¡± He closed his eyes again, and his tight expression told Xanala there would be no further discussion of the matter. Xanala¡¯s anxiety was irrelevant, as far as Lyrus was concerned. Restraining a sigh, she moved her gaze to stare out the thick glass window on the carriage¡¯s side.


    They were in Xeredon¡¯s Undercity, below the capital of the International Confederacy, where leaders of most of the galaxy¡¯s nations met in a tenuous religious alliance facilitated by the Church of Meridian. The Undercity, though, was far from any such politics; it was an ancient, buried place, deep beneath the planet¡¯s main metropolis. It was dark here ¡ª few lights still worked after so long ¡ª but she caught glimpses of abandoned buildings, made of cement hard enough to last millennia, not decorated or embellished, but still firmly there. It was the bones of a civilization. The bare minimum needed for humans to survive, but a bare minimum that had lasted long after the rest of ancient society had decayed.


    Supposedly, this place had been built as a massive bunker, designed to keep a few survivors safe in the case of an attack by Oblivion¡¯s avatar. Xanala shivered as she imagined the sheer destruction the god must have caused to merit such drastic action; the Undercity was vast, even by modern population standards. Whatever the Void was ¡ª a god, like the main body of the Church claimed, or a man, like the Talar asserted ¡ª it had terrified these people.


    And you¡¯re the Endowed. If Mother is right, you¡¯ll have to face the Void one day. That thought made the brief flashes of the ruins even more intimidating.


    They sat in silence for a long time before Lyrus shifted, eyes opening again. ¡°We are almost within range of Raerok¡¯s receptors,¡± he said. ¡°I want to review the plan before we arrive.¡±


    Xanala straightened. ¡°We¡¯re here to expose Veridon Elnith,¡± she recited, ¡°and, ideally, get him executed for treason against the Church.¡±


    ¡°And the crime he has committed?¡±


    ¡°Freeing a burner.¡± Xanala frowned, and Lyrus, seeing the downturn of her lips, snorted.


    ¡°He is not our ally, Xanala. The only reason he advocates for the legalization of burning is so he can cover his reputation after that fiasco with his son.¡±


    ¡°I know. But¡­ we¡¯re also killing another burner to do it.¡±


    ¡°An unfortunate casualty. But you cannot change the world without casualties, daughter.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ you¡¯re right. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    The conversation continued as they went over the specifics again ¡ª for the third time today. The basic idea wasn¡¯t too complicated: Veridon had secretly freed a burner, and was purposely sabotaging the search to find the escaped captive. Lyrus, using his authority as a Masked Warrior, would commandeer the investigation, and then he and Xanala would find, corner, and kill the burner, who would, undoubtedly, have evidence on his person condemning Veridon. From there, it would be easy to have their rival hanged.


    Simple, brutal, effective. This plan had all the signature marks of her father¡¯s work, and when her father planned something, events always seemed to shake out the way he wanted them to. Xanala would be a fool to question this course of action.


    Yet, silently, she did so anyway. Veridon had threatened to publicly expose Xanala and Lyrus¡¯ plans for a coup, and she knew logically that, for that threat, he would have to die. But she also disagreed with her father about Veridon¡¯s intentions. From her limited interactions with the man, he appeared to genuinely believe in the cause of freeing burners, even if he wanted to do so through peaceful means, rather than a coup.


    And, somehow, he knew about her scar. He¡¯d made that very clear when he¡¯d spoken with her father. But, unlike most Confederacy or Church officials would, he hadn¡¯t condemned her, hadn¡¯t called her a creature of the Void. Instead, he¡¯d encouraged her father to have her go through the Testing.


    She has a chance, he¡¯d said. Would you deny the galaxy its chance for salvation?


    Unfortunately, he misjudged both her and her father¡¯s sense of honor. To pass the Testing, Xanala would have to kill all three Masked Warriors ¡ª her father included. And she would not betray her family.


    So, she would help her father kill Veridon. Helping him eliminate an opponent was the least she could do, after all he¡¯d suffered to keep her alive.


    Lyrus cut off the conversation as they entered the range of Raerok¡¯s comms readers. After that, it took them around an hour to reach their destination. The Undercity had at least a dozen distinct layers, stretching further and further into the planet¡¯s crust. Raerok, the prison they were headed toward, was in the deepest layer, nearly a mile below ground level. The city¡¯s illumination grew even more sparse as they descended, until, finally, they rounded a corner, and were suddenly blinded by the lights of the prison, its white, chrome walls glimmering despite the shadows. A few minutes later, they landed on a cement landing pad outside the complex.


    The carriage doors slid open. Her father stepped out, then gestured for Xanala to follow. She did, though her heart pounded even faster in her chest. They were greeted by a man in a thick white coat, a bulky plastic mask covering his features, cloth-like carbon fiber armor covering the rest of his body. Veridon, their ultimate target, and the overseer of Raerok¡¯s operations. A Surge sat clasped to his belt, glowing blue, and a troupe of six Eliminators waited behind him, armored in thick metal, wielding toxin staffs and heaving oversized cannon blasters on their backs ¡ª equipment designed especially to kill burners.


    To kill people like Xanala.


    ¡°Lyrus,¡± Veridon said, crossing his hands in a salute. ¡°I did not anticipate one of the Masked Warriors involving himself in this. I appreciate your concern for our well-being, but I must assure you, this is not a situation dire enough to justify such a risk.¡±


    ¡°Anything involving the Powers is my concern,¡± Lyrus said coolly. ¡°I have lived for that cause, and one day I will die for it.¡±


    ¡°But to die here¡­¡±


    ¡°If I die, then it is the will of the Tower. Let me be blunt. I am no coward, and I will not back down on this. That is my final word.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ see.¡± Veridon shot a glance at Xanala, and she could see the panic in his eyes.


    He knows what we¡¯re doing here. We¡¯ll have to be careful. Hopefully Dad placed those bribes well¡­


    They began walking as the two continued talking, discussing the details of the case and the current command structure of the investigation. The Eliminators fell into a march behind Veridon and Lyrus. Xanala had to resist the urge to glance backward at those Eliminators. They¡¯d kill her, one day.


    But not today. Dad has taken care of it. Relax.


    It was easier said than done. She found herself twitching her finger again, even faster than before. What if one of the guards had faked the bribe? There were few here on Xeredon who were truly religious enough to turn Xanala in for that, but they did exist¡­


    Trust Dad. He¡¯s never failed you before.


    Veridon¡¯s eyes suddenly swiveled toward Xanala. ¡°And your daughter? Is this necessary?¡±


    ¡°She is my heir,¡± Lyrus said. ¡°She needs to learn.¡±


    ¡°Becoming a Masked Warrior is not hereditary.¡±


    ¡°Which is why this is even more important.¡±


    ¡°Does she think that?¡± Veridon met Xanala¡¯s eyes. There was pleading in them. His eyes kept drifting to the arm with her scar, the one that marked her as the Endowed.


    He thinks I might not agree with Dad¡¯s plan. Rightly, to an extent. She hesitated for a moment, then hardened her expression.


    ¡°I want to be what my father is,¡± she recited. ¡°It is a sacred duty to defend the virtue of the Powers.¡±


    It was an excuse, of course. Xanala would never become a Masked Warrior. Passing the tests required for that would be impossible as a burner. But for now, pretending to that ambition would draw eyes away from her. For, if the right eyes fell upon her, she¡¯d end up here, rotting in a prison cell, until finally she starved.


    They arrived at a gateway into the complex. It was flanked by a half dozen more Eliminators, whose eyes followed the group as the doors snapped open, let them through, then snapped closed. They passed through three more layers of those doors, each guarded by a half dozen more Eliminators, until finally they emerged into a white hallway. Even more guards patrolled this part of the prison, some dressed in Eliminator¡¯s garb, but more dressed in white suits, holding trays filled with jewels that glowed with white, blue, and red light.


    Surges. That was the main purpose of Raerok: capturing burners, then forcing them to summon Surges. It was a terrible practice, though, admittedly, it kept society well supplied with the artifacts.


    ¡°If you are both determined to assist us,¡± Veridon said, ¡°then come. We will discuss the missing atom burner.¡±


    ¡°Lead the way,¡± Lyrus said.


    They followed the white-masked man down the hallway, and through a maze of similar hallways, passing through several more guarded doors. Xanala noticed that each hallway had scores of cameras on the ceiling, as well as remotely controlled guns waiting to fire downward on the hallway¡¯s occupants. Those guns and cameras became even more common as they passed through the prisoner¡¯s areas, hallways lined with sealed, square cell doors. A screen on the front of each door showed the prisoner inside. Some of them were asleep, but most sat curled into balls, some shocked, some crying, some scratching at their own skin and mumbling to themselves.


    Xanala felt the prisoner¡¯s emotions as she passed, an ability granted by her connection to Void, the Third Power. All around her was hunger, fear, anger. Despair, most of all. It was almost too much to stand. Her eyes followed the door of one particularly broken man. The screen on his door was dark. They¡¯d left him in that darkness for days.


    I could free him. All it would take is a single second of closing my eyes¡­


    Lyrus nudged her, and she moved her gaze away from the prison cell. She was here to lower suspicion. As far as the Eliminators behind her knew, she thought that man was unholy. And though she could break him out, it likely wouldn¡¯t last.


    It was logical to abandon him. And, as her father had taught her, logic was the only constant in the galaxy.


    They rounded a corner, then stopped. This part of the hallway was not white, at least not completely; char marks streaked across the walls and floor. There were holes in the ceiling where guns and cameras had been, and one of the cell doors lay thrown off its hinges.


    ¡°He escaped here,¡± Veridon said. ¡°He¡¯d successfully burned in the past, but never this strongly, and we¡¯d thought raising his drug dose had stopped him.¡±


    ¡°He was acting.¡±


    ¡°Probably,¡± Veridon admitted. ¡°He¡¯s managed to avoid our sight so far. He¡¯s not in someone else¡¯s cell, either, we¡¯ve checked all the cameras a hundred times over. But we do know he hasn¡¯t left the compound.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re sure of that?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely. He has chips in his blood. He can¡¯t leave the compound without us noticing, unless he¡¯s willing to boil himself to do it.¡±


    ¡°He might manage that, if he¡¯s a memory burner,¡± Lyrus noted. ¡°But you¡¯re probably right. He hasn¡¯t left the prison ¡ª yet.¡± He hesitated. ¡°Who is this man?¡±


    ¡°His identity is irrelevant, sir. He¡¯s a burner.¡± That statement was posturing on Veridon¡¯s part. In more private circles, he consistently insisted that the events of the Imperial Age had been misunderstood, and that burners were not inherently corrupt.


    ¡°Yes, yes, I get the religious side of that question,¡± Lyrus said, waving a hand. ¡°But people are predictable, and there is a chance I know him. Who is he? Where is he from?¡±


    Veridon¡¯s mouth opened, but no words came out, and he looked conflicted. He could see that they were maneuvering him into a trap, though he clearly did not know how to escape it. Finally, he spoke.


    ¡°It¡¯s the diplomat, sir.¡±


    Lyrus raised an eyebrow. ¡°The one from Herreon who betrayed us? Ireo?¡±This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Veridon sighed. ¡°Him.¡±


    Xanala briefly remembered the incident. A Confederacy diplomat, working closely with the Church in Herreon, had been caught atom burning a few years back. It had been a huge scandal. Big enough Xanala had been on edge for weeks afterward, and her father had been even angrier than usual. Things like that reminded him what he was risking, keeping Xanala alive. He always kept his word, though, sacrificing more and more to keep her powers secret, directing his anger toward the Confederacy rather than her.


    ¡°Ireo,¡± Lyrus said softly. ¡°I knew him.¡± For a moment his eyes were almost mournful. Then they hardened. ¡°He¡¯ll know about the precautions, then. He won¡¯t try to leave the premises, not without deactivating his chip.¡±


    ¡°Those chips are impossible to deactivate,¡± Veridon said stiffly.


    ¡°Not without boiling his own blood, as you said, but he is an atom burner. If he were a memory burner, too, he could do it. So we at least know he¡¯s not hiding any abilities with the First Power. He¡¯d have used those by now, if he possessed them.¡±


    ¡°He could still be hiding that,¡± Veridon said softly.


    ¡°He wouldn¡¯t. I know Ireo, and the man is impulsive. It¡¯s a wonder he¡¯s waited this long.¡±


    ¡°He is not a man,¡± Veridon said. ¡°He is a thing.¡± His voice was bitter, and he was clenching his jaw. He seemed to hate saying those words, even if he didn¡¯t mean them.


    ¡°Religiously speaking, you¡¯re right,¡± Lyrus said. ¡°But thing or person, he will kill us all the same.¡± He straightened. ¡°I¡¯m leaving. I believe I can track him down, but I do not wish to be weighed down by your staff. They have failed for long enough.¡± He gestured to Xanala. ¡°My daughter, however, will accompany me.¡±


    ¡°A child?¡± Veridon said, eyes widening. ¡°You¡¯d take a child with you to this?¡±


    ¡°She needs experience,¡± Lyrus said. He didn¡¯t elaborate any further. Instead, he waved to Xanala, who followed him as they exited the room.


    They strode down the hallway, Xanala having to almost jog to keep up with her father¡¯s swift pace. When they were out of earshot, Xanala spoke.


    ¡°Do you think he¡¯s dangerous?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s an atom burner. Of course he¡¯s dangerous. That¡¯s why I brought you, and paid the guards bribes so you could use your powers if necessary.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I can handle a full-on duel, Dad.¡±


    ¡°Not alone, no. But there is only one way to gain experience.¡± He paused, then continued. ¡°If the battle permits, I want you to be the one who strikes the finishing blow.¡±


    Xanala paled. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Ireo will be dead by the end of this. If possible, I want you to kill him. It will be a good lesson. We will not succeed in this coup without you shedding blood. And yes, that person may even be innocent. Lives are the currency used to pay for change, and though we should not relish it, coins are made to be spent.¡±


    Xanala paled further, but nodded. No use in arguing with her father, especially not when his logic was so clear. She began twitching her finger again. She channeled her anxiety into it. Twitch the finger enough, and maybe she wouldn¡¯t have to kill Ireo. It wasn¡¯t a rational thought, and most of her knew that, but somehow it made sense to the worried part of her.


    They wove through the hallways, her father taking winding, confusing pathways, and Xanala swore they were passing cell blocks they¡¯d already been to. They also passed several spawning cells, where burners were tortured until they summoned Surges. Most of those rooms were closed, but one was not. A pale man waited in it, eyes rolled up into his head. He looked as if he hadn¡¯t eaten for weeks, bones stabbing at his near-fleshless skin. Xanala shivered, looking away.


    Finally, Lyrus stopped, arriving at a cell block that tapered off to a dead end. He folded his arms behind his back, pursing his lips, nodding slowly. Then he raised his voice, addressing the workers and guards bustling nearby.


    ¡°Leave us.¡±


    A few heads cocked in confusion, but everyone obeyed. One did not simply disobey one of the Masked Warriors, especially not in the middle of Raerok.


    That left them alone. Save, of course, for the burners waiting in the nearby cells. Xanala¡¯s eyes flickered to the doors. It was silent, but she still felt as if she could hear the captives moaning behind them. They were dangerous, if her father was to be believed, most of them had been driven so feral they¡¯d kill Xanala in a heartbeat for a chance at escape.


    ¡°He should be here soon,¡± Lyrus whispered.


    Xanala frowned. ¡°He¡¯s coming to us?¡±


    ¡°He is,¡± Lyrus said. He smiled. ¡°Ah, Veridon. Predictably, foolishly altruistic. And poor Ireo, always looking out for himself. So simple to manipulate. He really should have let someone else out. I hardly had to pay the atom burner anything.¡±


    Xanala¡¯s eyes widened as things came together. ¡°You hired Ireo, didn¡¯t you? You knew he¡¯d be the one Veridon let free, but you convinced Ireo to double-cross him.¡±


    ¡°I did,¡± Lyrus said, chuckling softly. ¡°You¡¯re getting better at understanding these things. Ireo, beaten as he was, turned out to be an easy sell-out. All I had to do was promise him a ship to Talar, and he agreed to help us.¡±


    ¡°But we¡¯re not going to,¡± Xanala said, voice growing quiet as she realized the actual plan. ¡°We¡¯re going to kill him.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Lyrus said firmly. ¡°I needed to make certain that, when we did dispose of him, he¡¯d be carrying evidence incriminating Veridon. He should have that now. Furthermore, I needed to make certain he¡¯d meet us in a very specific place, so that you could use your powers while fighting him.¡±


    Xanala lit up. ¡°I can use my powers here?¡±


    ¡°I told you I paid bribes. Within sight of this hallway, and this hallway only. And be careful. I paid off or threatened all of the nearby guards, and had the cameras switched off, but I couldn¡¯t get the whole complex secured. If enough guards get involved, you will be exposed.¡±


    Xanala nodded. ¡°I understand. I¡¯ll be careful.¡±


    ¡°Good. Now, be quiet. I do not want Ireo overhearing.¡±


    They fell silent, and Xanala felt a slow twisting overtake her stomach. Another betrayal, and another murder. All in the name of the coup that would make burning legal again ¡ª an act that would itself cost many lives. Her father insisted that the change would be worth the price.


    But she wondered, sometimes. Was this really what she was supposed to do, as the Endowed? Kill some, so that others might live?


    You can¡¯t defeat Oblivion without your powers, she reminded herself. And that¡¯s if the prophecy is even real. And if it¡¯s not, then you have no reason to feel guilty.


    ¡°Prepare yourself,¡± her father whispered. ¡°He¡¯s nearby. I can sense him.¡± He drew his weapon, a wicked, midnight-black sword. To Xanala¡¯s surprise, a Surge waited in its hilt, not a Purity Surge, like usual, but a gleaming red Void Surge.


    Immediately, she felt Oblivion begin whispering in her mind. His voice was deep, rich, the way it always sounded to her. Her father claimed everyone heard a different voice when wielding Void, and that it likely wasn¡¯t Oblivion speaking, just one of his lesser servants.


    Xanala knew, though. Somehow, she knew this was the Enemy himself.


    He will betray you, the god whispered. Even now, he considers it, the thought of your corpse rolling through his mind. It would be so liberating, he muses, to be free of you¡­


    She ignored him. Accusations like that were baseless. Really, for being the god of deception, Oblivion wasn¡¯t very good at lying.


    Ah, but you will see¡­.


    ¡°You snuck a Surge past him?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Of course I did.¡± Her father snorted. ¡°I was trying to trick Veridon, not be a fool myself.¡± He licked his lips. ¡°His desperation is strong. Ireo always was a passionate man¡­¡±


    Xanala¡¯s hand began to quake again. A burner, headed straight for them, who they were about to double cross. She¡¯d been trained for a confrontation like this, but she knew full well the actual thing would be different.


    The lights, suddenly, went dark. For a moment, there was only a single crimson bulb in the corridor. The Void Surge whispered again in Xanala¡¯s mind, the voice of Oblivion even more clear now that the distraction of her sight was gone.


    Kill him, girl. Before he kills you¡­


    The darkness fled as quickly as it had begun, replaced by a man, emanating bright white light as he stepped around the corner. His face was disheveled, his eyes wide and bloodshot. She recognized him from photos her father had shown her just hours ago.


    Ireo.


    ¡°Lyrus.¡± His voice was a rasp, and his eyes darted nervously down to their weapons. ¡°You¡¯re here to kill me, aren¡¯t you? Veridon warned me about this. Told me you¡¯d betray me. I didn¡¯t believe him.¡± He chuckled, a laugh that went on far longer than it should have. ¡°I didn¡¯t really believe you, either. Hard to believe in anyone, after¡­ after¡­¡±


    His eye twitched, and he stared down at the floor, silent, mouth hanging open in a half-smile. Lyrus turned to Xanala, giving her the barest hint of a nod.


    Now, he mouthed.


    They stepped forward, and as they did, Ireo looked up, his expression turning to ice. ¡°So be it,¡± he whispered. Then he slammed the palm of his right hand against the metal wall.


    Immediately, the substance of the wall began to flow away from its frame, grinding as it moved out of the structure and into Ireo¡¯s skin, forming into a glowing, heavenly suit of armor around his chest, then his stomach, then his arms, then his head. He continued to speak, his voice still audible as usual despite the armor.


    ¡°Everyone wants to kill me these days. Everyone, everyone, everyone.¡± He laughed again. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s time I return the favor.¡±


    Lyrus¡¯ eyes darted down the hallway; he was assessing their escapes, Xanala knew. Those were important when fighting an atom burner, especially in such a close space. After a brief look, he closed his eyes, and Void exploded from his Surge, expanding into the air, then doubling back and rushing up his arm, making his figure glow crimson. His countenance shifted, Oblivion¡¯s taint on the Third Power taking hold of his personality.


    Growling, he attacked, tendrils of crimson light writhing from the fingers of his right hand, spirits of the dead manifested into the physical world. In his left hand, he held his sword to the side, another red spirit of light forming around the blade. That soul twisted until it was shaped as a razor-sharp edge ¡ª a Souldagger, capable of cutting one¡¯s very spirit, severing their connection to the physical world. As he summoned it, the tendrils rammed into Ireo, temporarily pushing him backward. Lyrus turned to meet Xanala¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°What are you waiting for?¡± he hissed.


    He whipped back to face Ireo, summoning more tendrils. Ireo was starting to bat them away, the Purity he wielded temporarily boosting his physical strength. That was what Purity did, allowing one to change the makeup of their own body, making it stronger, faster, or even allowing them to fuse metal armor into their skin. In such tight quarters, with no way to avoid a melee fight, Lyrus would lose to Ireo. The Void Surge was powerful, and Lyrus was skilled, but even together they were no match for an atom burner.


    Nevertheless, Xanala stood frozen, the anxiety back, her finger twitching back and forth, but to no avail.


    Is he sure he blackmailed the guards properly? If he didn¡¯t¡­


    Her heart pounded. The voice whispered.


    Does it matter? I can save you. I can free you, Xanala. All you have to do is kill a man who hates you anyway¡­


    She trembled. She felt as if she were being watched. She always did. When your entire life was a lie, there was nothing you feared more than someone else watching you.


    And Okron, the voice was tempting. It touched on her emotions, a delicate ethereal push, a quiet ecstasy that moved her toward giving in. For a moment, she actually debated obeying, killing both Ireo and her father, then running to Talar¡­. to freedom¡­


    But no. She could not hurt Dad. Dad had always been by her side.


    She swiveled towards Lyrus and Ireo, who still dueled fiercely, neither yet able to gain an advantage on the other. Her father was running out of time, though ¡ª his glow had visibly faded, and his supply of Void would not last much longer.


    For an instant longer, she hesitated still, the voice of evil incarnate taunting her. It had changed its tactic.


    If he dies, it whispered, you die with him. Even if he is the man you think he is, he cannot conceal you if he is a corpse. Fear accompanied that whisper, irrational, unnatural fear. Give in, and I will save him.


    That strategy was too much to resist. She closed her eyes and gave in, Reaching for Void.


    The voice flooded her, screamed at her. Became her. Emotions, mostly pain, ran through in a rush, a rush that drove her to her knees, but she survived it somehow. Red light ran outward from her chest, exploding from her eyes, radiating from her body. The hallway was suddenly bright, too bright to see properly. Ireo and her father stepped back, both temporarily shocked by Xanala¡¯s now blazing body.


    Xanala, however, did not hesitate, not anymore. The voice inside her, the voice that was her but was not her all at once, pushed her to act. To destroy. She raised her hand, pulling spirits from Torment, forming them into tendrils of concentrated, Reanimated mass in the physical world. It wasn¡¯t particularly difficult. Tendrils were the most basic construct one could make with Void, and Xanala had always been a prodigy with the Third Power. The spirits, fresh from the afterlife, shrieked in protest as Xanala directed them toward Ireo, but they writhed at his chest all the same, slamming into his titrite armor. He flew backward, crashing into the wall. The sound rang across the hallway. In the distance, alarm bells rang.


    I¡¯m going to need to finish this, Xanala realized. Now. If any of the guards her father hadn¡¯t paid found her, it was over. The fear within grew, but instead of freezing up, she simply let Oblivion¡¯s voice smother it, change it. The terror morphed to fury, and she leapt toward Ireo, throwing more tendrils toward him, pummeling the man with nearly a half dozen strikes. Still, he managed to stumble to his feet. She summoned more, and threw those forward, too. He rose again. She drew even more. He was nearly on his knees now. More.


    Finally, he collapsed. Snakes of red light slithered around his limbs, pinning him to the ground. Xanala stepped toward him, extending out her hand, summoning another spirit from Torment, forming it into a long, wicked blade in her hand. A Souldagger of her own. She rammed it into Ireo¡¯s helm. The two Powers hissed as they struck each other, and the armor exploded, revealing the man¡¯s face beneath it. His eyes were wide with panic.


    Do it, Oblivion hissed. Save your father. Save yourself.


    His voice propelled her forward, pushing her arm forward almost without her choosing. But a part of her, the part that was still herself, hesitated again, staring into Ireo¡¯s wide eyes.


    You are the Endowed, it said. You are supposed to be better than this.


    It was such a small sliver of conviction. She¡¯d never really believed she was the Endowed, and even if she was, she certainly didn¡¯t believe she¡¯d ever live up to the title. But today, that thread of compassion was enough to stop her from murdering her opponent. Her hold on the Third Power slipped, and the Void suddenly fled from her flesh, leaving her feeling drained, her heart sinking in her chest. Soulburning was not a kind process to one¡¯s emotions.


    However, losing her Void left her open to Ireo. She was standing atop him, and as the tendrils vanished he stood up with sudden force, launching her into the air. She hit the ground rolling, and groaned. She managed to rise to her knees just in time to see the atom burner rushing toward her, fists drawn back, a killer¡¯s glint in his eyes.


    Before he could arrive, however, a tendril of red Void lashed around his neck, still exposed from Xanala cracking his helm. It squeezed, and there was a sickening crack as bone snapped violently. Ireo tumbled to the ground, face twitching for a brief instant before falling still.


    There was a long moment of silence. Then Lyrus let out a long laugh. It was a mirthless, dark laugh. He strode to Xanala, smiling, though his eyes had real anger in them. He grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet, snorting, shaking his head, biting his lip in frustration.


    ¡°Sometimes I wonder,¡± he said, ¡°what your mother sees in you. You have a long way to go before you are ready for this rebellion.¡±


    There was venom in the words. He meant what he said. Xanala closed her eyes, trying to bite back tears. Thankfully, she succeeded, for a few moments later, Confederacy guards rushed onto the scene.


    They inspected the corpse, found a vocoder linked to Veridon hiding in Ireo¡¯s pocket, and ordered his arrest. Then they attended to Xanala and her father. They did not seem to notice the subtle signs of Xanala¡¯s Voidburning, nor her scar. Not today.


    One day, they would. She closed her eyes as, hours later, they finally left Raerok in a hovercar. At that moment, she made a decision, a terrible decision, but one she had needed to make for a long time.


    Her father was right. She¡¯d been a fool, and it had very nearly cost her. She would never let herself hesitate like that again.


    The Confederacy had kept her in chains her whole life. She intended to break those chains, if she could, by helping her father take control of the Church by force. But one freedom she would keep, whether she succeeded with the coup or not: her life was her own. She would fight for it, no matter the cost. That was the cold determination her father had, that gave him such success. A skill he was trying to teach her.


    And the prophecy?


    Her hand drifted involuntarily toward her scar. For a moment, she questioned her decision.


    Then she scowled. ¡°To Torment with the prophecy,¡± she whispered. Aloud, so that the gods, all three, could witness this oath. ¡°You have beaten me down for too long. I owe you nothing.¡±


    She leaned against her seat, letting out a long breath, the weight of years of expectation lifted off her chest. She smiled. Was this what freedom was like?


    Deep inside her, so deep her conscious self didn¡¯t notice, Oblivion¡¯s voice rumbled.


    Good. You are almost ready¡­

 Chapter 6 - A Test

    They shall defeat the Masked Warriors, and raise their masks to the sky, and declare themselves the Endowed, the Erak¡¯assala, the savior of mankind.


    -Excerpt from The Book of Eternity


    Four days after the incident with Ireo, and on the day of Veridon¡¯s execution, Xanala stood on the balcony of her father¡¯s mansion, looking out on the purple Xeredon sunrise. Contemplating the look on Ireo¡¯s face as that tendril had snapped his neck.


    She¡¯d barely noticed his expression during the fight. She¡¯d been bursting with too much adrenaline to focus on anything but the contest. For some reason, though, the image followed her now ¡ª a man with eyes wide, mouth open in a scream that didn¡¯t have the chance to escape.


    It had been wrong to kill him. She couldn¡¯t shake that conviction, even though she hated the implications. Her father had been wrong.


    She didn¡¯t know how to process that. She didn¡¯t want to process that. So she just stared at the sunrise, remembering the day when she¡¯d tried to escape.


    She¡¯d been thirteen. That seemed so young, though only three years had passed, and little had changed since then. She¡¯d heard, from her schoolteacher, that the Talar not only accepted burning within their borders but welcomed it, elevating those who could wield the Powers to high military status. Her schoolteacher had spoken of that with unconcealed disgust, ranting about how Larsh¡¯s heresy had brought the nation to ruin. But for Xanala, that news had been hope reborn.


    Because of it, she¡¯d tried to run away, slipping out under the cover of night, hoping to steal her father¡¯s ship. She remembered the shame that had washed over her with every footstep as she¡¯d moved through the rainy night, an icy wind whipping against her face.


    Her father, miraculously, had suspected she would try something like that, and had been posting guards near her room for years. They¡¯d alerted her father, and he¡¯d stopped her, quietly telling her that this would not be what she thought it was, informing her of the horrors of the Talar military, and assuring her that their plan for a coup would work, given enough time.


    She¡¯d believed him, and so she was still here. She doubted a few guards could keep her on Xeredon anymore; even her father couldn¡¯t beat her in a fair fight these days. She¡¯d studied Talar culture more, and agreed that it would not be a good fit for her. Trusting her father, she now spent the energy of her frustrations trying to move forward with their plans for a coup.


    Yet today, as she stared at the purple sunset, she wondered. Her father had a Testing today. With a man people kept whispering might actually be the Endowed. What would change, if this atom burner from Kiedd was victorious, subjecting the entire Confederacy to his authority? What would happen if Xanala tried to pass the Testing herself and won? If she did, there wouldn¡¯t need to be a coup. A wave of her hand, and burning would be legal again, freeing thousands to live their lives like normal people, rather than prey.


    But she couldn¡¯t kill her father. And her father refused to resign from the Masked Warriors, despite his superior¡¯s constant nudging toward his retirement. So they were at an impasse, and until they were finally ready for the coup, Xanala¡¯s freedom was heavily restricted.


    Her mother called for her. Xanala heard the sound, but it didn¡¯t register. Her mother called again, louder this time. Wincing, Xanala turned, moving toward the doors into the mansion. She needed to get ready. Today, many eyes would be on her family, and none of them could know the extent of what they planned. Most of all, none of those eyes could see Xanala¡¯s scar.


    Yet, as she opened the door to the inside, she couldn¡¯t help but turn back for a moment, squinting at the blinding sun, before sighing and shutting that door behind her.


    ***


    The Testing was a spectacle unrivaled, as it should be. It was, after all, a religious ritual of unsurpassed importance. It heralded the beginning of a potential hope, of deliverance from Torment. For four thousand years, ever since the ancient nation of Erak¡¯sai had summoned him, Oblivion had controlled the afterlife, and the Endowed was the mythical hero prophesied to end that terrible suffering.


    Unfortunately, the prophecies around the Endowed were vague at best. They had to be capable of wielding all Three Powers, and according to the ancient Trett Zaethin Devaro, they would also be born with a scar already on their skin. Other than that, there were no real identifiers, just speculation ¡ª a fact that led to a plethora of false Endowed trying to use the prophecy to rally political support. The Testing was a way to thin that down; a way, theoretically, to prove that a Prospect was who they claimed to be.


    Now, though, it was more show than anything. The Endowed simply dueled the Masked Warriors, who inevitably killed them. It was not a religious ceremony, nor was it a rally for hope in the fight against the Void. It was just butchery. But it drew crowds, and today, men, women, and children alike swarmed around Xanala in droves.


    She had never loved crowds, and it took everything in her not to light up with Void and run away from the bustling chaos of Xeredon¡¯s streets. Testings, though a solemn occasion for Eliminators and the rest of the Confederacy, were more like a holiday to the common folk of the planet, and that attitude showed in the sheer amount of business being conducted today. Restaurants had lines coming out their doors. Terraces and sidewalks and hovercar stops were all filled with temporary shops, all yelling and waving and smiling to try and sell their wares. The hovercar parking lots, usually half empty, were all crammed full and then some.


    All the people made for many eyes. And, as the daughter of one of the Masked Warriors, a host of those eyes were on her. She was clothed in an unwieldy white dress, and a thin veil covered her face, with a gray rune woven into it, indicating her rank. Her mother walked ahead of her, and their guards, dressed in white, suit-like carbon fiber uniforms for the occasion, pushed on ahead. People pointed and whispered, and sometimes even shouted cheers ¨C or jeers, for those who supported the Prospect from Kiedd.


    The Testing arena was just ahead, a tall, cylindrical building that seemed to tower above the sky itself. A small amount of the public would be allowed inside, but most of the seats there were reserved for Confederacy soldiers, and as they drew closer, the crowd of civilians morphed into a throng of armed men. Though they paid much less attention to Xanala than the commoners, her anxiety still grew. How long until those pistols on their belts were firing at her?


    ¡°Relax,¡± her mother said, falling back to stand beside her. She was a beautiful woman even without makeup, and today she looked so stunning Xanala was surprised that every man in sight wasn¡¯t staring. She wore a dress and veil identical to Xanala¡¯s, though she somehow managed to wear it more elegantly. Taking Xanala¡¯s hand, she smiled. ¡°Father will be alright. He knows how to handle himself.¡± She met Xanala¡¯s eyes, and her gaze told Xanala that those words carried a double meaning. You¡¯ll be alright, too, her expression said. Don¡¯t panic.


    Xanala nodded. ¡°I¡¯m sure he will be, Mother.¡± She began slowly twitching her finger, not focusing on it completely, but using it to push some of her worry away. Her mother was right. Nothing could go wrong if Xanala didn¡¯t panic; Father had expressed the same sentiment.


    They approached the gate, and Xanala ran through the list of preparations again. Was her sleeve up? Yes, it was. Was she Infused, just a little, so no one could read her thoughts? Yes, she was, though not enough the glow was noticeable. Probably. Was her scar covered in makeup¡­ was it? Had she covered it? She thought she had, but was she remembering that from some other time? She tensed, realizing she couldn¡¯t check without pulling her sleeve up. And if the scar wasn¡¯t covered¡­


    Her mother grabbed her hand, squeezing it tightly and pulling her forward a little faster as they stepped through into the arena. In the center of the building lay a giant, circular sand pit, with four columns stretching upward into the ceiling. All around the pit were rows and rows of seats, across twenty levels of metal terraces. On the front row of each terrace waited recording men, muon cameras aimed at the arena to produce a hologram of the coming fight.


    Xanala and her mother sat down on the second row, just behind a group of cameramen. Several other of her father¡¯s highest servants and officials waited there, along with, to Xanala¡¯s surprise, three senators. She didn¡¯t recognize them, though they were clearly from Talar, their purple coats with gray buttons gave away that much. Xanala sat beside one of them. They waited in silence for a long moment, him gazing at the arena, Xanala nervously watching as hundreds more people filed in.


    ¡°It¡¯ll be alright,¡± her mother whispered.


    She sounded less sure this time.


    A few minutes later, the Talar senator turned to Xanala, smiling. ¡°So. You¡¯re Lyrus Erdor¡¯s infamous daughter.¡±


    Xanala¡¯s heart pounded. ¡°Infamous?¡±


    The senator shrugged. ¡°Perhaps a bit of an exaggeration. I¡¯m just trying to make conversation. Name¡¯s Traegus Yral. Are you ready for the show?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a show,¡± Xanala muttered. At least, it shouldn¡¯t be.


    Traegus just laughed. ¡°Everything here is a show, child.¡± He leaned back. ¡°Have you heard anything of this Tenedon? I haven¡¯t paid much attention to Kiedd recently. Don¡¯t think they could produce a competent burner if they tried.¡± He shook his head, eyes twinkling.


    ¡°Just the usual,¡± Xanala said carefully. ¡°Has the scar, can wield the Powers.¡±


    ¡°Only two,¡± Traegus noted. ¡°That should disqualify him, if you ask me. But what do I know of the prophecy?¡± His eyes gleamed, though there was a darkness to them, too. ¡°The Trett just needs another example for her collection. The people are getting vocal. Too many questions about us Talar and our burners.¡± He laughed again. It was a mirthless laugh. Then he turned, meeting Xanala¡¯s eyes. ¡°What do you think of burners, child?¡±


    Xanala swallowed. This man was very forward. ¡°I try not to think too much about them,¡± she said, after a pause that was probably too long, and with an expression that probably betrayed too much. Can¡¯t you hide yourself well for once? Father would be screaming at you.


    ¡°And the Talar?¡± He said it as if he were not one of them, and he seemed genuinely intrigued, but Xanala still shivered involuntarily.


    ¡°Perhaps we should not talk of that,¡± Xanala said gently. What did she have to do to make it clear that she wanted him to be quiet? The man¡¯s grin only widened.


    ¡°Oh, the Confederacy and its politics. So many games, all behind the extra game of religion.¡± He chuckled. ¡°Games upon games. You all would faint if you were put in a room of commoners. The whole thing would be so straightforward you¡¯d have a heart attack.¡± His face suddenly grew serious. ¡°But really, Erdor. What do you think of this? I¡¯m curious, you know. It¡¯s not every day I get to speak to a daughter of a Masked Warrior.¡±


    Xanala shifted uncomfortably, but the man¡¯s gaze did not leave her. ¡°I¡­ wish it were a little less bloody,¡± she finally managed to say, ¡°but it¡¯s a religious thing, so I guess it¡¯s fine.¡±


    ¡°So you do believe in the Endowed then?¡±


    ¡°The Tower is never wrong,¡± Xanala said carefully. ¡°So yes, I do.¡± She really wished this man would relent. Her finger was twitching violently now, though it barely helped.


    ¡°And do you think Tenedon is the Endowed?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Xanala was surprised by the sudden vehemence in her voice. Where had that come from? She forced herself to relax. ¡°He isn¡¯t. And my father will kill him for his blasphemy.¡±


    Traegus nodded. ¡°You¡¯re still hiding,¡± he said softly. ¡°But, fair enough. This whole thing is a game. This whole planet is practically a kara board.¡± He shook his head. ¡°A tank of ethium with a match hanging above it, waiting to burn, all while the Confederacy pretends this is about religion, and nothing more. Larsh will be pleased with my report.¡± He finally fell silent.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Xanala¡¯s insides twisted; the odd Talar man¡¯s words had irked her. This shouldn¡¯t just be a game. It was supposed to be a grand ritual, signifying the emergence of a being who could save mankind. A bringing together of the nations.


    But then, Traegus was right. It had been twelve hundred years since Oblivion¡¯s imprisonment, and few mortals gave the dark god a second thought until they were on their deathbeds. As much as she wanted to think the Confederacy had any sense of honor left, it didn¡¯t. It was a political organization now. If Xanala ever underwent the Testing, she¡¯d have to keep that in mind, looking out for any way they tried to cheat her into an unfair fight.


    But I¡¯m not going to. I¡¯m not going to kill Dad. We¡¯ll stage a coup instead.


    Yet, the Tower of Foreseeing was always right, and according to it, she would kill her father, if she was, actually, the Endowed. She frowned, though she pushed the thought aside a few moments later. Many had been born with the scar. None had yet fulfilled the prophecy. Besides, she¡¯d forsaken that role.


    She forced herself to relax, and even stopped twitching her finger. She was around a Talar senator, who, considering that nation¡¯s current state, probably had nothing against burners. It was still illegal in Talar, of course. They just conveniently ignored Confederacy law, knowing they had enough power within the federation to force such allowances.


    Ten minutes passed, then twenty. The tension slowly returned. So many people. Xanala was accustomed to a more sequestered life; the Masked Warriors, though powerful, weren¡¯t usually so public, instead functioning as aloof, religious figures, and only occasionally interfering in politics. Today, though, incoming senators and diplomats took the time to stop by her seat, asking her questions and shaking her hand. She was careful not to let her sleeve slip during those handshakes.


    Finally, when the arena appeared full, and the newcomers had slowed to a trickle, the ceiling slid open, pulled into two semicircular halves. It revealed a deep violet night sky, glittering with stars. A moment later, a hovering platform lowered into the arena. On it sat a tall, imposing woman in long green robes. She swept her eyes over the crowd, and nearly everyone fell silent. Then she spoke, her voice magnified so that it echoed across the entire stadium.


    ¡°I am the Trett,¡± the woman said. ¡°Leader of the International Confederacy, elected ruler of all civilized Delti, priestess of the Church of Meridian, queen of kings. I hold the highest authority the Three Bladewielders can give. It is I who, if the time comes, will train the Endowed.¡±


    Traegus snorted at that. ¡°She¡¯s not even a burner,¡± he whispered, quiet enough Xanala was sure she wasn¡¯t meant to hear it. ¡°She couldn¡¯t train one if she wanted to.¡± He shook his head. ¡°All a game.¡±


    ¡°Today,¡± the Trett continued, ¡°we honor a grand tradition. And a solemn tradition. Prophecy, given to us by the Tower of Foreseeing, declares that an individual will be chosen by the Powers to defeat the dark god Oblivion. We call them the Endowed, and today, we are here to determine if they have been found.¡± The Trett paused for effect, sweeping her eyes over the crowd again. ¡°Those of you who can hear me, think long and hard about how your lives may change today. The Endowed may very well be among us. Our salvation may be here.¡±


    This earned a few hesitant cheers. The Trett smiled, though even from far away Xanala could see there was no joy in the gesture. ¡°Tenedon Lukos is today¡¯s Prospect. He has declared himself the hero of the prophecy. He has shown the scar of Erak¡¯assala, a sign given to us by the first Trett. He has mustered an army to crusade into Torment, and now wishes for our support.¡±


    She turned her gaze toward the back of the arena, where a small hatch had opened in the arena wall. ¡°This is your last chance to renounce your claim, Tenedon of Kiedd. You may stay behind those doors, and remain a citizen of Kiedd. Or you may fight, and become the Endowed.¡±


    A long pause. Then, finally, a man stepped out. Tall and muscular, he had long hair and a scraggly beard matted with scars. He held a longsword in his hand, and a white, glowing jewel shone through a hole above his chest in his tunic. Apparently, he was not only an atom burner, but had summoned his own Surge. The Trett pursed her lips.


    ¡°The Prospect has declared his intent. May we honor him, for the bravery he has shown to defy Oblivion,¡± she said. Then she waved to the sky. To the violet-tinted stars that gleamed within the heavens. ¡°However, the Void will not honor him, nor have mercy on any who follow him into the afterlife. So there must be a test. A show of power, to prove that the man you see is truly what he claims to be.¡±


    The Trett waved again, and three more doors opened. One man stepped out of each. Each of their faces was covered, though they wore different clothing: one wore tight-fitting blue robes with a cloth mask, another wore thin, red-painted metal padding and a steel mask, and the third ¨C Xanala¡¯s father ¨C wore an armor set of pure titrite, the helm covering his face. Each of the men had a goggle-like set of two cameras on top of their masks, and each wielded a Surgeblade of a different Power. They moved to the center of the arena, forming a triangle.


    ¡°The Masked Warriors,¡± the Trett continued, ¡°have long been our way of testing those who claim the right of Prophecy. The Endowed must kill them, and if they succeed, they shall advance to the next of the Tests. Remember that the warriors¡¯ faces are covered to represent Oblivion, who, no matter what you do, will never spare you. You are a tool to him. A pawn. And, when death comes, he will torture you the same, wicked or righteous.¡± She swept her eyes over the crowd again, a dark expression on her face.


    We¡¯re all pawns to you, too, Xanala realized. She¡¯s reminding everyone of death. Of the power she has.


    In that moment, Xanala hated this woman more than anything. She, and the organization she led, were the reason Xanala had to hide. The reason the prisoners in Raerok had to suffer. The reason her father was so preoccupied with political games, unable to rest and spend time with his family.


    The Trett was everything wrong with the world, and with a flick of her wrist, Xanala could end her. One day, she would, taking control of the Confederacy and then granting it to her father. She longed for that day, and for a single moment of raw hatred, patience evaded her, and she almost Reached for Void. Almost shot out a tendril of light to snap her enemy¡¯s neck. Almost ran out, and exposed herself as the Endowed.


    ¡°Let the duel begin!¡±


    The crowd roared, and suddenly Xanala was small again. She forced her eyes back down to the arena, focusing on her father, in his gleaming white armor. She twitched her finger as he fought. It didn¡¯t help.


    Tenedon was, indeed, an atom burner, and immediately, he touched the metal wall of the arena, burning Purity and turning his skin to gleaming titrite. Then he rushed toward the trio of Masked Warriors, longsword in hand.


    The Masked Warriors moved with pre-coordinated precision. The Warrior wielding the Ever Surge immediately took off into the air, soaring above Tenedon¡¯s head, then unleashing a hail of firebolts down at him. Tenedon either dodged the bolts or let them hit his armor, where they fizzled out, but that would be a problem for him. An Ever burner in the sky was a nightmare for a Purity wielder to deal with.


    That didn¡¯t seem to faze Tenedon, though. He lunged toward the Masked Warrior wielding Void ¨C Vyrik was his name, if Xanala remembered correctly. Vyrik narrowly avoided his sword strikes, summoning tendrils of spiritual power to knock the blades just barely off course. Xanala¡¯s father engaged next, using his longsword to force Tenedon backward. Lyrus was clearly more skilled than Tenedon, and he managed to break one of Tenedon¡¯s arm plates, then stab the skin as it reformed. Tenedon yelped, then stepped back. A large chunk of the crowd cheered at that.


    The Warrior with the Ever Surge ¨C a man named Irin ¨C saw his opportunity. Raising his hand, he unleashed a bolt of hot, blazing plasma toward Tenedon. It struck his helm, blowing apart the armor piece in a single blast. Tenedon stumbled backward, the skin the helm had been made from quickly reforming, a shocked expression now on his face.


    The shock quickly morphed to anger. To Xanala¡¯s surprise, Tenedon cocked back his sword, as if to charge Lyrus.


    And then, he threw it.


    The crowd gasped as the blade flew into the air, propelled by the unnatural strength Purity granted Tenedon. It rammed into Irin¡¯s chest, tearing through his flesh and soaring out the other side until it embedded itself in one of the terrace walls. Irin sat briefly in the air, bleeding, his expression shocked, his skin pure alabaster. Then, he stopped glowing, and his corpse fell, smashing into the sand below. A faint line of green mist exited his mouth: his soul, descending into Torment.


    Though the crowd¡¯s eyes followed the corpse, Tenedon did not waste any time. He ran back to the arena wall, slamming his hand into another section of it and refreshing his titrite armor. Then he stretched forth his other hand, and a sword formed there: a sword made from radiant white light.


    The crowd gasped again. That was an Atomdagger. They were incredibly difficult to summon, even for an atom burner. It was certainly a sign that this man could actually be the Endowed. However, more important to Xanala, an Atomdagger could cut through anything.


    Even her father¡¯s usually impervious titrite armor.


    Tenedon charged again, and this time the two Masked Warriors split, moving to opposite sides of the arena. Xanala suspected she knew what they were doing: forcing Tenedon to engage one of them on one side, allowing the other to blindside the atom burner. A decent strategy, but a tactic that would likely see one of the Warriors dead.


    Tenedon hesitated a moment, then broke after Vyrik. Vyrik immediately lashed out with tendrils of red light, pushing them against Tenedon¡¯s armor, trying to slow him down. It was little use. Surges, though powerful, were nowhere near as strong as a true burner. Vyrik blocked two of Tenedon¡¯s blows before he fell, head severed by the Atomdagger.


    As they fought, Xanala¡¯s father ran across the arena with equally inhuman speed, then leapt on top of Tenedon¡¯s back. Tenedon bucked, but Lyrus got one, two sword strikes on the atom burner¡¯s helm, cracking it. Tenedon bucked again. Again Lyrus held on, though he didn¡¯t get another blow in on the helmet. Tenedon stumbled backward, slamming into the wall. Lyrus swung around to Tenedon¡¯s front, using one leg to push Tenedon¡¯s Atomdagger away, the other to shove him to the ground. Tenedon¡¯s other hand snapped upward, snatching Lyrus¡¯ neck. Lyrus didn¡¯t struggle, instead slamming his sword into Tenedon¡¯s helm again. It shattered, shrapnel falling across the sands.


    However, before Lyrus could finish Tenedon off, Tenedon threw Xanala¡¯s father backward, with force only an atom burner could muster. Lyrus soared at least twenty feet into the air, then slammed into one of the columns. His broken body slid to the ground. To Xanala¡¯s relief, Lyrus¡¯ crumpled form healed as it fell, shattered bones slowly knitting back together. He was alive, and his Purity Surge was shifting his body back to its natural state.


    She wasn¡¯t sure it would be fast enough, though. Tenedon rushed toward Lyrus, his helm gone, but his Atomdagger still shining bright. He arrived just as Lyrus stood back up, swinging the Atomdagger directly at Lyrus¡¯ chest. Lyrus threw his hand forward.


    And suddenly, the blade stopped. A bright point of white light radiated from the place where Lyrus¡¯ hand met the Atomdagger, and Xanala could see that her father¡¯s hand was Infused with Purity ¨C Purity that, for now, could block the Atomdagger¡¯s energy. He¡¯d only have an instant.


    But that was all he needed. Tenedon hesitated for just a moment, clearly shocked that his attack had been blocked. In that moment, Lyrus thrust his blade straight through Tenedon¡¯s right eye. He fell over instantly, sand parting as his heavy, armored body sunk into it. Green mist poured out of his mouth. Atom burners could heal ¨C but only if they were alive to do it.


    There was a loud silence, then a hesitant cheer. Soon, the entire crowd was rising and clapping. Xanala joined them, if only out of relief that her father had survived.


    ¡°All hail the Masked Warriors! All despise the false Endowed!¡± Some of the masses rushed onto the arena sand, spitting on Tenedon¡¯s carcass, firing rounds into his mangled face.


    Beside Xanala, Traegus did not stand. Instead, he stared at the arena, a bemused smile on his face.


    ¡°They wouldn¡¯t have lasted a minute against Larsh,¡± he said. ¡°Not one of them. Yet they still think they are players in this game. Such fools.¡± He turned to Xanala, meeting her eyes, then leaning in close. Xanala jumped at the sudden movement.


    ¡°It was a pleasure to meet the famed hero of the prophecy. You are meant for more than their games, Erdor.¡± He smiled, and the playfulness fled his face, leaving only cold stone. ¡°When you are ready to accept your role in this, know that Oblivion has an offer for you.¡±


    He turned and left before Xanala could even react. She should have chased him, but she sat frozen in her seat, blood and fear pounding through her head. He knew. How could he know?


    Finally, as she recovered from the shock, her eyes followed him. Now that she looked closer, he wasn¡¯t a Senator at all ¡ª instead, he had a general¡¯s rune plastered on his back. Why was a Talar general here, on Xeredon? Why had he been allowed in the arena? The Talar were technically still a member of the Confederacy, but they¡¯d broken so many rules the federation was seriously considering ejecting them.


    Most of all, how did he know about her scar? And the Void¡­ it couldn¡¯t have really sent him, could it?


    He was gone before she could ask, and others were rising from their seats. She pushed the thoughts from her mind, twitching her finger to take control of the fear. There would be time for questions later. When she was behind closed doors, or in one of her father¡¯s hideouts in the Undercity.


    Something else he¡¯d said bothered her too, though. He¡¯d talked about Larsh, in the arena. Larsh, who also claimed to be the Endowed, though in her thirteen years of rule, she¡¯d never submitted to the Testing. Larsh, who allowed memory burning within her borders, despite the entire International Confederacy¡¯s protests.


    For the first time in three years, Xanala again wanted to flee to Talar. Leave all this hiding behind.


    But, it wouldn¡¯t work. And if it went wrong, Xanala, who, as far as she knew, was the Endowed, would have to submit to the Testing. For if she was found as a burner, her only hope would be to declare herself a Prospect, and fight the Masked Warriors. Even if she was not found, it was supposedly her destiny to defeat the Void ¡ª and this was a necessary first step. A first step she¡¯d take whether or not she liked it, for the Tower of Foreseeing was never wrong.


    She glanced down at the ripped-apart corpse on the sands. At the people turned to animals who spat upon his body. She shivered.


    Destiny or not, if she ended up in this arena, she doubted she would fare any better than Tenedon.

 Chapter 7 - A Blade Calling

    Hope is a weapon, elegant, beautiful, and dangerous.


    -The Rift Code, Proverbs


    We are close, God said in Cyrla¡¯s mind. You have done well.


    She usually did her best not to show any outside reaction to the voice, but the smile that crossed her face in that moment was irresistible. It felt good, to know that things would come to a head soon. That, after all she¡¯d done, the Shadi ¡ª and the Talar ¡ª would finally recognize her for the prophet she truly was.


    Right now, though, she stood in a large, circular room, with holoscreen projectors covering every square foot of the walls. The projectors showed the day¡¯s footage, first-person views of the carnage that had ensued on Mirador. Blood sprayed across many of the screens, and about half of the feeds simply showed cloudy water or blue skies; corpses were not ideal cameramen. But some of them were perfect. Lasertips flashing, grenades exploding, bodies crumpling, men screaming, all captured in crisp detail. Cyrla¡¯s grin couldn¡¯t help but widen as she watched the spectacle. God would be pleased.


    She¡¯d hated accepting Oblivion as God at first. How could God be so cruel? Why should she worship him, rather than the benevolent Okron, or the noble Etheri? But as time wore on, she¡¯d realized the truth: even among gods, dominance was the only accurate measure of morality. With enough power, anything was right. And Oblivion had all power.


    Therefore, Oblivion was God. And because he was God, he decided what was right.


    ¡°Anything stand out, my lady?¡± Tyrus said beside her. A hulk of a man, he, as always, wore full titrite armor, only his helm taken off, and even that was stuffed into his armpit, waiting. Tyrus liked to be prepared. It was a virtue she could appreciate, if one that could annoy her.


    Cyrla waited a moment before replying. ¡°Perelor¡¯s feed,¡± she said. ¡°Where is it?¡±


    Tyrus frowned. ¡°You want to watch the memory burner again?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Which one is his?¡±


    Tyrus¡¯ frown deepened, but he pointed to a small panel on the right side of the room. ¡°That one, my lady. But¡­¡±


    Cyrla raised an eyebrow as she turned to watch the footage. Currently, it depicted young Krot struggling through the water, deep crimson blood dancing in the surrounding current. Cyrla couldn¡¯t resist a grin as she saw the swirling red liquid. They¡¯d think she was disturbed because of it, but let them have their rumors. Kneeling to Oblivion changed one¡¯s tastes in ways a mere mortal couldn¡¯t understand. ¡°But what?¡±


    ¡°My lady¡­ we all agree this obsession is getting out of hand.¡±


    Cyrla snorted. ¡°Obsession?¡±


    Thau it, she thought. They¡¯ve noticed. Not that it mattered. She¡¯d just have to play along with whatever story they¡¯d concocted to explain her interest.


    ¡°Yes. You spend more time on Perelor¡¯s screens than all the others combined. I know he¡¯s a memory burner, and of special interest to the Cunning One, but it¡¯s still getting to be a bit¡­ much.¡±


    ¡°And what would you have me do instead?¡±


    ¡°Well, we¡¯re currently backlogged on our broadcast footage. If you could spend more time approving it, it would help our workflow significantly.¡±


    ¡°Consider it approved, then.¡±


    Tyrus blinked. ¡°What?¡±


    Cyrla sighed, turning and putting on what she hoped looked like a somewhat weary face. ¡°Let me be frank with you, lieutenant. I am no journalist. That is your role. I am here for one purpose and one purpose only: security. I am a Voidmage, and my presence keeps the slaves in line, despite their¡­ predicament.¡±


    ¡°I know that,¡± Tyrus said slowly. ¡°But¡­¡±


    Cyrla raised a hand. ¡°Let me finish. You know what you are doing. Fear-mongering is an expertise of mine, yes, but ultimately, I am not a necessary part of the propaganda team. My role here is solely to reduce mutinies and address those that arise.


    ¡°Perelor Krot is a memory burner. His powers seem dormant, yes, but we don¡¯t yet know if that¡¯s just an act he¡¯s putting on. Furthermore, he is friends with the only Surgewielder in camp. He is more dangerous than anyone else here, perhaps more than all the others combined.


    ¡°So yes, I spend time on his screen. Monitoring his behavior is crucial to fulfilling my role. I ask that you not interfere in this, and in return, I will allow you more leeway in your own area of expertise. Am I clear?¡±


    Tyrus hesitated, then nodded. ¡°Yes, my lady. Thank you for explaining. I will inform the others of your decision.¡±


    ¡°Good. You are dismissed.¡± He walked off. Cyrla watched him for a moment, then crossed her arms behind her back, returning to stare at Perelor¡¯s screen. Her lieutenant had seemed to buy the act well enough. Not completely, but she doubted he suspected her for what she was: a Shadi, infiltrating Talar nobility and working towards the goals of Oblivion.


    She wasn¡¯t sure why the dark god was so interested in Perelor Krot. Yes, the boy was the brother of a potential Endowed, but that was of little consequence now that his planet had fallen. He was a memory burner, though that wasn¡¯t uncommon, regardless of the Confederacy¡¯s efforts to kill their kind. Besides, he never used those powers anymore. He just sat in the slave camps, defeated and downcast and utterly pathetic. Cyrla was surprised he hadn¡¯t killed himself yet.


    But Oblivion had explicitly commanded her to watch Perelor, and watch him she would. So she kept her eyes firmly on the screen, taking note as Perelor failed to stop another slave from committing suicide, then sunk into the trenches, falling silent as the battle moved on. He wasn¡¯t exhibiting any particularly rebellious behavior. Still, she¡¯d send a couple of trusted scouts to watch the man tonight. Best not to risk losing track of him.


    After all, it was not wise to disappoint God.


    ***


    A few hours after the battle ended, Perelor trudged through the streets of an abandoned Miradoran suburb. Arrus, and another man from his squadron, walked behind him; they were the only ones in good enough condition to make the trip, though the other man had an upper arm wound that did not look good.


    The city had been left surprisingly intact; it seemed the enemy had retreated before the Talar had been forced to bomb the streets. There were only a few bodies lying on the ground, and most were already being cleaned up by slaves in purple cloth. The other man from Perelor¡¯s squadron, a Grahalan in red and silver, kept looking at those slaves, a hint of jealousy in his eyes, something not uncommon among Perelor¡¯s men. The other Talar slaves might not live pleasant lives, but at least they weren¡¯t being slaughtered on camera.


    Those cameras were running again, their buzz audible to Perelor now that the shouts of battle had faded to quieter groans of pain. He suspected they wouldn¡¯t run much longer, though ¡ª this carnage was bad, but there would be far worse on other sectors of the planet, and those sites would be the ones that were eventually broadcast. For now, though, they continued onward at a slow walk, led by a Talar soldier in shining violet armor ¡ª armor as of yet unscathed by battle. He did not speak to the slaves. In fact, his expression grew more than a little nervous every time he looked at Perelor or Arrus, his eyes drifting toward their Surges.


    All the slave masters acted like that when Perelor was around. They seemed to think he, with his Surge, was the most likely to try to escape. Well, he could understand that line of reasoning, even if they were wrong.


    Eventually, they came to a stop as the city faded back into farmland. The cameras stopped, and the Talar soldier walked away as half a dozen more soldiers, these in scuffed-up, battle-torn armor, strode up to Perelor and the other two men. Grunting, they handed Perelor three large metal tubes, each with a trigger and a massive barrel at its end.


    ¡°Corpse duty,¡± one of them said. ¡°Your squad has the beach sector, borders are cast to your holoscreen. Get to work.¡±


    They stepped back, though their eyes remained firmly on Perelor. He handed one tube to Arrus, and another to the wounded man, who looked as if he could hardly withstand the weight of it. ¡°Corpse duty,¡± he repeated. ¡°These are mobile disposers. Knob on the left shows charge, top button will dispense the flames. Take any valuables off of any bodies you find, and turn them in to me. Don¡¯t steal, they don¡¯t react kindly to that.¡±


    Arrus sighed. ¡°They really couldn¡¯t just do a bonfire, huh?¡±


    Perelor shrugged. ¡°Keeps us busy.¡±


    ¡°More like keeps us stinky.¡±


    Perelor snorted. ¡°Got a date tonight or something?¡±


    ¡°Well, no. But they don¡¯t know that.¡± He shook his head. ¡°Very rude of them. Stealing that cologne only goes so far, you know.¡±


    ¡°Yup. I smell you every day, so trust me, I know.¡± Perelor straightened. ¡°Let¡¯s get to work. I want to get some sleep tonight.¡±Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    And start forgetting the faces of those men.


    Arrus nodded. ¡°I can get behind that. Let¡¯s get to work.¡±


    They began trudging back toward the beach, falling into silence. Perelor glimpsed the other slave, though, the one with the arm wound. He was looking back at the Talar soldiers, lips pursed, fire in his eyes. The sheer intensity of the gaze made Perelor shiver.


    That one might be trouble. He vaguely remembered seeing this man during the fighting. There was a reason he had survived; the way he¡¯d killed clearly indicated he had military training. But there was nothing to be done about it yet. As they arrived at the beach, Perelor moved away from the others and began cleaning up the wreckage.


    It was a slow process. The Disposers, though able to burn away a corpse in seconds, took several minutes to charge ¡ª a weakness built into this model to keep them from being used against Talar soldiers. And, though they only had to cover a slim section of the beach, there were at least a hundred corpses just in that area. Though the echoes were faint ¡ª most of these men¡¯s minds and memories were well within Torment now ¡ª they still murmured in the back of Perelor¡¯s thoughts.


    To make matters worse, this was the same plot of ground Perelor had fought on earlier. He tensed as he felt N527¡¯s echoes, clear as the ocean water in front of him, coming from a body that lay face up in the sand nearby.


    Better to give up, the suicidal captive whispered. Better to let the quiet take you.


    He knew what it felt like to have those thoughts. And he knew, at least a little, how to deal with them. He should have tried harder to stop the boy from killing himself. Should have done better. For a moment, his hand drifted toward the dagger on his belt, but he quickly retracted it.


    There will be time for that later.


    Kneeling beside N527¡¯s corpse, he got to work.


    ***


    Perelor closed Captain Iralik¡¯s eyes, whispering an Ethean prayer before standing and turning the knob to recharge his Disposer.


    It was nightfall now, and the platoon was nearly done with corpse duty. Perelor had been working near the trenches when he¡¯d found Iralik. It looked as if he¡¯d taken a bullet while slipping into the trench, then fallen inside and died there. His carcass, like most, had a face taut with pain and a figure contorted with fear. His dead eyes stared at the stars.


    And so Perelor closed them. It was an Ethean tradition; the Meridianite priests there said that a man¡¯s soul could still see through his eyes when he died, and the reminder of his former life made Torment all the worse. Perelor wasn¡¯t sure if he believed in the Ethean religion anymore, but he did this all the same. Best not to risk making a man¡¯s condemnation worse.


    His head camera buzzed; apparently, this was bad enough to merit potential footage. Or maybe they just wanted to watch him. They did that, sometimes. Either way, he ignored it. The Talar might own his writ of slavery, but they didn¡¯t own him. At least, he told himself that as he lowered the Disposer and activated it, burning Iralik to cinders.


    ¡°Okron guide you,¡± he said, finishing the prayer, ¡°away from the cold depths of the planets and into the endless warmth of the stars.¡± His eyes lingered on the man a moment longer. Did he deserve that prayer? He had caused even more of Perelor¡¯s men to die. Surely that earned him at least a little of Torment.


    But then, it wasn¡¯t as if Perelor himself hadn¡¯t sat and watched similar slaves die, without even trying to interfere. Perhaps they both deserved Torment. Perhaps neither did. It didn¡¯t matter. Torment was what you got, no matter how good of a person you were.


    It was a disturbing reality of the galaxy, one few liked to think about. There was no point in doing the ¡°right¡± thing, whether you thought it was right to begin with or not. Everyone got the same, horrible reward, so what incentive was there to be moral?


    And yet you still try to find Eliel, a part of him noted. Why? She¡¯ll just fail, like the other Endowed did.


    He pushed that thought away. Maybe there wasn¡¯t a right thing, but he intended to honor his father¡¯s memory, and that meant protecting his sister. Slowly, he moved toward the others; they were done for now. Those who stayed on the island would probably find corpses in hidden corners Perelor¡¯s men hadn¡¯t scoured, but most of them had been properly burnt away.


    Arrus and the other man, N523, gathered around. Perelor collected their Disposers, then nodded northward.


    ¡°We¡¯re sleeping with squad three tonight, and I¡¯ll be subbing in for Iralik until they find his replacement. No further duties until tomorrow. Sleep well, though, you¡¯ll need the rest.¡±


    Arrus nodded. ¡°You need help carrying those?¡± he asked, nodding toward the weapons in Perelor¡¯s hand.


    They were bulky, and the three together were heavy enough he probably could have used the help. But he shook his head.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    ¡°You sure?¡±


    ¡°Yup.¡±


    Arrus¡¯ brow creased. ¡°Well. Just come back as soon as you¡¯ve got them delivered, I guess.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll come back when I want to, Arrus.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± he met Perelor¡¯s eyes, flinched, then sighed. ¡°Alright.¡± He walked away, though his eyes lingered on Perelor longer than they should have.


    He knows, Perelor thought. Unfortunate, but it wasn¡¯t as if the younger man could stop him. Grunting, Perelor strode into the trees, found a Talar soldier, and dropped off the weapons.


    Then he began heading for the city.


    He suspected the area they¡¯d walked through earlier would be private enough. All the civilians who¡¯d lived here had been airlifted out during the invasion, and consequently, the residential districts were nearly silent. And, sure enough, as he made his way out of the foliage and into the streets, he saw no one, save for the smoke of a mass corpse burning a few miles off. He found his way to a backstreet, checked for any stray Talar, then closed his eyes, letting his father¡¯s voice call to him.


    You failed, it rumbled. You didn¡¯t keep her safe.


    Perelor shivered, a nightmare beginning to dance across his thoughts ¡ª flames lashing across cement rooftops, blood and mud and dirt flying into the air as fighter planes descended on the streets.


    It was not a nightmare. It was a memory. He fell to his knees.


    You let Larsh take her.


    ¡°No,¡± he said, voice trembling. ¡°I tried. I tried. I¡¯m sorry, I tried.¡±


    You failed.


    You broke your oath.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Remorse will not bring her back. Remember, Perelor. You lost her.


    He did remember, for one agonizing moment. Then he forced himself to forget. The voices, and the images, faded.


    The pain didn¡¯t. It raced through his veins, pinning his knees to the ground. It seemed to press hard against his chest, as if trying to stifle his heartbeat. For a moment, he wouldn¡¯t have cared if it succeeded.


    Then, groaning, he stood up. Slowly, hesitantly, he retrieved his dagger, drawing it from his belt. His hand shook. He hated that; he¡¯d done this a thousand times, and every time he did it he still hesitated. It was dishonorable.


    He held the dagger in front of his face. The metal blade was well polished, and he could see himself in the reflection. His Ethean uniform was in tatters, torn apart by the battle, and though he¡¯d healed himself, dried blood still caked his skin. An eyepatch still covered one of his eyes, even after all these years. He could heal it, and people often asked why he didn¡¯t.


    They didn¡¯t understand. The lost eye was his punishment. His reminder of how, and who, he had failed that horrible day when everything had changed.


    With his free hand, he swung the patch off his face. Beneath, his eye was barely recognizable as an eye, though the black glyph scarred into it was clearly readable.


    Elekhai.


    Slave.


    Failure.


    He tucked the eyepatch into his pocket. Hesitated, again. Then, grimacing, he began to cut.


    He slashed himself carefully, avoiding any large veins or arteries. This was meant to hurt, but not to disable him, nor to use too much of his Surge¡¯s power. So he slid the blade close to his skin, flaying himself rather than cutting deep. Within a minute, his arm was a mess of exposed flesh, beads of blood dripping to the ground. Most men would be screaming in pain by now, or, at the very least, incapable of hurting themselves further.


    Not Perelor. He¡¯d had years to train himself.


    He switched hands, now holding the dagger in a hand that was itself slashed in several places. His muscles stung as they touched the metal, but he ignored them, carefully repeating the process on his left arm, trying his best to replicate the exact pattern he¡¯d made on the right one. It was difficult. He could push back the pain enough to continue cutting, but his hand still shook, and his brain was reeling at the loss of blood.


    There was one benefit of this, though, one that outweighed the cost a hundred times over. While he cut, the screams were gone. The past itself was gone. There was only him and the blade. Him and the warm blanket of red covering his arm.


    In a twisted way, it almost felt like Eliel was back, embracing him. Almost.


    Finally, he finished. His hand, trembling violently now, gave in, and the dagger slipped from his grip. It clanged as it hit the cement walkway, the sound echoing in the night. Perelor himself sat down, head slumped down, exhausted.


    Slowly, the hurt, the real pain he¡¯d come here to numb, enveloped him. His father, staring upward with charred holes for eye sockets. A whip, ramming into his back, over and over. Dozens of his comrades laying dead on a battlefield. The men from today that he hadn¡¯t known, but had cared for anyway, no matter what he pretended. All of them lost because he hadn¡¯t tried hard enough.


    Most of all, his sister. Gone. Torn from him, five years ago today. The last shred of worthiness he had left, extinguished in an instant.


    The tears overtook him. He did not sob, but they ran freely down his cheeks, raining onto his arms. They stung as they struck the open wounds, and somehow that pain was far more intense than anything else.


    He sat there, alone, for too long, barely able to control himself, barely able to keep the blood from staining his clothes further. In the distance, the bonfire of corpses blinked out, leaving a puff of smoke in its wake. Leaving him almost completely in darkness.


    He rose eventually, though he did not know how much later. Soon enough, at least, that the sun hadn¡¯t risen. Limbs shaking, he closed his eyes and Reached for the Surge in his back. As it always did, the Purity seemed to resist him, pushing almost physically against his mental pull, but, as it always did, it inevitably rushed into his veins. His muscles, once tired, suddenly came alive with energy, and his heartbeat quickened. The pain receded, and within a few moments, his flesh had repaired itself completely, leaving barely a scar in its wake. The glowing white energy also tried to heal his burned eye, though Perelor mentally willed it backward, and it obeyed.


    Keep your sister safe, son. His father¡¯s last request.


    He¡¯d failed.


    The echoes, the screams, returned, the past taunting him. Cursing, he turned and strode back into the night, leaving a pool of his own blood behind him.

 Chapter 8 - The Liar

    In the end, fear shall not overpower them, and they shall stand strong when they face Oblivion.


    -Excerpt from The Book of Eternity


    Xanala waited for several hours for her father to free himself from the watching crowd. Most of those who got close were congratulating him, but a few were supporters of Tenedon, and they cursed and spat and yelled as they approached. One even tried to kill her father. The would-be assassin was swiftly disposed of, the gunshots barely audible over the chaotic chatting.


    Chatting, at an arena stained with the blood of fallen men. It was wrong, but Xanala said nothing.


    She didn¡¯t spend most of that time waiting for her father, either. She¡¯d been nervous for him, but now that anxiety had twisted itself into worry for her own well-being. Still staring at Tenedon¡¯s corpse, mangled beyond recognition in the sand, she couldn¡¯t help but wonder how long she had before someone caught her.


    Not long, she decided. That coup needs to happen soon.


    Finally, her father pushed his way through the crowd to them. He gave Xanala a curt nod, and held out his hand to help her mother as they made their way towards the exit. Eliminators with spears waved away the crowd as they passed.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± Xanala¡¯s mother asked.


    Her father just grunted, nodding to the door. ¡°Let¡¯s just leave.¡±


    Xanala¡¯s mother¡¯s eyebrows furrowed in concern, but she followed Lyrus as he made his way toward a private dressing room, which had a secret exit on the other side they could use to slip away. Eliminators followed them through the entrance, warding off the throng of people, then shutting the door behind them. They found themselves in a long hallway, lined with decorations, antique weapons, and proverbs in Ancient Meridian script engraved into the walls. As they walked, Lyrus ripped off his Masked Warrior robes, leaving him in a tight nylon-fiber jumpsuit. Soon, the hallway opened into a small atrium, with granite benches for the Warriors to change on. Lyrus threw his Surgeblade onto that bench, then sat down, burying his head in his hands. His breathing was shaky.


    ¡°Lyrus, are you alright?¡± Xanala¡¯s mother asked, more firm this time. There was no reply, though his breathing was growing even quicker.


    He¡¯s panicking, Xanala realized. Just like me.


    ¡°Lyrus?¡± her mother pressed.


    ¡°I almost died,¡± her father spat.


    ¡°I know,¡± Xanala¡¯s mother said, perfectly calm despite the outburst. ¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯m asking.¡±


    ¡°Well, thank you, but leave,¡± her father said, turning away. He clenched his jaw. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine. I¡¯m always fine.¡± He was shaking more violently now. ¡°He almost had me¡­ I¡¯ll have to train harder.¡±


    Xanala¡¯s mother frowned, but nodded, softly touching Xanala¡¯s shoulder. ¡°We¡¯re here, Lyrus, if you need us. We always are.¡±


    ¡°Leave.¡± That was all she got in reply.


    Xanala¡¯s mother nodded, and they turned to go, then stopped. Someone else was coming down the hall ¡ª the Trett, followed by the Five High Priests, each wearing the colors of their respective Sect. She gave a curt nod to Xanala¡¯s mother as she passed, then stopped before Lyrus, folding her arms behind her back.


    ¡°Lyrus. You have disappointed me.¡±


    Immediately, Lyrus turned, eyes alight with anger. ¡°Disappointed you? Tenedon is dead. Just as you asked. Tell me,¡± he growled, ¡°how have I disappointed you this time?¡±


    The Trett only raised an eyebrow. ¡°I would advise more respect,¡± she said, ¡°considering I am about to demote you.¡±


    Lyrus went pale. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You heard me. You¡¯re demoted. From here on, you will be a trainer for the Masked Warriors. I will pay you a respectable salary and allow you access to a few Surges, but nothing more.¡±


    Lyrus sneered. ¡°You can¡¯t do that.¡±


    Oh no, Xanala thought. He¡¯s not going to take this well. Not at all. And¡­ the coup¡­ this is a major setback. She began twitching her finger, praying to Okron that the Trett was simply exaggerating. Threatening him, to encourage higher performance.


    ¡°I am, actually, the only one in Delti who can,¡± the Trett said. Her voice grew softer. ¡°You¡¯re unfit for this, Lyrus. Admit it. You should have stepped back years ago.¡±


    ¡°I killed Tenedon.¡±


    ¡°You almost failed. Do you have any idea what a disaster that would be? The Khazath are already considering invasion, thanks to Larsh¡¯s antics with the Talar. No one has passed the First Testing in five centuries. The uproar it would cause would throw us into disarray, and the Khazath would pounce. The entire galaxy hung on a thread, Erdor, because of you and your men¡¯s incompetence. Because you, in your pride, haven¡¯t stepped down.¡±


    ¡°I saved us!¡±


    ¡°You did,¡± the Trett said. ¡°And for that, I am grateful, I truly am. But it was too close. We need fresh blood in the Warriors. Especially now that two of you are dead, completely reassembling the team is the best option.¡± She met his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m giving you a peaceful retirement, Lyrus. All the funds you need for a comfortable life. All I¡¯m asking is that you walk out of this. Lead a simple life here on Xeredon. You¡¯ve earned it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll train harder. Please.¡±


    ¡°No. This is final. Your retirement has been long coming. I will issue the statement tonight.¡± Her voice softened even further. ¡°This is no reflection on you, my friend. You¡¯re almost in your fifties, and everyone¡¯s body wears out with age. I will give you a position in the Assembly, if you truly wish to continue in politics. But I cannot risk invasion just for your pride.¡± She sighed. ¡°We can discuss the details later. Right now, we both should be attending Veridon¡¯s execution.¡± She shook her head. ¡°I really didn¡¯t need another traitor rearing their head, but here we are.¡±


    Lyrus blinked. ¡°You¡¯re doing that now?¡±


    ¡°Yes. It¡¯s a reminder to our enemies, a show of force while they are weak. It will, hopefully, help convince the Khazath we are strong enough to repel an attack.¡± The Trett straightened. ¡°I will give you some time to process your demotion, but I must leave.¡± She relaxed a little. ¡°Good work today, Lyrus. And I am truly sorry about the others.¡±


    She turned and left, ignoring Xanala¡¯s mother completely this time, the priests following her. Lyrus¡¯ eyes followed the Trett for a long time. Then, when she was gone, he broke down, tears of anger and sorrow streaming down his face, his breath long, ragged gasps.


    Xanala recognized those symptoms. He was having a panic attack. Something he¡¯d counseled her through a hundred times. Her heart ached, and she wished she knew how to return the favor, and help him.


    Xanala¡¯s mother placed her hand on Lyrus¡¯ back. He shook it away.


    ¡°Go,¡± he hissed. ¡°I¡¯ll meet you at the execution. I don¡¯t want you to see me like this.¡±


    Xanala¡¯s mother hesitated. We shouldn¡¯t leave, Xanala thought. We need to help him.


    They didn¡¯t stay, though. Xanala¡¯s mother left, and she followed, trying to shut the soul-breaking sound of her father¡¯s sobbing from her mind.


    ***


    Veridon¡¯s execution went smoothly, and Xanala was relieved to find that no inquisitive eyes rested on her during the event. The Trett gave a brief speech detailing Veridon¡¯s conspiracy with Ireo and his crimes, and then he was killed. It was quick, simple, and brutal.


    Xanala felt a strange guilt, though. Veridon, though gagged, had stared at her pleadingly the whole time the Trett had spoken. Part of her knew she should have helped him. He¡¯d just been trying to save a burner. Someone just like herself.


    She didn¡¯t. She just watched silently as the executioner swung his sword, and Veridon fell to the ground in two pieces.


    Her father had approached her shortly after the proceedings had concluded. He¡¯d said only a few words to her.


    ¡°We will need to move up our plans for the coup. Tonight, we train.¡±


    And so, a few hours later, Xanala waited in a private training room deep within the Undercity. It was a secret room, the walls shielded by metal and soundproofing and anti-muon scanner devices. The setup was simple, on the inside, the place was a large metal dome, no furnishings, no patterns on the floor nor the ceiling. Just dull steel all around.


    ¡°Again.¡±


    Lyrus stood before her, his eyes still puffy, but his face now taut with anger. He stubbornly wore the white-and-silver robes of a Masked Warrior, and an Ever Surgeblade waited at his side. He¡¯d have to turn it in before the day was through, but Xanala suspected he wouldn¡¯t do so a moment earlier than he had to.


    ¡°I can¡¯t do it for too long,¡± Xanala said. ¡°I¡¯ll wear out.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± her father replied. ¡°But you¡¯re not worn out yet. Again.¡±


    Xanala sighed, but nodded, then closed her eyes. She Reached for Ever first, burning the memories of those around her. It was difficult ¡ª this place was deep underground, in the farthest layer of the Undercity, and few lived near it even on the surface. But, Xeredon was still a highly populated planet, and with effort, she managed to pull some echoes from far away and burn those.


    Her eyes opened, and she was now alight with Ever. She fell into an attack stance, throwing her hand forward, burning her Ever to heat the air above her palm, then shoot the resulting beam of concentrated plasma into the steel. It sizzled as it struck the metal. She thrust her other hand forward a moment later, sending a similar bolt into another section of the wall. She repeated that motion several times, alternating hands, practicing aiming while shooting them off as fast as she could, all while keeping the attack concentrated into as small a bolt as possible ¡ª a more dense attack would do the same damage while burning less Ever.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Finally, she ran out of Ever. She closed her eyes again, this time burning Purity. That involved burning her own body ¡ª sort of. You didn¡¯t actually burn yourself, just your connection to the Purityweb, but every person had a limited amount they could burn, and it usually depended on their physical strength. Burning stamina was the slang term for it. Immediately, her muscles quickened, and she lit up with white light.


    While she was Infused with Purity, she could feel the physical world around her, a sixth sense much like memory sense, but one that, instead of showing her others¡¯ thoughts, told her where every piece of matter nearby was, and what it was made of. Atom sense, it was called. Her memory sense, of course, shut off while she was burning Purity ¡ª each of the Three Powers attracted towards itself, and repelled the other two.


    The Endowed was prophesied to unite those Powers, wielding all three at the same time. A feat most would deem impossible, were it not for the existence of Dawnbreaker.


    But she didn¡¯t have time to worry about that now. She knelt, touching her hand to the steel floor, then burned Purity. The steel melded with her skin, flowing into it, forming glowing, heavenly titrite armor. That was what burning Purity did ¡ª it allowed you to shift your body, either moving around the matter already inside you, or adding matter from outside, and using that matter to enhance your physical capabilities. You could use it to heal yourself, too, by shifting your body back into the shape it had been before the wound. And others, if they let you, though that was more complicated.


    She stood up, now covered entirely in a suit of titrite, even her eyes, though she could still sense everything around her through her atom sense. She threw a few punches in the air, then shifted into a collection of training stances, practicing what it felt like to use her amplified muscles.


    After a minute, though, she let the Purity dissipate from her body. The metal seeped out of her skin, then fell away in pieces.


    She stepped back, careful to avoid stabbing herself on the shards, panting. She¡¯d been doing this exercise for two hours now, and it was taking a toll on her; using the Powers for too long always did. She hesitated. This was an exercise in switching between each of the Three Powers quickly, designed by her father, and the next part of it called for using Void.


    He has called the Eliminators, Oblivion said suddenly. They are almost here. I can see them, in the third layer. You don¡¯t have much time¡­


    She froze. The voice wasn¡¯t usually so specific. She paused for a moment, considering if it could actually be right. But no, it was Oblivion speaking. He was lying to her, as he always did.


    ¡°Void,¡± her father growled. ¡°You¡¯re getting slow. Switch faster.¡±


    She hesitated, then shook her head, pushing away the voice. Then she closed her eyes again. It wasn¡¯t technically necessary to do that to Reach, but most burners did so anyway. It only took a couple seconds to light up with one of the Powers, and shutting off your senses helped you focus more on connecting to the proper Realm.


    Burning Void, though, was a far different experience than Ever or Purity. Using the other two could be traumatic ¡ª you were seeing other¡¯s thoughts, or temporarily draining your life force, but there was still a peace that came while Infused with them. A rightness.


    Not so with Void. In fact, it felt the opposite. As Xanala Reached for emotion around her, everything turned wrong. Pain prickled across her skin. Unnatural fear pounded in her heart, a sinking, endless pit of it. And, though she could not see who it was, she felt as if someone ¡ª or something ¡ª was watching her, eyes boring into her very soul.


    Emotions flew through her mind. Emotions of people in the city, tired as they went to bed, some thrilled about the results of the Testing, others resignedly realizing that they¡¯d been wrong to hope again.


    And other emotions. Emotions of two Eliminators, seething with hatred. Hatred directed toward a young girl named Xanala Erdor.


    He is turning you in, the voice whispered. It was much, much louder now. Louder than it should have been, even if she was wielding the Third Power. He has betrayed you.


    Run, little one. Kill him, and run, while you still can.


    The fear suddenly became more intense ¡ª her own natural fear, not a projection of the Void. The emotions of those around her fled as she caved, failing to summon Void. She returned to reality on her knees, gasping for breath, a cold sweat running down her back.


    ¡°There¡¯s Eliminators,¡± she gasped. ¡°I felt them.¡±


    A brief flash of panic crossed Lyrus¡¯ face, so brief that Xanala would not have caught it were it not for the paranoia caused by Oblivion¡¯s constant warnings. A snort quickly replaced it.


    ¡°I covered our tracks well, daughter. We will be fine.¡±


    Xanala hesitated, focusing. No, there were two Eliminators, at least ¡ª there could be more. Seething with the desire to move that often came before a fight. ¡°I think I¡¯m right, Dad. I can feel them really well. We need to leave¡­¡±


    ¡°We will be fine.¡± Lyrus¡¯ voice was just a little too loud. He let out an exasperated breath. ¡°I don¡¯t have the patience to deal with your nonsense today, Xanala. Continue your exercises.¡±


    He is lying. Do not pretend you cannot see it.


    She hesitated, her emotions twisting and churning and raging within her. Oblivion had to be lying. This couldn¡¯t be. Her father had always¡­ had always¡­


    He has always been more abusive than you were willing to acknowledge, Oblivion hissed. The coup is just a plan for him to gain more power, little one. Do not be deceived. He blocks your way to true freedom. Do you not remember the night when he held you back from it? The Talar would have welcomed you¡­


    Her father growled. ¡°Get up. I almost died defending you. You have no right to be lazy.¡±


    He berates you. Denies you your humanity. You are a tool to him, a sword to remove his opponents. He threatened the Trett, you know. She is fully aware of your powers, but she is afraid of your father¡¯s madness, and your loyalty to it.


    But you do not have to be afraid. I can set you free. All it takes is a word¡­


    Trembling, Xanala slowly stood. She checked again with her soulsense, and still she felt the Eliminators rushing toward them.


    Sense your father, little one. He is Infused, but I will assist you.


    Cringing, she pushed harder, Reaching for Lyrus¡¯ emotions. She felt a strange resistance as she did, but, as promised, it puffed away as she pushed firmly with her willpower.


    And there, she found a tempest. Of sickening hatred and fear, though very little sorrow. Most of all, though, there was cold, unholy determination.


    She stepped back, heart pounding. ¡°You¡¯re lying,¡± she said. A part of her could not believe she was saying those words. A part of her knew they had always been true. ¡°That¡¯s why you have the Ever Surgeblade. You wanted to be Infused, so I couldn¡¯t read your thoughts. All so you can hide your thoughts and lie to my face.¡±


    Her father chuckled. He was a good actor, Xanala admitted. He didn¡¯t look the slightest bit concerned. ¡°Perhaps we need to be done. Unfortunate, but it seems you¡¯re cracking. I have always wondered what your mother sees in you¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not answering the question.¡± Xanala was surprised at the vehemence in her voice. How long had she pent up this anger? The stress of hiding, all these years? It was all coming to the surface now. ¡°The Eliminators are coming, aren¡¯t they? You¡¯re having me train so you can weaken me. So I won¡¯t be able to burn for as long when they arrive.¡± She stepped forward, closing her eyes. She burned Purity this time. Armor would serve her best, if she was right about this. When she opened her eyes, she was glowing white.


    ¡°We¡¯re training because you need practice,¡± her father said flatly. ¡°Nothing more.¡± He was still maintaining his act, and doing so well. But there was just the slightest flicker in his expression. The slightest twitch of his finger toward his Surgeblade as Xanala stepped toward him, titrite rushing up her leg and forming into a suit around her.


    He was lying. Her gut told her that much.


    Kill, the Void whispered. He deserves it.


    No, not father. He always backs me. He¡¯s always loyal. He¡­


    He had betrayed her. The one person she had trusted, the one person she had loved, was the same as the rest. Oblivion¡¯s touch finally began to overcome her.


    She stretched out her hand, closing her eyes and burning more Purity to summon a titrite spike jutting out of her wrist. Then, she swept at her father¡¯s neck.


    He reacted instantly, drawing his Surgeblade and blocking the blow in one fluid motion. For an instant he closed his eyes, and Ever flowed from the Surge into his veins, then spread through his blood into his skin. Stepping back, he raised his hand, burning his newfound energy.


    A wave of force slammed into Xanala, but she was ready ¡ª she knew her father¡¯s tactics as sure as she knew his ruthlessness. She burned Purity, turning the metal floor into her armor, then extending her footplates and melding them into the floor for just a moment. The force of Lyrus¡¯ attack whipped against her, and she was forced to lean forward to avoid toppling backward, but she held her position. Then, stepping forward, she batted away her father¡¯s Surgeblade, snatched him by the neck, and pinned him against the wall. Desperately, he burned more Ever, summoning a burst of flame that roared into Xanala, but her titrite absorbed the heat easily. Soon, he was no longer Infused with anything.


    Kill him.


    ¡°Tell me you¡¯re not lying,¡± she hissed. ¡°Tell me they¡¯re not coming, and I¡¯ll stop.¡±


    Kill him.


    Her father gasped. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ not¡­ lying.¡±


    But the act was gone, and she could see his face. His eyes were wide with fear, but his shoulders also sagged with guilt. She trembled, dropping him to the floor. He lunged for the Surgeblade, but she stepped on his back, pinning him to the floor with unnatural strength. She stood there, shaking, for too long.


    Kill him.


    She was angry. She was afraid. Most of all, she wasn¡¯t sure what to do with the voice in her head.


    He deserves it.


    She released Purity, letting it flee without burning it, then immediately Reached for Ever. She burned her father¡¯s thoughts as she did.


    They¡¯re almost here, he was thinking. They¡¯ll have Surges.


    We can still kill her.


    But she saw other things in his mind, too. The Trett knew. She¡¯d known for years now, and the only reason Xanala had been spared had been her father¡¯s repeated, careful blackmail, made possible by his position within the Masked Warriors. Things suddenly made more sense. Her ability to walk into Raerok and kill a political rival undetected. Her father¡¯s panic over his lost duties. Even now, she was only alive because the Trett feared Lyrus would try to have Xanala kill her at the last possible moment.


    It was just as Oblivion had said.


    I warned you, he rumbled. I truly tried to stop this. I still can, if you give in. But if you do not give yourself to me, there is nothing I can do, and you will die.


    Xanala hesitated, but pushed the thought back. The god had been right, but it was still the Void speaking. It was right about one thing, though ¡ª right now, she was alive because of her father¡¯s efforts. And, if she didn¡¯t run, she would die because of them, too.


    Okron, she hated him. And Etheri, she loved him. The duality of those emotions clashed so strongly inside her it took an intense display of will to even move.


    But move she did. Her eyes opened, and she was now alight with blue Ever, her mind sharper, though the voice still whispered incessantly in her mind.


    Kill him. He betrayed you. There is no reason not to.


    The voice didn¡¯t understand.


    She needed to run. All of Xeredon would know about her by now; there could be no covering up such a scandal. She hadn¡¯t been able to get an exact picture of how many Eliminators were coming ¡ª soul sense could only read one¡¯s emotions and Intent, not their physical vision ¡ª but there was likely at least a single kill squad, numbering two dozen men. Combine their expertise with the Surges they wielded, and they would best Xanala easily.


    Still she stood there. Staring down at her father¡¯s face. Hating him.


    She raised her hand, forming a ball of flames within it.


    Good. Do it.


    Her hand trembled. She despised this man, and yet she loved him. Deep down, she disagreed with everything he stood for, yet for the last decade she had spent every minute of every day trying to please him.


    Yes, she needed to run. Not just from the Eliminators, but from this.


    She burned her Ever to throw her father backward, then snatched the Surgeblade from the ground, then dashed away, out into the stiff wind of the Undercity. She ran as fast as she could, but still she heard her father shout behind her.


    ¡°You won¡¯t get away. You¡¯re weak. You always have been!¡±


    He was deranged. Evil. Yet his disapproval still cut her to the bone. So she just kept running, tears and sweat running freely down her face, until his screams faded into echoes, then into silence.

 Chapter 9 - Stars

    Whatever burden you carry, carry it with purpose.


    -The Rift Code, Proverbs


    The trek back to camp would be a long one. Perelor hadn¡¯t realized just how far he¡¯d wandered into the city until he¡¯d started his journey back. Considering how fast this planet rotated ¡ª Arrus had said something about twelve-hour days ¡ª it might be sunrise by the time he arrived. He¡¯d certainly been gone far longer than he was supposed to, and Arrus would be certain now that Perelor had self-harmed. Ah well. He always found out, one way or another. And Perelor continued doing it, one way or another.


    He¡¯d just hit the border between the streets and the forest when he heard a twig snap behind him. Without thinking, he ripped his lasertip from off his back and whirled toward the source of the sound. He stopped himself from hitting the trigger instinctively, though he twisted behind a tree in case his potential enemy wasn¡¯t so generous.


    He focused on the surrounding echoes. It was more difficult without closing your eyes and intentionally focusing, and it was even more difficult for him now than it had been years ago, but he was able to pick out a frightened jumble of thoughts nearby. A man in Grahalan red and silver robes, though unarmed. Perelor vaguely recognized the thin strands of gray hair on the man¡¯s arms. Hesitantly, he stepped forward until he could see the other slave with his own eyes, then lowered his lasertip.


    ¡°N523. It¡¯s you.¡± He frowned. ¡°How long have you been following me?¡±


    ¡°You could at least care enough to learn our names,¡± the Grahalan grunted.


    ¡°No names in my camp,¡± Perelor said. ¡°And you¡¯re dodging the question. You followed me.¡±


    ¡°Your proof?¡±


    ¡°That you just happened to bump into me several hours from camp?¡±


    N523 hesitated, then shrugged. ¡°Well, that¡¯s proof enough I suppose. Not that it matters. You aren¡¯t doin¡¯ what I thought you were.¡±


    ¡°Which is?¡±


    ¡°Pretty much anything besides¡­ that.¡± A look of visible disgust crossed his face. ¡°Torment. I don¡¯t even think the pits of the Tomb are that harsh.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s an Ethean warrior¡¯s ritual,¡± Perelor said, tensing. It didn¡¯t truly matter if his men knew what he did, or how much of a wreck he was, but it made him uncomfortable. Better to craft a lie, just a small one. ¡°I don¡¯t do it very often, and only when I have enough charge in my healing Surge. Keeps me resistant to pain.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve met my fair share of Etheans,¡± N523 said. ¡°None of them were that strange. Of course, they also asked me my name, so I suppose I shouldn¡¯t be surprised.¡±


    ¡°Can we get to the point? Why are you here? You should be resting. They only give us six hours, you know.¡± He met the man¡¯s gaze, the barest hint of amusement crossing his lips. ¡°No time for grump sleep.¡±


    No smiling, his thoughts hissed. Not in this place. You have no right to smile, when you will live and he will die.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a grump,¡± the man said, folding his arms. ¡°Though I do like extra sleep¡­¡± he shook his head. ¡°But it doesn¡¯t matter why I¡¯m here, and I wouldn¡¯t tell you even if it did matter.¡± He hesitated. ¡°Unless¡­¡±


    Perelor snorted. ¡°Unless what? No more riddles. And let¡¯s get moving. We need to be there by sunrise, and that¡¯s not far off.¡±


    N523 hesitated, his eyes suddenly growing dark, and Perelor instantly understood. He¡¯d seen those eyes many times before. On men who had all died at Talar hands. And one man, whose foolish plan had lost Perelor the last family he had.


    ¡°You want to escape, don¡¯t you?¡±


    N523¡¯s eyes widened briefly, and he had to fight to get his face back under control. ¡°No. I¡­¡± he sighed. ¡°Ok, fine. I thought maybe you knew a route, and that¡¯s where you were headed.¡±


    Perelor raised an eyebrow. ¡°You think after five years of staying put I would just happen to leave the night you get here? Also, I don¡¯t know any such route. It¡¯s not like this is my home planet, either.¡±


    The man blinked. ¡°You¡¯ve been here¡­ how long?¡±


    ¡°Rumor hasn¡¯t gotten around yet, I see. Five years. Long years.¡±


    ¡°Etheri Almighty.¡± He shook his head. ¡°Five years of that¡­ that¡­ that Torment.¡± His usual flippancy faded into a haunted rasp as he said the last word. ¡°How did you survive?¡±


    ¡°Healing Surge, mostly.¡±


    ¡°Well, yeah, that. But how¡­ how did you stay sane?¡±


    I didn¡¯t. ¡°Forgetting,¡± he said instead. It was close enough to the truth.


    ¡°And you¡¯ve never thought about getting out of here?¡±


    Perelor snorted. ¡°Every day. I¡¯m just not foolish enough to try it.¡± He motioned toward camp. ¡°I wasn¡¯t joking when I said we needed to get moving, soldier.¡± He turned, expecting the man to follow. His cover was blown, after all. Surely he wouldn¡¯t be¡­


    ¡°We could try it tonight.¡±


    Perelor stopped, raising an eyebrow. ¡°You want to die now, huh?¡±


    ¡°I want out of here,¡± the man snapped. ¡°Grahala is about to fall under siege. I need to be there, to protect my family.¡±


    ¡°It seems you already failed at that.¡±


    ¡°Bold words, coming from an Ethean.¡±


    Perelor winced, remembering his own father¡¯s charred eye sockets. If you could go back, a part of him thought, and have a chance at saving him, wouldn¡¯t you take it?


    He knew the answer. He would do it in a heartbeat. And fail again, all the same.


    ¡°I told you that you¡¯re going to die,¡± Perelor said. ¡°I meant it. You can hasten it if you wish, but don¡¯t expect me to take part.¡±


    ¡°Fine, maybe not tonight,¡± N523 continued. ¡°But if we prepared enough, we could get out.¡±


    A plan, Crelang¡¯s voice whispered. All we need is a good enough plan.


    Growling, Perelor unsheathed his dagger and threw it in one fluid motion. The blade whizzed past N523¡¯s face, slamming into the trunk of a tree beside him. He blinked.


    ¡°Preparation is an illusion,¡± Perelor hissed. ¡°Something will go wrong. It always does. I won¡¯t risk my life on this again.¡± He stepped toward N523, baring his lasertip, memory flashing through his mind. ¡°Never again.¡±


    N523 shied back for a moment, trembling. Then he met Perelor¡¯s gaze, and his expression softened.


    ¡°So you have tried it.¡±


    ¡°Once.¡±


    ¡°And you failed.¡±


    Flames.


    Blood.


    Screams.


    Rubble.


    And a blade, he so desperately wanted to thrust through himself¡­


    ¡°What do you think?¡±


    ¡°We won¡¯t fail this time.¡±


    ¡°They all say that. And then I watch them die. Twenty-three mutinies during my time here, and every single one has ended on the whipping platform.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to die anyway.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯m not. And that¡¯s how it is.¡± Perelor stepped back. ¡°Follow me to camp. Or don¡¯t. Heavens know I¡¯m too tired to care.¡± He started to walk away, and got several yards before N523 called after him.


    ¡°Darian.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Darian. That¡¯s my name.¡±


    Perelor was silent. Behind him, he saw Darian sigh.


    ¡°Thought maybe that would awaken a little humanity in you. Ah well. I shouldn¡¯t be surprised. The Talar are good at beating that out of us.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Perelor said. ¡°They are.¡± He closed his eyes, and for a moment, he actually considered helping the man. His father would like that. He¡¯d always loved stories of honor and bravery. He¡¯d like real-life examples of it even more.


    But, he¡¯d also made Perelor swear an oath. And that was more important than any mere slave. He let out a long breath, then continued toward camp, not bothering to look and see if N523 was behind him.


    Never learn a soldier¡¯s name. Never care. That was his motto now, forged to keep him from agony far worse than that of a dagger scraping down your arm.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ***


    Half an hour later, Perelor slipped into a sandy trench, wincing as the sun began rising above the horizon, spraying colors across the sky. He leaned his head against the sand, closing his eyes, then frowned as he heard voices beside him. Had the others not gone to sleep? Fools. In a battle, exhaustion would kill you as surely as a plasma bolt. He could only afford to stay awake because of his Purity Surge.


    He sighed, opened his eyes, and turned toward the sound. There, he found a familiar sight: Arrus, leaning over a warmer, the flames from the canister casting shadows across his smiling face as he told the other slaves a story.


    ¡°Myridon, his name was,¡± Arrus was saying. ¡°He was a Talar, actually.¡±


    ¡°So he was a searing Voidling?¡± one slave huffed.


    ¡°Not in those days,¡± Arrus said. ¡°In those days, the Talar were still warriors, but they were not tyrants. For in those days, there was a greater enemy.¡±


    ¡°Oblivion,¡± another slave whispered. She was a young girl, no older than her late teens. One of her arms looked like it had been hit by a plasma bolt, and she was curled up in a ball, staring at the ground, her eyes wide. Shock, from seeing the carnage. It was common here, and it usually resulted in death for the victims. It was a miracle she¡¯d even survived one battle.


    ¡°Yes. Oblivion. God of death, wielder of the Third Blade, slayer of Vertras. The Enemy of all mankind.¡±


    ¡°We know who Oblivion is,¡± the slave who had called the Talar Voidlings said, snorting.


    ¡°Perhaps you do,¡± Arrus said. ¡°But have you ever seen his fiery eyes stare into your soul? Heard his voice, as loud as an asteroid crash, as harsh as the shriek of a supernova?¡±


    ¡°If I had, I¡¯d be dead,¡± the slave muttered. ¡°This story is stupid. I should be sleeping.¡±


    Arrus shrugged. ¡°Sleep is good. Stories are good, too. Up to you.¡± He cleared his throat, then continued. ¡°One of Oblivion¡¯s most powerful servants, Skleptar, messaged Myridon¡¯s high commander. He told the Talar soldiers posted on Eratallik that if they surrendered, they would be spared. But, if they did not, they would die with the Erak¡¯sai, their bodies ripped to atoms.


    ¡°For one hour Myridon¡¯s superiors argued, trying to find a way out of their predicament. They messaged Etheri, but got no reply. They called Exilis himself, and still, nothing. Their comms had been jammed, and not even their memory burners could contact the Goddess. Finally, as the fleet of the Khazath bore down, they had to choose.


    ¡°At first, they thought they would surrender. After all, they had so few ships. To win against such a force would be unheard of. But then, Myridon made his own decision. And he stood before his comrades and declared it to them all.


    ¡°¡®I am no mighty man,¡¯ he said. ¡®But I have my valor, and I will keep it. And if I must die, I will die well! For Torment awaits all men, save those who defy it.¡¯


    ¡°And then he said no more, and flew to fight the enemy. Yet, before he was even within his own weapons¡¯ attack range, he was slain, his cruiser blown apart by a laser.¡±


    There was a pause. Then the huffy slave blinked. ¡°That¡¯s it? That¡¯s the end?¡±


    Arrus shrugged. ¡°I thought you said you were going to sleep.¡±


    ¡°Well now I wish I had. That¡¯s seriously the end?¡±


    Arrus smiled, then leaned forward, hands on his knees. ¡°For Myridon,¡± he said. ¡°But not for the story. You see, Myridon¡¯s men saw him die. And as his ship fell from the sky, they made their own decision. To die well, as he had.


    ¡°And they did die well. Out of a thousand men, only twenty survived, and there was great mourning in Talar for the loss of them.


    ¡°But they won. Launching a counterattack, they punched through the shields of the Khazath flagship, and blew apart its engines. The rest of Oblivion¡¯s fleet scattered, and the last of the Erak¡¯sai were saved. It is said the blood of that nation runs in the veins of millions, all because of Myridon.¡±


    Arrus sat back, a satisfied grin still plastered on his face. ¡°The end.¡±


    Perelor had inched closer to the men as Arrus spoke, and he frowned. Arrus did this a lot. This tale was his favorite, and slaves ate it up. They ate any story up, every time. It seemed hope was more important than sleep to those who were, in essence, already dead.


    It was false hope, though. Only Torment awaited these men, both in the afterlife and before.


    ¡°Huh,¡± the huffy slave said.


    ¡°Huh what?¡± Arrus asked. ¡°Was it confusing?¡±


    ¡°Just huh,¡± the slave replied. ¡°Wasn¡¯t confusing. Except for the moral, I guess. I can¡¯t seem to figure it out, but maybe I¡¯m just too tired.¡±


    ¡°As you should be,¡± Perelor said, clearing his throat. ¡°You all were supposed to be sleeping.¡±


    Arrus sighed. ¡°You didn¡¯t order us to sleep.¡±


    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have to order you. It should be common sense.¡± He shook his head. ¡°But if you don¡¯t have that, I¡¯ll order you to do it. All of you, get what rest you can, and pray we don¡¯t get called on until you get enough of it. Arrus, we need to talk.¡±


    Arrus frowned, but did not protest, instead gesturing for the slaves to lie down. Perelor made sure they all at least closed their eyes, then stepped out of the trench, walking a few yards over and gesturing for Arrus to follow.


    ¡°It was just a story,¡± Arrus grumbled.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t about the story,¡± Perelor said. ¡°I still don¡¯t like it, but I won¡¯t reprimand you for that. It¡¯s¡­ other things.¡±


    ¡°Ah. Found something in the city?¡±


    ¡°Not really. But N523 followed me. Tried to talk me into escaping.¡±


    ¡°Think he might try a rebellion then?¡±


    ¡°Not sure. Just keep an eye on him, and I¡¯ll do the same.¡±


    ¡°Got it.¡±


    There was a long pause. Perelor twitched, unsure how to bring up the next thing he wanted to talk about. Arrus raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to go after data again, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Perelor relaxed. ¡°Yes. How¡¯d you know?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not that sneaky. I see the scars on your arm; you didn¡¯t heal them all the way. And whenever you harm yourself, you eventually end up trying to find her again.¡± He met Perelor¡¯s eyes, his eyes wide with concern. ¡°I told you to tell me if things got bad.¡±


    Perelor grunted, but was otherwise silent.


    ¡°You can¡¯t just ignore it. It¡¯s getting more frequent. I¡¯m worried.¡±


    More silence.


    ¡°Perelor, please.¡±


    Perelor just straightened. ¡°What I do with myself isn¡¯t your business.¡±


    ¡°Maybe not. But your safety is.¡±


    ¡°Safety?¡± Perelor shook his head. ¡°We¡¯re at war. Safety stopped mattering years ago.¡±


    Arrus turned, his gaze intense as he tried to meet Perelor¡¯s eyes. Perelor did not turn, though, instead keeping his gaze firmly on the slowly vanishing stars.


    Eliel had liked the stars. They¡¯d used to stargaze, every time the slave masters were gone. He remembered once, after a beating he¡¯d earned by memory burning too visibly, when the only way she could get him to go to sleep was to look at the stars.


    I will save you, he told the heavens. I just need a little more time.


    ¡°If you¡¯re going to try and get data again,¡± Arrus said finally, ¡°at least let me come.¡±


    Perelor growled. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°But¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s easier with one person. No. I¡¯m not risking you, not for something like this. You deserve better than that.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ well, thanks, I guess.¡± He frowned. ¡°You¡¯re sure it¡¯s easier alone, though?¡±


    ¡°Positive.¡± That was a lie; Arrus was far better with computers, and he needed that. But it was a lie he could get away with, and it kept Arrus safe, so he didn¡¯t care. The teen boy seemed to accept the answer, his shoulders slumping. He, too, turned his gaze to the sunset.


    ¡°Well. Good luck, then. And I¡¯m always here, when you realize you need it.¡±


    There was another long silence. Perelor almost debated leaving, and laying down himself. Etheri knew he could use the sleep. But he didn¡¯t. He just kept staring at the stars, remembering Eliel¡¯s voice.


    ¡°There are thousands of planets we haven¡¯t seen. Millions, probably. Every time we look outward, it seems there are more of them. Meridian explored so much, yet it¡¯s only a small fraction of what could be¡­¡±


    She¡¯d closed her eyes at that, and the soft night wind brushed her hair across her face, hiding tears Perelor knew were there.


    It was too much for her, the burden of the Endowed. He knew it, and she knew it. That was why his father had made him swear his oath.


    And inevitably, he¡¯d failed. His jaw tightened, and he started to turn away, memory once more becoming too painful.


    ¡°Do you believe in the prophecy?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never asked,¡± Arrus said. His voice was soft, almost reverent. ¡°You said your sister was the Endowed, so I assumed you believed. But sometimes, I wonder.¡±


    ¡°The scar was there, on her back. I saw it.¡±


    ¡°The scar has been there before,¡± Arrus said. He turned. ¡°You knew her, Perelor. Is she really the one? Who will save us? From Larsh, from Oblivion, from all of this?¡±


    Perelor¡¯s mouth opened to rebuke him for even asking this, but then, he hesitated. Turned again, toward the stars, remembering the girl who had loved them. The girl who had been anything but a warrior.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he said finally, shutting his eyes in shame. ¡°I just don¡¯t know. But¡­ she¡¯s my sister. And I swore an oath. So, for me, it doesn¡¯t matter.¡±


    ¡°I know. And I do want to help. You¡¯re not forcing me into anything by bringing me along.¡±


    ¡°I know. But I still want to do this alone.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    Because I have to prove I can, Perelor thought. Because every time I see the night sky, it¡¯s as if my father is staring at me with a thousand charred eyes, screaming at my failure, demanding I do better.


    Because if I rescue her, but can¡¯t protect her, she dies.


    He said none of that. Just shook his head. Arrus sighed, but nodded.


    ¡°I see. Well, I¡¯m going to get some rest, like you said. Don¡¯t do anything stupid, please.¡±


    ¡°No promises,¡± Perelor said. A slight grin crossed his face. ¡°At least not by your definition of stupid.¡± The grin faded as he remembered who he¡¯d learned that phrase from.


    Arrus shook his head, placing his hand on Perelor¡¯s shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re a good man,¡± he said.


    ¡°No, I¡¯m not,¡± Perelor whispered.


    Arrus didn¡¯t contradict him. He just clasped Perelor¡¯s shoulder a little tighter, then let go, descending into the trenches. Perelor¡¯s eyes followed him involuntarily. If anyone was a good man, it was Arrus. He was as kind as his father was cruel, perhaps more so. If Perelor did eventually find Eliel, Arrus might be the only person he could trust to help him rescue her. He knew he shouldn¡¯t be excluding his friend from this, and he didn¡¯t know why he insisted on it.


    Because you¡¯ve given up, a part of him whispered. If you truly wanted to help her, you would have escaped years ago.


    He winced, because that part of him was right. He was a coward, staying here in the slave camps, watching men he couldn¡¯t save die, and stealing data tapes that meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.


    He had given up. And yet, as he stared at the fading stars, he realized he also hadn¡¯t. For if he¡¯d truly stopped caring, the dagger on his belt would have killed him long ago.


    He was a coward, yet a warrior still. A wretch, yet still filled with hope. Broken, yet still clinging to life.


    Too tired to think any further, and without Purity to burn away his exhaustion, he sat down and let his thoughts slow, staring onward as the tapestry of stars expanded into a flaming horizon.

 Chapter 10 - In Her Veins

    They shall reignite the Powers, and the Rift shall return in the days before the Final War.


    -Excerpt from The Book of Eternity


    Xanala¡¯s finger snapped back and forth violently as she dashed through the Undercity, desperately trying to avoid the dronecopters that hovered above the city, their spotlights shining down on the floor. She¡¯d left her father¡¯s Surgeblade ¡ª drained as it was ¡ª to distract them, but it seemed they had seen through her ploy. There was still a good chance they wouldn¡¯t find her, thankfully; the Undercity was a complex maze of cobbled buildings, thin caverns, and tall pillars holding up the cave ceiling. But their presence made her twitch anxiously all the same.


    You are weak. You always have been.


    Strangely, she didn¡¯t hear the voice of the Void. Instead, she heard her father¡¯s voice, ranting his angry cries, over and over. It was terrible, how similar that voice was to Oblivion¡¯s. It was even more terrible that she still desperately wanted to love that voice, even now that it had totally, completely betrayed her.


    One of the searchlights drifted dangerously close to Xanala, forcing her to duck inside an abandoned building and underneath a portion of the ceiling that hadn¡¯t yet crumbled. She watched the dronecopter, finger twitching still, and gulped as she saw silhouettes drop from the bottom of the vehicle. Apparently, they¡¯d decided a full-on hunt was appropriate. She shivered as she thought of herself in one of those cells, needles driving through skin and down to bone, all to traumatize her enough to produce a Surge¡­


    You are weak.


    She shook her head. ¡°No,¡± she growled. Part of her worried at how feral her voice already sounded, but most of her didn¡¯t care. ¡°I am not weak. I am free.¡±


    She closed her eyes, trying to plan. Trying to think of a way to get out of here. She thought of several, but they all had holes in them. Holes that would turn into a flood of pain and sorrow if she didn¡¯t seal them. She cursed, racking her brain. Nothing came.


    Give me control.


    She shivered. That was¡­ her father¡¯s voice. And Oblivion¡¯s. They still seemed to mix in her mind, somehow both voices and yet one voice at the same time. Like a choir of past memories, present problems, and future condemnation. Her scar burned on her arm.


    Let me seal the holes. Let me hide you, the Void whispered. I will not fail you.


    I am not as weak as your father.


    The words were accompanied by a flood of calming euphoria, and a prickle on her spine that was somehow warm and cold simultaneously. She felt red mist rise from her skin, which was now glowing faintly.


    I will not fail you.


    It was so tempting. But she shook her head. ¡°No. No one controls me. No more trust. Not anymore.¡±


    A lie. But it was enough. The red light faded, and Xanala closed her eyes, burning Purity. The process racked her muscles, and she collapsed from the sheer exhaustion of it, but she barely succeeded, and within a moment or two she was back on her feet, invigorated by the rush of Purity in her veins.


    I probably won¡¯t be able to use it again today, though, she realized. If you burned Purity too much too close together, it became significantly harder, your body giving out to the stress of it. The same thing happened with your mind for Ever. Her father¡¯s strategy might well succeed; she¡¯d used far too much of her power while training. Her finger twitching grew faster as she realized that.


    That meant she needed to slip out of the Undercity, and steal a ship. She gritted her teeth as she realized she didn¡¯t know where to go to exit the Undercity. Her father had always directed their time down here. Okron, she didn¡¯t even know how far below ground she was.


    I can fill the hole he left in you, Endowed¡­


    She shivered. The Void never called her by that title. Shaking, she ignored it, and forced herself onward, stepping back onto the street as the dronecopter turned away.


    There¡¯s probably an exit nearby. I just need to wander until I find it.


    It was a pitiful plan, but it was better than trusting the dark god of Torment. She strode forward, then burst out into a sprint, Purity boosting her muscles. Though running faster took little of the ethereal energy, she still winced as she saw her glow begin to fade. The moment it ran out, she¡¯d likely collapse.


    She hit a fork, hesitated for a long moment ¡ª too long ¡ª then randomly went down the right-hand path. Bunkers lined both sides of the street, thick, squat buildings made of steel, titanium, and occasionally tightly woven carbon fiber pieces. Once, she thought she even passed a building made of pure titrite, though going as fast as she was, she couldn¡¯t tell for sure.


    Chills ran down her spine as she raced through the abandoned city, chills even beyond the usual nervous thrill of being chased. This entire place had been constructed during the Wars of Endowment, as a desperate measure to avoid total annihilation. She felt as if she could see the fear of those who had built it in the sharp, yet simple, designs of the buildings. Whatever Oblivion was, it had been powerful.


    At some point, she was destined to face it. Why did that terrify her even more than the dronecopters?


    I will not betray you, the Void whispered. I told you he would betray you, and I did not lie. I cannot lie, for I see all. You do not have to fight; it is not your fate. Let me love you where he could not. The voice tried to be soft, though even with a lower pitch, it was still harsh. She twitched her finger a little faster.


    Suddenly, light blinded her. She tensed as two Eliminators swung around a nearby corner. They, too, tensed as they saw her, lit up with Purity. For a single instant, they both stood, shocked.


    Then they snapped into action, raising pistols and sending two poison darts flying toward her. Xanala dodged almost reflexively, her muscles quickened by Purity, then ran with equal speed toward the two Eliminators. She punched one in the gut. He doubled over, and Xanala felt his ribs snap beneath her fist. She batted the other across the head. His helmet and skull both burst apart, and he crumpled.


    Xanala froze. She¡¯d just killed him. A single blow to the head, and suddenly she was¡­ a murderer.


    In her peripheral, she saw the other Eliminator draw a blade. Panic flooding her again, she kicked him in the pelvis. He went skidding down the stone-paved street, eventually falling still in a heap of broken bones. Whether he was dead or not, she couldn¡¯t tell. Behind her, green mist began pouring from the first man¡¯s mouth, leaking upward through the hole in his helmet until it turned red for an instant, then puffed away.


    I just killed a man. Okron, I¡­ I¡­


    Shock overcame her. Her knees trembled, and she could hardly stand, and even though her heart beat fast, even though she was Infused with Purity still, she couldn¡¯t seem to force herself forward.


    He told you it would be necessary, a part of her whispered. Or perhaps it was Oblivion. She couldn¡¯t tell, and that, too, terrified her. To survive, one must ensure others do not.


    You are weak. You always have been.


    Survival. She fixed her attention on that. She needed to survive. Instinct slowly overtook the shock, and she looked up, then cursed.


    The dronecopters had all turned in unison, and were speeding toward her. Apparently, though she¡¯d incapacitated both Eliminators, they¡¯d still told their friends her location. To make matters worse, she was running out of Purity. She could try and burn stamina to summon more, but if she did, she worried she¡¯d black out.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    I have the power to save you, Xanala, Oblivion said. You said you would not let them take you, no matter the cost. Right now, the cost is simple.


    Burn Void.


    She hesitated. She¡¯d barely burned any Void today, meaning she still had plenty of strength. She was also stronger with Void than the other two Powers. It was undoubtedly her best chance.


    I can fill the hole he left in you¡­


    ¡°No,¡± she hissed. Not yet, at least. She¡¯d try Ever instead. Dismissing her Purity, she closed her eyes, Reaching and drawing in the thoughts of the nearby Eliminators. As she¡¯d suspected, they¡¯d been alerted to her presence. There weren¡¯t many of them ¡ª at least not compared to the amount of people above in the main city ¡ª but with effort, she got herself glowing as brightly as she could.


    She paused again. What she had to do next¡­ well, it would be far worse than killing one man.


    You are weak, her father said. You always have been.


    ¡°You¡¯re wrong,¡± she whispered.


    She raised her hand, then burned Ever, sending a bolt of newly heated plasma flying toward the nearest dronecopter. Her training, in this, served her well ¡ª her shot struck home, and one of the vehicle¡¯s four propellers blew apart. The impact immediately sent it spinning through the air and toward the ground, and it exploded as it collided with another nearby copter. Debris rained from the sky, and the flames briefly illuminated the entire city nearby.


    Panic, again. That had hardly even taken any Ever. How many people could she kill? Would today end, if not with her own death, with her as a cold killer?


    Those who survive only do so because others do not. Something her father said, though she wasn¡¯t sure if Oblivion had been the one to bring it to her remembrance. You either succeed, or you become the victim of another¡¯s success.


    She¡¯d disagreed with him, back when he¡¯d first said that. Over the years, though, she¡¯d realized he¡¯d been right. She hadn¡¯t wanted to accept it. She¡¯d wanted to hide instead. Keep things the way they¡¯d been before, as if the world could ever stop changing, as if the way the world had been was even good.


    She pursed her lips, deciding. She would make it out of here. No matter how many had to die. Her father might have been right about how cruel the world could be, but he had been wrong about one thing:


    Xanala was not weak.


    She closed her eyes and Reached for Void.


    It came easily, blazing into existence in her chest, and she began to glow. She barely even noticed the rush of emotions required to use it, though she did notice as they fled, pushed away by the presence of Oblivion in her very flesh. The fear, the betrayal, they all puffed out like mist on a hot day. Feeling itself disappeared. For a moment, she exulted in it, letting the power race across her skin, feeling it leak through her eyes, dance through her veins, twist around her heart.


    Then Oblivion spoke. Kill them, he whispered. They are weak. You are strong. Show them.


    We will prove your father wrong.


    She hesitated, just for an instant. But then the Void lashed inward at her mind, mentally pushing her, urging her, tempting her.


    And she obeyed.


    She threw her hand forward, and as she did, she burned Void, using it to peer into the afterlife itself. Red ribbons of light writhed around her, spirits of the dead, pulled into the physical realm by Xanala¡¯s powers. She waved her other hand, and those spirits coalesced, forming into one, larger spirit in front of Xanala. They screamed, protested, pushed against her, but it did not matter. She had Void. They were hers to command. She mentally pushed them forward, and they slammed into the ground. It glowed red for a moment, though that glow quickly faded. For a single second, there was silence, save for the beating thrum of Oblivion in Xanala¡¯s head.


    And then the ground burst upward, Animated by the spirits. Chunks of cement broke apart, then began spinning around a central, larger chunk, forming a vortex of rock at least twenty feet tall. Between the fragments, red spirits whizzed about, commanding the stone ¡ª and Xanala commanded those spirits. She willed an order to them.


    Destroy the drones. All of them.


    Again they screamed, again they protested; burning Void was not an art for the faint of heart. But again they obeyed, powerless to do otherwise. The rock monstrosity hurtled toward the first dronecopter. It swerved to avoid the swirling storm, but it wasn¡¯t nearly fast enough. Stone slammed into the vehicle, and Xanala distinctly felt more spirits popping into existence as all inside died.


    She froze, the Void suddenly calming. She¡¯d just¡­ killed, again. Without even realizing that was what she was about to do. The rock storm stopped, Xanala¡¯s will no longer clear to the spirits.


    Before she could debate her decision, though, a nearby explosion sent dust flying into the air; one of the dronecopters was trying to hit her. She growled, throwing her hand to the side. The Animated stone flew to that side, smashing into the dronecopter. Men died, and once more, Xanala felt them fading into Torment. She trembled.


    What am I doing? I¡¯m the Endowed. I¡¯m supposed to stop this, not cause more of it.


    You are not weak, Oblivion reminded her. She closed her eyes, letting him soothe her, then let them flash open again. And this time, she did not give herself the chance to hesitate. She burned all of her Void at once. Another storm of stones rose to her left, a third to her right. A fourth, a fifth, a sixth. The presence of Oblivion surged within her, and she threw her mind outward, sending a spray of rocks rushing toward the drones. Every one of them burst apart, and this time, she felt nothing but sickening glee as the pilots and soldiers and Eliminators inside died. She laughed as the broken shards descended from the sky. Okron, this felt amazing. She¡¯d always been careful with Void before, heeding her father¡¯s warning not to pull in too much. Why had she ever listened to him? This was the power she wanted. That she¡¯d needed all along. She wasn¡¯t weak! She¡­


    The last of her Void faded, and suddenly she was alone again on a cement street. In the dark, in the cold. She fell to her knees with a gasp. Emotion returned, and with it, the warm wash of shame.


    Her father had been right. She¡¯d deserved every horrible thing he¡¯d done to her.


    They will come for you, Oblivion said. They have armies. You must trust me, if you are to survive. I can move you away. Through Torment. You can go wherever you want¡­


    ¡°No,¡± she whispered. ¡°I can¡¯t. You killed those men.¡±


    Ah, Xanala. I did nothing. You killed them. And to kill is no sin. You must understand that if you are to survive.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to survive,¡± she whispered. ¡°Not if it means giving in to you. I want to help others, not¡­ not¡­¡±


    It was a lie. All she wanted now was to hide. And Oblivion, terrible as he was, was the only way she could get away from this wretched place.


    Do what must be done, my servant.


    ¡°I am not your servant,¡± she yelled. The shout echoed against the walls of the Undercity. It sounded so hollow.


    Perhaps not. But you will be. Like all before you.


    She trembled. Sobbed. Choked.


    But there was only one way out.


    ¡°One more time,¡± she hissed. ¡°And then never again. One more time. Then never again. One more time¡­¡±


    She closed her eyes, and pulled in more Void. She tried to hold back this time, pushing against Oblivion¡¯s temptations, whispering prayers to Okron in her mind.


    ¡°One more time. Then never again.¡±


    The temptation grew stronger. She felt more Void rising in her chest. Even more than last time, accompanied by rushes of emotion, half pain, half euphoria.


    ¡°One more time,¡± she whispered. ¡°And then. Never. Again.¡±


    Her skin glowed, and the surrounding air warped. She felt Oblivion¡¯s emotions, somehow, pulsing inside her. He was pleased with this.


    ¡°I¡¯m just doing what I have to,¡± she whispered. ¡°I¡¯m not your servant. Father¡¯s wrong. I don¡¯t deserve this. I¡¯m not your slave!¡±


    Yet even as she spoke, she lost control. Red exploded around her, reality itself fading into an endless sea of crimson mist. All around her, she heard Oblivion laughing, and suddenly, his voice was not soothing, but harsh and metallic.


    Oh, Xanala. You were always my slave.


    The mist began rushing toward her, leaking into her mouth, her ears, her pores. Agony screamed in her every atom. Fear, raw and unchained, overtook every thought. Most of all, she felt something snapping into place within her emotions. A terror that felt like a chain of liquid steel, writhing into her veins, then solidifying. She struggled against it, but it seemed only to sink in further as she did.


    I will enjoy using you, Oblivion said. You were even easier to turn than the others.


    Red light flashed again, and Xanala felt herself fall for what seemed like eternity. Then, she struck cold ground, and unconsciousness overtook her.

 Chapter 11 - The Worlds Are Condemned

    They shall reclaim the afterlife, and the Tomb of Souls shall crumble before them.


    -Excerpt from The Book of the Endowed


    Ithrey Valeo, High General of the Miradoran forces, watched as another of her soldiers died. Rishin trembled as nurses stood haltingly around his bed, unsure what to do about the large shard of metal protruding from his chest. Ithrey gripped his hand, her own hand still sheathed in titrite armor.


    She should know how to save him. Long ago, she¡¯d wanted to become a medic. She¡¯d ended up becoming a warrior instead. She hated herself for that. Especially now, as she saw Rishin fading.


    ¡°Tell my wife I tried,¡± he rasped. ¡°Tell her I died because I loved her. Tell her I¡¯m sorry I couldn¡¯t live because I loved her, too.¡±


    Ithrey closed her eyes, a tear sneaking its way out of her right one. Then she forced them both back open, forced her head to swivel about, taking in the carnage. Men lay everywhere, groaning, dying. Surgeons rushed around the room, trying to save as many as they could, mostly failing. Those who died were quickly rolled aside, not out of disrespect, but out of the necessity that came from having fewer beds than you did wounded. Red covered the floors, the sheets, the doctors, the patients. Ithrey herself, though unharmed, stood caked in crimson, the product of a battle fought against the Talar earlier today. She hated the sights, but she would not avoid them.


    So many lost, she thought. Another pang of guilt rang in her chest. If Alaran were here, they¡¯d have lived. Alaran was her brother, her ally, and a powerful memory burner. Most would have thought her irrational for assuming one man could stop an invasion, but they hadn¡¯t met Alaran.


    ¡°We might want to leave,¡± Syril, her attendant, said. ¡°The Surges aren¡¯t coming. His only hope is the nurses now.¡± He was standing beside her, clipboard in hand, the paper on it soaked in sweat. His voice was soft, if shaky, and he leaned in close to keep Rishin from hearing. He was pale, and he was shivering violently; his face was scrunched up, as if he were about to retch. Ithrey couldn¡¯t blame him. Everyone reacted differently to things like this.


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± she said, her other hand tensing involuntarily in frustration. She should be able to stop this. It was why she¡¯d become a fighter, instead of a doctor.


    She should have chosen the doctor. She¡¯d never been a warrior, not deep down.


    But I became what I had to, she reminded herself. Even if I didn¡¯t like it, I did what I needed to do.


    ¡°Take it out,¡± Rishin rasped.


    ¡°That will kill you,¡± Ithrey said. ¡°You¡¯ve lost blood. Patience. A Surge will be here shortly.¡± It was a lie. But perhaps it would ease the pain. That was all that mattered now. She closed her eyes, trembling. ¡°It¡¯ll be alright.¡±


    Rishin snorted. ¡°You¡¯ve always been the best of us, Ithrey, but I could hear you. No Surge is coming. Take the blade out. If I must die, at least I will die with my heart open to the world.¡±


    Ithrey hesitated. ¡°It will hurt. I don¡¯t want you to hurt.¡±


    Rishin grunted. ¡°Torment will hurt too. I will be fine. Do it.¡±


    Ithrey wavered again. Then, slowly, reverently, she reached out her hand, gripping the shard of metal with a titrite-covered fist.


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Her voice was a teary rasp now. She should resist that; she was supposed to be better than giving in to grief. She had a nation to defend.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure.¡± He closed his eyes. Ithrey averted her eyes, but yanked the metal from his chest.


    Blood spurted in a rush from the wound. ¡°A chance,¡± Rishin muttered. ¡°What I¡¯d have given for a chance.¡±


    Then he fell still. Green mist poured from his mouth, mist that turned red, then faded. Ithrey stood, numb, for a long moment; it took all her strength not to fall to her knees and sob.


    But she remained standing. Slowly, she turned away. She wiped the warm blood from her hand with a nearby cloth. She had to work hard to keep her gaze from drifting back to Rishin.


    ¡°He was a good man,¡± she whispered.


    ¡°He¡¯s gone,¡± Syril said gently. ¡°We need to tell them what to do with the body.¡±


    ¡°With him. Rishin. He has a name; he is a person. Not just a corpse.¡±


    ¡°Still. There is no time for a burial.¡±


    Ithrey winced. Paused. ¡°Have him cremated,¡± she said finally. ¡°I¡¯ll tell his wife. We can grant him a proper death stone¡­ later.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have time for that conversation,¡± Syril noted. ¡°Not now.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Ithrey wished she could protest, but she just sighed. ¡°You¡¯re right. Have someone he knows well let his wife know, at least. She¡¯s a good woman, too. A good woman, married to a good man.¡±


    ¡°I can try,¡± Syril said. He swept his eyes over the carnage, growing a little more pale. ¡°My lady, we probably need to leave. I¡¯m already receiving a flood of reports from the High Captains.¡±


    Naturally. Reports of the shieldwall¡¯s steadily falling power level. Of consistently increasing Talar forces. Of casualties mounting. They¡¯d been coming in for weeks now. And they all said the same thing.


    Mirador would lose this war. When they did, Ithrey would have to run. She doubted Larsh would let her live if she didn¡¯t. The best she could hope for was getting put in one of her example squadrons.


    I knew this war was coming, she thought, but I didn¡¯t realize how hard it would be.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    She nodded, forcing her eyes away from the carnage of the medic room.


    You could help them better, if you were a memory burner, a part of her whispered. If you¡¯d learned more from Alaran.


    But she wasn¡¯t Alaran. Her shoulders slumped.


    ¡°Alright. Let¡¯s begin.¡±


    ***


    So much work to do, so little strength to do it. Only an hour later, Ithrey threw down her holoscreen in frustration and buried her head in her hands.


    We¡¯re going to lose. I keep telling the men I can save them, but we¡¯re going to lose.


    She shivered, the image of her own body dangling from a noose flashing through her mind. She¡¯d faced death many times, but her neck still burned with dread; she could practically feel the rope twisting around her throat. That, and the pounding guilt in her chest, of not knowing if she could have avoided this. Looking back, she could see choices she¡¯d made in the heat of the moment that should have been different. Small changes that would have saved countless lives, maybe even won the war.


    Alaran would have made the right decisions. If he were in charge, Larsh¡¯s head would have ended up on a lasertip, rather than his own¡­


    Beside her, Syril cleared his throat. ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    I am most certainly not. But she lifted her head. ¡°I am fine. Simply overwhelmed.¡± She rose from her chair; they were sitting in a small office. ¡°If you can give me a few minutes of peace, that would be appreciated.¡±


    Syril nodded curtly. ¡°But¡­ just a few minutes, General. We don¡¯t have much time for breaks.¡±


    She nodded. ¡°On that, we can agree.¡± She exited the room, heading into the next one over, where lesser officers sat filing through holoscreens rapidly. There were bags underneath their eyes, though those eyes were still wide with fear. She noticed multiple holoscreen projections vibrating as the screens themselves were held in trembling hands.


    She hated how fear, the emotion that was supposed to keep you alive, was your greatest enemy, almost especially in moments where you were in danger.


    Hope conquers fear, she reminded herself. An ancient Rift saying. Something she should understand, as one of the Seekers. She didn¡¯t understand it, though. Not as much as she wanted to. Still, she fought through the fear enough to pick her holoscreen back up.


    She froze as she activated it, and felt the blood drain from her face.


    ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re alright?¡±


    Ithrey shot Syril a pointed glance. Alaran, she mouthed. Marked a five. Syril¡¯s eyes widened, though he quickly regained his composure, standing and clearing his throat.


    ¡°I take it you need some privacy, then, my lady.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Ithrey rose. ¡°I will need to be alone. Alert me if the shield falls, or anything else of equal importance. Until then, Syril is in command.¡± The men would know what to do; Syril was her second, and this wasn¡¯t the first time he¡¯d taken charge. He wasn¡¯t a great leader, but then, most of their great leaders were already dead.


    She acted as if she were walking slowly and tiredly at first, but when she was out of earshot of the officers¡¯ room, she picked up speed, almost jogging as she made her way to her private quarters. She hesitated at the door, considering if she should use her command privileges to use Mirador¡¯s hidden comms bunker, for extra security.


    But then, Alaran had marked this message a five. That was the highest level of import among the Seekers. And he did not use that designation lightly. Even the Miradoran government could not know what he had said, not until it had passed through Ithrey¡¯s ears. She stepped inside her room, then shut and bolted the door.


    Her quarters were simple, a square room with white, windowless walls, an unadorned floor, and a single cot. It wasn¡¯t as pressed for space as a barracks, but she¡¯d done her best to imitate the feeling. She sat down on the cot, then, hands trembling, played back the message from Alaran.


    The image of his face popped into existence in front of her. Her brother had red hair like Ithrey¡¯s; their mother had been Herreon. He wore a silver and red Grahalan uniform, with a star on the left side of his chest ¡ª the star of the Grahalan Governor. Usually, he stood tall and imposing, but today, he slouched, his hair and beard disheveled, his eyes sunken from lack of sleep.


    ¡°I do not know who will receive this message,¡± he began. ¡°I have done my best to ensure the signal will go through, but I cannot guarantee it will. The Talar have besieged Grahala, and there is only so much I can do.¡±


    Ithrey tensed. The Talar had attacked another planet? How? Their army had to be spread thin, after conquering so many planets so quickly.


    But then, Larsh¡¯s war machine was not something to be underestimated. She gritted her teeth as Alaran continued.


    ¡°We will lose the invasion. This is something most of you expected, as did I. You¡¯re probably wondering why I marked this of such importance.¡±


    He hesitated a moment, his expression shifting from weary to hopeful, then back to weary again. He opened his mouth, then shut it. Then closed his eyes, and spoke.


    ¡°I have found the Endowed. She arrived on Grahala just hours before the invasion. She has the scar, as the prophecy predicted. And she can wield all Three Powers. I do not know where she came from, only that there were¡­ complications when she arrived. Voidlings, chasing her. They have been dealt with, though she remains unconscious.¡±


    His eyes opened again, now alight with fiery determination. ¡°Larsh is coming for me. Perhaps Cyrla, too, if the Shadi know I am here. I will not, I cannot lose mankind¡¯s only hope to the Talar. My forces lack access to wormdrives. I need someone to get here and get us off the planet, as soon as you can. Please. Delti depends on it.¡±


    He hesitated again, then smiled grimly. The transmission ended. Ithrey slowly let the holoscreen fall from her hand, shock setting in.


    Alaran¡­ had found the Endowed¡­.


    Could it be true? Could they truly have found the hero of the Prophecy, after a millennium of searching? Emotions flooded her, too many to pick out anything coherent.


    Except for one thing. She had to get to Alaran. Mirador had all but fallen already. They didn¡¯t have any ships with wormdrives, unfortunately, but it was possible she could steal a Talar model. She rose to her feet, pacing around the room, trying to form a plan through the haze of the new information.


    Then, suddenly, someone banged on her door, loudly.


    ¡°General! General! The shield¡¯s fallen!¡±


    Ithrey froze. Then she threw open the door. Behind it, she found a Miradoran soldier, armor half on, panting.


    ¡°Shield¡¯s fallen,¡± he repeated. ¡°They¡¯re coming, General. Larsh is with them. Oh Okron¡­¡±


    Ithrey pushed past the messenger, who continued to stand there, muttering to himself. People were now rushing through the hallway, mostly soldiers, throwing on pieces of armor as they went. She made her way through them, too, mind reeling, praying it wasn¡¯t true.


    But, as she stared out the nearest window, her denial was crushed. The blue dome of energy surrounding the Miradoran capital was gone. In its place, the Talar fleet loomed, sharks in the sky, gliding their way toward the Miradoran military headquarters.


    Toward Ithrey herself.

 Chapter 12 - Stardrakes

    14 Years Ago¡­


    A darkseason was coming. You could tell by the way the sky was turning red, colors flowing from the horizon, more and more of them each day, as if the heavens were bleeding out. It was growing colder, too; Perelor¡¯s school had allowed him to wear his thick, velvet uniform rather than the usual thin, breathable nylon one. Soon, the entire city would descend into blackness, for weeks on end, until finally, the planet finished its rotation and they were back in the light of Ethea¡¯s three stars.


    Perelor hated darkseasons. It wasn¡¯t so much the darkness itself; the night lights of the city made life bearable, at least. It was more the feeling of the sky, the time it took for things to finally grow bright again. Irrational though it was, he sometimes worried the suns simply wouldn¡¯t return.


    He found himself staring out the classroom window, out at the busy hover lanes and streets below. And at the unending sunset. It was bright still, and he had to squint to see, but the sight completely distracted him.


    ¡°Krot?¡±


    It took Perelor a moment to register his name. He turned, blinking. ¡°Yes?¡±


    His teacher, a lanky man by the name of Jelador Varik, nodded. ¡°Just checking you were still paying attention. Swordplay is an important subject, if you still plan on joining the militia.¡±


    Perelor blinked. ¡°We¡¯re doing swordplay?¡± The words slipped out almost involuntarily. How had he missed this? A few of his classmates chuckled ¡ª in particular, Sekhen, a tall, powerfully built kid near the back of the room. Sekhen had always disliked Perelor. He¡¯d never gotten physical about it, though, so there was that.


    Varik shook his head. ¡°Always preoccupied, young Krot. I¡¯m afraid that¡¯s another strike. Please tell me you were at least listening to the safety protocols for our outing to the arenas today.¡±


    Perelor paused. ¡°I¡­wasn¡¯t,¡± he admitted. ¡°But I know how to be safe with a sword. My father taught me that.¡±


    Varik shrugged. ¡°I suppose that checks out, knowing old Rion. You are free to go, though there will be extra strikes against you if you do anything stupid.¡± He turned to the rest of the class, sighing. ¡°Anyone else need me to repeat myself?¡± No one answered, and he nodded. ¡°Good. Saretha will take you to the arena. I¡¯ve never had the stomach for swordplay, and she¡¯ll be a far better teacher. Dismissed.¡±


    Perelor¡¯s classmates began rising to their feet, and excited chatter filled the room. Even Perelor, who was probably the only one here who had ever touched a blade, found himself enthused. Sekhen was going to hate it when Perelor beat him.


    And, there was Sekhen walking toward him now. Piece of vret. Predictable piece of vret, though.


    ¡°So,¡± he said. ¡°I finally get a chance to beat you properly.¡±


    Perelor sighed, folding his arms. ¡°This isn¡¯t going to fix anything, Sekhen. My father said¡­¡±


    ¡°Sear your father,¡± Sekhen hissed. ¡°I¡¯m going to beat you, right and honorably. Whether or not it gets my family any Worthiness.¡±


    Perelor rolled his eyes. Sekhen¡¯s family was considered Stained by the Church, because of an event that had happened centuries ago, involving one of Perelor¡¯s own ancestors, Tereth Krot. It should have been easy for the family to regain their Honor, but, unfortunately, the Church required a very specific condition for that: losing blood in battle. Ethea hadn¡¯t fought an actual war in years. Technically, Perelor¡¯s own family was considered downright Unworthy by the priests, though he ignored that, as his father had asked him to. Most people did, really. The Church held little weight on Ethea anymore. But, there were still loyalists, people like Sekhen¡¯s parents who liked to stir up trouble over nothing.


    ¡°You couldn¡¯t beat me if you tried,¡± Perelor muttered. ¡°I¡¯ve been taking dueling lessons since I was six. The moment they hand me a sword, you¡¯re done for.¡±


    Sekhen leaned in close. ¡°Then fight me here, you little Voidling. A fair contest, for our Honor.¡±


    For a moment, Perelor was actually tempted, staring into Sekhen¡¯s disgusted face. Fighting would get him into trouble, but a part of him wanted that. He could use a little trouble, instead of sitting in this char-blasted class all day. His hand tightened into a fist.


    It¡¯s not Sekhen¡¯s fault he acts the way he does. His parents are the ones who taught him, and their parents before them. Fists do not change minds.


    His father¡¯s voice. He let his fist relax. ¡°Strike first if you want,¡± he said coolly. ¡°Lose your Honor, if you wish. I will retain mine.¡±


    Sekhen¡¯s eyes actually widened in surprise, though that surprise quickly faded, and he snorted. ¡°Well then. I¡¯ll beat you with a sword, no matter how cocky you are.¡±


    He drifted away as they were herded out the door by Varik. Perelor shook his head. Honor. Strange, how something supposed to be so pure, could drive men so mad.


    ***


    An hour later, Perelor stood in a practice arena, covered in a thin layer of packed dirt, surrounded by slanted walls of thick metal on all sides. Seats waited on the left and right, filled sparsely by Perelor¡¯s class. A dulled blade waited for him in his instructor¡¯s hands, full-size, even though he was still a little too short to wield it well. A thin sheet of carbon fiber lay draped across his body, with shock absorbers woven in. It wouldn¡¯t be enough to stop a real blade, but it would minimize the pain of the blows from the practice swords.


    Sekhen waited across from him, covered in a similar piece of cloth. He was bulkier than Perelor; classes lasted several years on Ethea, and Sekhen was almost seventeen. An even longer sword waited for him, one designed especially for people of his height. He scowled as the instructor, Saretha, handed Perelor his own weapon.


    ¡°His family is Unworthy. He¡¯s not supposed to wield swords.¡± Sekhen¡¯s lips were pursed so tight Perelor was surprised he hadn¡¯t pulled a muscle.


    Saretha frowned, then shrugged. ¡°This is practice. It¡¯s not even a real sword.¡± An excuse, really. By the Codes, Perelor shouldn¡¯t be able to wield a sword. But, if there was one thing his father and the Governor could agree on, it was that the Codes were irrelevant.


    The only real Honor, his father told him often, is in keeping your promises. In doing everything you can to succeed where it counts.


    Sekhen¡¯s scowl deepened, but he did not protest any further ¡ª likely because he was now stewing on the idea of beating Perelor into the dirt. Sure enough, he fell into an offensive stance as Saretha counted down, painfully obvious in his aggressiveness. Perelor fell into a neutral stance, feet spread apart, sword held at an angle near his chest in both hands, so that he could adapt as Sekhen attacked.


    Which he did as soon as the start tone rang. He swung with the shear force only an amateur would use, and nearly fell when Perelor ducked away. As he recovered, he tried again, a little less force behind it this time, but he was dazed, and Perelor batted away the blow easily.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t kidding,¡± Perelor said. ¡°I¡¯ve been taking lessons for a while.¡±


    He got attacked with a fist in reply. He dodged that, too, almost reflexively; Yaenke was an excellent teacher.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to humiliate you,¡± Perelor said, soft enough only Sekhen could hear. ¡°You¡¯re not going to win. Stop attacking like a boar, and maybe we can make a decent show of it.¡±


    As Perelor had expected, this didn¡¯t land well with Sekhen. He swung again, and this time Perelor actually parried, twisting his blade at an angle to absorb the blow. Sekhen attacked again, and again, and again, and Perelor swatted the blows away each time with ease, until finally, annoyed, he twisted his blade, disarmed Sekhen, then pointed his blade at his chest.


    ¡°Do you yield?¡±


    Sekhen¡¯s eyes widened, and he stepped back, brandishing fists. Sighing, Perelor stepped forward and thrust the blade into Sekhen¡¯s stomach. It didn¡¯t harm him, thanks to the carbon fiber and the dulled point, but it did knock the breath out of him.


    ¡°Krot wins the match,¡± Saretha said. She stepped onto the field, collecting Perelor¡¯s blade, then helping Sekhen to his feet. ¡°Next!¡±


    Sekhen and Perelor stepped off the field as they were replaced by a pair of girls. Sekhen shot Perelor a glare, but Perelor just rolled his eyes and walked away. He paused before selecting a seat next to his friend Dina.


    She turned to him, smiling. ¡°That was fun.¡±


    Perelor frowned. ¡°I thought you lost your match.¡±


    ¡°Not that. Watching you beat the vret out of Sek.¡±


    Perelor just shrugged. ¡°I probably should have let him win, honestly.¡±If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°What? Why? The look on his face was priceless.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but beating him is just going to make him more angry. Dad says I shouldn¡¯t do that.¡±


    Dina snorted. ¡°Rion¡¯s stuffy.¡±


    Perelor met her eyes. ¡°Please don¡¯t insult my father, Dina.¡±


    Dina sighed. ¡°Fine, I¡¯m sorry. Still, he¡¯s more diplomat than general these days. It¡¯s boring.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no glory in war. Torment is the only victor.¡±


    ¡°There you go quoting him again. Can we just watch for a minute? Sword fighting is fun to watch.¡±


    Perelor obliged, and turned his eyes back to the arena, where two of the largest boys in the class were dueling now. He couldn¡¯t help but feel a little jealous at the way Dina stared at them. They were just friends, supposedly, but that didn¡¯t mean he didn¡¯t like her a little.


    They watched three or four duels, mostly silent, until finally Perelor¡¯s holoscreen buzzed in his pocket. He retrieved it ¡ª praying Saretha wasn¡¯t looking ¡ª and smiled, rising.


    ¡°Father¡¯s here. I¡¯ll see you later.¡±


    Dina sighed. ¡°That is one benefit of having a general for a father. Getting school off.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s my sister¡¯s Naming.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, I know. You still get out of here way too much.¡± Dina smiled, her expression showing it was just a joke. ¡°Have a good time.¡±


    ¡°Thanks. You have a good day, too.¡± He turned and left; Saretha would know why he¡¯d gone. Making his way out of the arena, he found his father, Rion Krot, standing in a hallway just outside.


    He was a tall man, powerfully built, and muscular ¡ª though he was in his late forties now, and hadn¡¯t fought in years, he made it a priority to stay battle ready, just in case. His hair, like all pure-blooded Etheans, was shock white, and his skin was tan and weathered from long years spent at war. He wore a silver suit, with blue trim, which was well pressed and shone even brighter than his usual diplomat¡¯s uniform. He grinned as Perelor approached, and they began walking side by side to the hovercar lot of the building.


    ¡°So. How was school today?¡±


    ¡°Good.¡±


    ¡°How did things go with Sekhen?¡±


    ¡°I beat him.¡±


    Rion frowned. ¡°How badly?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ badly. But he kinda asked for it.¡±


    Rion sighed. ¡°Knowing his parents, he probably did. Even so, you shouldn¡¯t be hard on him, son. If we want families like him to stop hating us, we need to be honorable. Really honorable, not traditionally honorable.¡±


    Perelor frowned. ¡°Father, I don¡¯t see how it¡¯s honorable to let him treat me like tar.¡±


    ¡°That,¡± Rion replied, ¡°is not what I want. And it¡¯s why I¡¯m not upset that you beat him. But you need to give him a chance. That¡¯s what unity means, I think. Giving others a real chance, and giving them any help to change that you can.¡±


    ¡°I guess that makes sense.¡±


    ¡°It needs to do more than make sense. It needs to become part of us. But that will come in time, I suppose.¡± They were at the hovercar pad now, standing in front of Rion¡¯s vehicle. Though most nearby were glistening, chrome-covered models, Rion¡¯s was made of simple steel, well-painted, but cheap: Perelor¡¯s father, in his own words, liked to look as nice as he could on as little of a budget as he could manage. They stepped inside, then closed the doors. Perelor¡¯s father could have used a chauffeur, yet he drove alone, monitoring the automated car himself. Perelor sat beside him.


    ¡°Where¡¯s the Naming ceremony at?¡±


    ¡°North Temple,¡± his father replied.


    Perelor grimaced. ¡°So Cherria?¡±


    ¡°Priestess Cherria,¡± his father said. ¡°Don¡¯t forget the title.¡± He grinned. ¡°At least, not in front of her.¡±


    ¡°Trust me, I know,¡± Perelor grumbled. ¡°Why are we having her do Eliel¡¯s ceremony?¡±


    ¡°Same reason I told you not to beat Sekhen,¡± his father replied. ¡°We need to get it across to people like Cherria that we¡¯re not trying to defy the Church. We¡¯re just asking to live our lives.¡±


    ¡°Just seems to me like we should do that a little more aggressively,¡± Perelor muttered. ¡°Take what we want, rather than ask for it, you know?¡±


    His father was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was quieter. ¡°Have I ever told you the story of the man who threw his spear?¡±


    ¡°His what?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s like a lasertip,¡± his father explained. ¡°Just only the blade, and no blaster.¡±


    ¡°Oh. I don¡¯t think you ever have.¡±


    ¡°I think it¡¯s a tale that fits this,¡± his father said. He pursed his lips, then nodded. ¡°Yes, I think now¡¯s a perfect time.¡±


    Perelor leaned back against his seat. Knowing his father, he¡¯d probably be listening to this for the next half hour. Not that he was opposed to that. Rion told excellent stories, even though they were a little preachy.


    ¡°Once,¡± he began, ¡°there was a boy. He had a good life, a simple life. Until one day, the stardrake came.¡±


    His father paused. Perelor raised an eyebrow. ¡°I¡¯m assuming you want me to ask what a stardrake is?¡±


    Rion shrugged. ¡°I suppose. A stardrake is a mythical creature, a giant, fire-breathing lizard with wings, the size of a tower. It¡¯s said that they can dive into the hearts of stars, and absorb their light, which is what allows them to breathe fire.¡±


    ¡°Sounds exciting.¡±


    His father chuckled. ¡°Indeed. But one day, a stardrake soared above the house of the boy, and breathed fire all over his home. In an instant, everything he knew was consumed by flame, his mother, his father, his sister. But the boy survived.¡±


    ¡°Huh. How?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ not sure, actually. But that¡¯s not the point of the story. You see, the boy found out that an evil man had taken control of the stardrake, and was using it to burn more planets. And so, the boy set out on a quest: to find that man, and kill him, and the stardrake, and free the galaxy from his tyranny.¡±


    ¡°Ambitious.¡±


    ¡°Well, he is the main character. But, he only had one weapon: his father¡¯s spear, forged in the heart of a planet¡¯s core, the only weapon strong enough to survive the heat of the dragon. He took that spear, and made four marks: one for his mother, one for his sister, one for his brother, and one for his father. Then he began his journey.


    ¡°It was not easy. He faced many enemies, men who had given in and knelt before the stardrake rider¡¯s powers. He made friends, and he lost friends. And every time someone died, he made another mark on that staff. One mark, for every person he¡¯d lost. The grief nearly consumed him.


    ¡°But he went on. And on, and on, until the staff was covered in marks, and he wondered how he was still alive.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m wondering that, too,¡± Perelor muttered.


    ¡°He¡¯s the main character, that¡¯s why. But anyway, one day he came to the palace of the stardrake rider. He defeated the guards, with skills he¡¯d gained over long decades of fighting, then found his way to the throne room.


    ¡°In it was the stardrake, towering above him, its rider perched atop its back, driving it forward with a whip and a bit. It breathed upon him, and it was all he could do just to avoid the flames.¡±


    ¡°Still don¡¯t get how he¡¯s doing that.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a memory burner, or something. It¡¯s not important. Again and again, the drake breathed, forcing the man backward. He could barely manage to get away each time. He thought of his sister, and tried to press through the fire with Ever. It failed. He remembered his mother, and tried to use Purity. That, too, failed. Finally, he burned Eternity ¡ª for this was before the Erak¡¯sai ¡ª and tried once more, thinking of his brother. Even then, he failed. The drake rider laughed at this.


    ¡°¡®You have fought long and hard,¡¯ he said. ¡®Now come out, and kneel, lest you lose yourself as well as that which you love.¡¯


    ¡°Finally, listening to the taunts, and huddled behind a pillar, our hero closed his eyes and thought of his father. Of all the marks, covering that spear. He loved that spear. It was all he had left of the ones he had lost.


    ¡°But he knew what he had to do. And so, he stepped around the pillar, cocked back his arm, and threw it.


    ¡°It soared through the air, and slammed into the rider¡¯s chest. The rider¡¯s eyes widened, but it was already too late. He fell off the drake, and tumbled to the floor, dead. And then, the drake, now freed, knelt in gratitude. And he rode that drake, and united all of Delti.¡± He finished just as the hovercar began descending, toward a domed temple below. The Grand Shrine of Ethea, home to the Altar of Naming.


    ¡°Huh. Cool story, I guess.¡±


    ¡°Not very well told,¡± Rion sighed. ¡°Never been a good storyteller. But, it has a meaning.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t underestimate the power of projectiles?¡±


    Rion smiled. ¡°Don¡¯t be too flippant about it. You see, the man could only win by letting go of the thing he thought was important. By taking a chance, for his father¡¯s memory, rather than clinging to what he still had left.¡±


    Perelor frowned. ¡°I guess.¡±


    Rion leaned forward, and his eyes were suddenly intense. ¡°There will come a day when you will have to throw your own spear, Perelor. I¡­ well, I¡¯ve seen things. I can¡¯t say much yet, but soon, very soon, life is going to get hard. When that time comes, you must promise me you will throw your spear. Let go of what you must, no matter how much it hurts, so that you can focus on what matters.¡±


    Perelor felt a chill run down his spine. ¡°What do you mean things are going to get hard?¡±


    His father smiled sadly. ¡°I wish I could tell you. But,¡± he said, swinging open the door of the car, ¡°sometimes we must go on, regardless of what we know will come.¡± He met Perelor¡¯s eyes. ¡°Can you promise me? That you¡¯ll do what you have to?¡±


    Perelor gulped. ¡°I¡­ I¡¯ll try to.¡± What was this about? He wished he could believe it was some elaborate prank, but the intensity in his father¡¯s expression told him something was about to happen. Something important.


    ¡°Good enough. Good enough, for now.¡± His father smiled, then briefly squeezed Perelor¡¯s hand as they exited the car. ¡°I love you, son.¡±


    ¡°I love you too,¡± Perelor whispered.


    His father straightened. ¡°Well. On to the Naming then.¡±


    They strode forward together into the crowd around the Grand Shrine, though the sinking feeling in Perelor¡¯s gut did not fade.

 Chapter 13 - Hope And Honor

    To be at peace with yourself, you must live outside yourself, or else you see only through the lens of your own blackened eyes.


    -The Rift Code, Proverbs


    One week after the beginning of the Talar invasion of Mirador, the blood of the slave who had tried to convince Perelor to escape streaked down Perelor¡¯s hands as he stood silently on a Miradoran street. Plasma shrieked in the distance, accompanied by occasional bursts of deeper sound from laser cannons as the Talar army continued to press further into the Miradoran capital city. Closer, men groaned as they lay dying, stabbed and slashed and shot. Perelor could have healed them. Could¡¯ve bought them a little more time, with the remaining Purity in his Surge.


    But the Talar would kill them anyway, especially if he helped. So he just slumped against a broken building, staring at the blood on his hand as it dried in the evening sun. He remembered the look of terror on N523¡¯s face as he¡¯d pressed his hand desperately against the charred hole in his neck, then finally reached out to Perelor as he¡¯d realized there was no way to stop his death.


    Purity. Please.


    He¡¯d mouthed those words, begged for help. For a moment, Perelor had actually considered it.


    Then he had remembered the last time he¡¯d disobeyed orders, and he¡¯d let the man¡¯s hand slide away.


    He didn¡¯t know how long he sat there until Arrus sat beside him. ¡°Three survivors,¡± the teen soldier said. He shivered. ¡°That was¡­ bad.¡±


    ¡°Always is,¡± Perelor muttered. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes. His limbs ached. Bile was rising in his throat; today¡¯s battle had been exhausting, in more ways than one. He knew it was probably just his imagination, but a part of him swore they were getting worse, as the years went by.


    Or maybe I¡¯m just wearing out. Slowly turning into a corpse myself.


    ¡°How are the survivors?¡±


    ¡°A little pale, but I bandaged them up as best as I could,¡± Arrus said. He winced. ¡°One of them might die anyway. The medics wouldn¡¯t treat her.¡±


    Perelor nodded. The Talar doctors had strict orders not to help anyone in the slave squadrons. Arrus tried to talk them into it anyway, every time. ¡°Which one?¡±


    ¡°An Artensian girl. Can¡¯t be older than thirteen.¡± His voice darkened. ¡°Voidlings.¡±


    Perelor thought he knew the girl Arrus was talking about. It was a miracle she¡¯d even survived a few minutes; she clearly hadn¡¯t ever seen combat before. She probably wasn¡¯t even a rebel herself, just a child of one, punished for her parent¡¯s actions. Those were the worst to watch die. The ones that almost made him turn around during the fighting, and attack the other side.


    But, inevitably, he took the route of the coward.


    There was silence between them for a long time, as they listened to the dark music of the skirmishes around them. Then, finally, Perelor opened his eyes and spoke.


    ¡°I got inside last night.¡±


    Arrus¡¯ eyes widened. ¡°So that¡¯s where you were. I thought you were doing less¡­ well, less enjoyable things.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t call it enjoyable,¡± Perelor said, ¡°but I got the datasheet. Had to slit a couple throats, but I got it.¡± His hand reflexively moved toward his left pocket, which, because of Perelor¡¯s careful effort, had not been hit during the skirmish. Inside it rested a thick disk of metal ¡ª a datasheet. With the right permissions, that datasheet could, in theory, list out the names of thousands of Talar slaves throughout the galaxy, along with their exact locations.


    Arrus grinned. ¡°You covered your tracks, right?¡±


    ¡°I did.¡± Perelor slid the disk out of his pocket, carefully pressing it into Arrus¡¯ hand. ¡°Can you read it?¡±


    ¡°As soon as I get a chance,¡± Arrus said. He tucked the disk into his own ripped pocket. He shook his head. ¡°You should have at least told me before you went off like that.¡±


    ¡°That would¡¯ve just left a trail,¡± Perelor said. ¡°And incriminated you with me, if I¡¯d been caught.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, fair, I guess.¡± Arrus suddenly tensed. Perelor raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°What?¡±


    Arrus pointed down the street.


    Perelor followed his finger, then tensed himself. ¡°Cyrla,¡± he hissed. The Talar officer was headed toward him, accompanied by a half dozen armored soldiers.


    Arrus stuffed the disk further into his pocket. ¡°Bad timing.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Perelor rose to his feet, then stretched out his hand. ¡°Hand it back over.¡±


    Arrus frowned. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Just do it. Before they¡¯re close enough to see.¡±


    Arrus¡¯ frown deepened, but he slid the datasheet back to Perelor, who hastily threw it back into his pocket. Though he didn¡¯t intend to be caught, if he did, it would be better if he had the disk rather than Arrus; being a memory burner ¡ª even one without powers ¡ª gave him legal protections Arrus didn¡¯t have.


    He cleared his throat, stepping forward as Cyrla drew closer. ¡°Shal Tarval,¡± he said, bowing as he used the honorific. ¡°A pleasure to have you here.¡± If you think Torment is a pleasure, he added silently.


    Cyrla smiled in reply. She was a muscular woman, with her hair tied behind her head. Her cheeks were each covered in a purple tattoo, the right side inscribed with the Talar rune for war, the left side stained with the rune for justice. Though she was not glowing, her eyes were still red from using Void. Perelor had to resist the urge to look away as those eyes stared hungrily toward him.


    ¡°Captain Perelor.¡± She swept her eyes over the carnage. ¡°Only a few survivors today.¡± Her smile widened.


    ¡°We encountered some¡­ resistance,¡± Perelor said. He laced his hands behind his back, straightening. He was never sure how to act around the Talar elite. Sometimes they acted like actual officers, demanding results, shouting orders, expecting the impossible. But other times, they acted more like Cyrla, bemused at the deaths of people they saw as beneath them.


    ¡°I see,¡± Cyrla said. ¡°Well, they have proven their cowardice. No use in dwelling on their deaths.¡± She met Perelor¡¯s gaze again, grin widening, as if daring him to contradict her.


    He didn¡¯t. It was a struggle just to keep eye contact, let alone speak out. ¡°If I may ask, Shal,¡± he said instead, ¡°what is your business here? My men need time to rest.¡±


    Cyrla snorted. ¡°Your men have not earned any rest. But, you are correct. I come with orders for you.¡±


    ¡°I fear our squadron is too weak for a battle,¡± Perelor said. He lowered his voice. ¡°Whether it be for recording or not.¡±


    ¡°Oh, the orders are not for your men,¡± Cyrla said. ¡°They are for you, Krot. Given by Larsh herself.¡±


    Perelor paled, and his mind raced as he took in her words. It had been a long time since Larsh had asked anything of him. He had almost worried that she was thinking of disposing of him, rather than continuing to try to turn him into a servant.


    Though the alternative might be worse.


    Cyrla reached into her pocket, retrieving a small holoscreen projector from it and handing it to Perelor. ¡°It is a task you will find simple, I believe. The attack on Mirador¡¯s military headquarters has begun. They are, however, having some¡­ difficulty with a particular sector of the building. One of their generals, a Surgewielder by the name of Ithrey Valeo, has set up quite the defense.¡±


    Perelor pursed his lips. ¡°So Larsh wants me to kill her.¡± He¡¯d been on errands like this before. They were some of his most shameful memories.


    ¡°She does not,¡± Cyrla said, her voice growing suddenly quiet. ¡°Valeo has proven to be an effective propagandist, you see. She has spread many lies about our activities here. Because of that, Larsh wants Valeo to die here, on camera.¡±


    ¡°Ah. So you want me to capture her, then watch her die,¡± Perelor said bitterly.


    ¡°Larsh does,¡± Cyrla said, voice still soft. ¡°Larsh does.¡± She waved her hand toward the other guards. ¡°Leave us.¡±


    The guards obeyed without a word, walking down the street. Cyrla turned back toward Perelor, and suddenly, the hunger was back in her eyes. She sat down on a piece of rubble nearby, then waved for Perelor to do the same. Perelor remained standing.


    ¡°What is this about? If Larsh wants me to capture this woman, then I should be moving.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m aware. And you will be, in a few minutes.¡± She leaned forward. ¡°But, for just a moment, let us talk frankly, Perelor.¡±


    Perelor snorted. ¡°If you want me to talk frankly to you,¡± he growled, ¡°we wouldn¡¯t be talking. I¡¯d be putting a lasertip through your gut.¡±


    Cyrla waved a hand, chuckling. ¡°We both know what would happen if you tried that. It would only be an annoyance for me, and death for you. An unfair bargain, really. However, I may have a more¡­ just deal for you today.¡±


    Perelor¡¯s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. He probably shouldn¡¯t have said anything before. Experience told him that silence was the best way to deal with a politician.


    ¡°Larsh¡¯s reign is ending,¡± Cyrla continued. ¡°I have¡­ plans in motion that will assure this.¡± She leaned forward. ¡°But that is of little concern to you, I think. In fact, I think there is only one thing that concerns you anymore.¡± She met his eyes, and Perelor noticed hers were now glowing crimson. ¡°I know where your sister is.¡±


    It took Perelor a moment to process what she¡¯d just said, but, when he did, he unsheathed his lasertip from his back, twisting it to point directly at Cyrla¡¯s chest.


    ¡°Where? And how do you know?¡±


    Cyrla chuckled, waving her hand, and a tendril of red light leapt from her fingers, snatching the lasertip, yanking it from Perelor¡¯s grip, and tossing it aside. ¡°Violence will not get you answers, not from me. I came here for a deal, remember?¡± She leaned forward, the grin fading, her voice suddenly becoming somber.


    ¡°Valeo and I have¡­ history. Let¡¯s just keep it at that. Larsh wishes her alive, but I need her dead. So, here¡¯s our bargain. You stage a little accident. Then you bring her corpse to me. In return, I will take you to your sister.¡±


    Perelor¡¯s mind whirled. ¡°You¡¯re asking me to disobey Larsh.¡±


    ¡°I am. I advise you not to get caught. It would be unfortunate if Larsh killed you before you saw Eliel again, yes? And it would be even more unfortunate if something were to happen to your sister¡­¡±


    Perelor¡¯s fists tightened. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t.¡±


    Cyrla¡¯s eyes twinkled. ¡°We both know I would. But none of that has to happen, should you do your job, yes?¡± She rose to her feet.


    ¡°Larsh will send a ship here shortly to take you to your assignment. Consider carefully what I have said.¡±


    ¡°And if I report you?¡± Perelor asked.


    As he said that, Cyrla closed her eyes, her glow suddenly intensifying, making her almost impossible to look at.


    ¡°There are powers in the galaxy far more dangerous than the Talar army, Perelor. Cross Larsh, and I will protect you. Cross me, and you both die.¡± She smiled again. ¡°But I expect you¡¯ll make the right choice.¡±


    She turned away, stretching her hand outward. A tendril shot up from it, snatched a nearby building, then retracted, launching her into the sky.


    Perelor didn¡¯t watch her go. He just shook his head, cursing, thoughts reeling.


    Directly disobeying Larsh was dangerous, no matter what Cyrla said. Maybe she thought she could fight the Talar leader, as a Voidburner herself, but Perelor knew better. He¡¯d already tried that. Three memory burners on one, and they¡¯d still lost.


    But a chance to see Eliel¡­


    For a moment, he almost thought he could hear her, somewhere far away, weeping, alone.


    He hesitated, walking over to his lasertip and picking it up from the dust. Then, sucking in a deep breath, he made his decision.


    Keep your sister safe, son.


    ¡°I will,¡± he said. ¡°I have to. Whatever it takes.¡±


    ***


    Ithrey gripped her kneecaps, spots swimming before her, the taste of vomit rising in her throat. Her limbs felt like elastics that had been stretched too far, then snapped. A dozen cuts of various sizes oozed blood onto her torn black-and-orange uniform. Most of all, her mind felt like it was swimming through thick oil, thoughts taking far longer to formulate than they should. Supposedly, wielding a Surge was easier on the mind than memory burning, but Ithrey had consumed enough Ever today that it didn¡¯t seem to matter. The physical exhaustion from the long hours of fighting didn¡¯t help, either.


    Is this how Alaran feels every day? If so, her brother was an even more competent memory burner than she¡¯d thought.


    ¡°My lady, are you alright?¡±


    It took several seconds just to process those words, but, gradually, she took her hands off her kneecaps and unsheathed her Surgeblade again. The Surge inside was barely glowing now, its reserves almost spent. This was the third one she¡¯d gone through today. ¡°I¡¯m well,¡± she gasped.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± The soldier who had addressed her bore an officer¡¯s pauldron, but his face was covered by a black helmet, and Ithrey didn¡¯t recognize his voice. ¡°I can take the Surge, if you¡¯re tired.¡±


    Ithrey considered for a moment, then shook her head. ¡°No. I can handle it. I have the most experience.¡± It was a flimsy excuse, but she needed to keep the weapon. The moment she had an opportunity, she intended to flee. As horrible as it felt to do that, she had to get to Alaran. She had to ensure that this Endowed of his survived.


    Assuming I survive to help. I need a better plan. But she had no time to plan. Her eyes drifted toward the Miradoran corpses piled in the room¡¯s corner, their armor hastily torn off of them to patch up the suits of still-living soldiers. Was it just her, or were they already starting to smell?


    It didn¡¯t help her anxiety to know how close they were to having no further retreat. This building was a confusing mess of hallways, which gave an advantage to those who knew how to navigate them, but they¡¯d been fighting for hours now, and the Talar were figuring out their tactics. Furthermore, there was the problem of the sheer Talar numbers; no matter how many they killed, there always seemed to be a new batch to replace them. Now that they¡¯d been forced this deep into the building, they only had one, maybe two hours before they were completely defeated. She needed to think of an escape plan, fast.


    Unfortunately, her drained intellect wasn¡¯t cooperating.


    A burst of gunfire rang out nearby, and Ithrey tensed, hands shaking even as she tried to grip her Surgeblade more firmly. Currently, she and a few dozen other soldiers were trying to hold a narrow passageway, using Dispellers and the lack of space to force the Talar to fight them in one on one melee combat. It had worked well so far, but they were still losing men, and all it would take was a clever Talar soldier with a grenade, and they¡¯d be scattered. Around her, the other soldiers tightened their grips on their own weapons.


    The gunfire ceased a few moments later, and though Ithrey¡¯s heart still pounded, no Talar soldiers came. Slowly, she forced herself to relax. At least, relax as much as one could while on a battlefield.


    ¡°We should have surrendered.¡±


    It was barely a whisper, and once again, it took Ithrey multiple seconds to register the words. She turned toward the soldier who had spoken. Though she could not see his face, he was trembling, hard enough he likely wouldn¡¯t be able to aim the blaster in his hand.


    ¡°We should have surrendered,¡± he repeated. ¡°We weren¡¯t going to win, and we knew it. We were fools.¡±


    ¡°The Talar don¡¯t accept surrender,¡± Ithrey said softly.


    ¡°They didn¡¯t. But Larsh does. She offered. I only heard rumors about it, but it happened.¡± He shook his head. ¡°We were fools. All of us. And now we¡¯re going to Torment for it.¡±


    He was shaking more violently now, his legs twitching along with his hands.


    ¡°We could surrender now,¡± he continued. ¡°All of us. We¡¯re going to lose anyway. Please.¡±


    There was a long pause, and Ithrey winced as she took in the other soldiers¡¯ reactions. They, too, were trembling, though they hid it better than the man who had spoken. They were silent, but, with the touch of Ever still in her skin, she felt as if she could hear their thoughts drifting toward running.


    We¡¯re actually going to die, she realized. All of us. She¡¯d known it for hours, but it sunk in deeper in that moment. She would never see her brother again. Never even see a sunrise again. Whether it was in minutes or days, Torment would find them.


    She hesitated, closing her eyes, trying not to give in to fear. Then, slowly, she opened them again.


    Maybe she could use their fear to get out of this.


    ¡°We can¡¯t surrender,¡± she said. ¡°So, logically, we have to charge.¡±


    The trembling suddenly stopped, replaced by silent tension.


    ¡°We can¡¯t win,¡± Ithrey continued. ¡°Not here. But if we can get off-world, we can plead our case to the Confederacy, and come back with an army.¡±


    Another long silence. It seemed the men were too tired to voice their own opinions. Well, tired or not, this was their only chance. Perhaps the galaxy¡¯s only chance. She cleared her throat, then raised her voice.


    ¡°Collect your weapons and get into formation. I¡¯ll be in the front.¡± She closed her eyes, pulling as much Ever as she could from her Surge. It wasn¡¯t much, though it was enough to clear her mind and turn the hallway blue. ¡°On my word, we¡¯re getting out of here.¡±


    The soldiers all hesitated, but they all eventually obeyed, forming up behind her. Gunfire sounded again, this time louder, closer. Ithrey sucked in a final deep breath.


    Hope conquers fear.


    ¡°Forward!¡±


    ***


    Just a few minutes after his conversation with Cyrla, Perelor stood inside the troop hold of a Talar carrier, soaring through the Miradoran capital toward the smoking military complex at its center. As they drew closer to the ground, the echoes began racing through Perelor¡¯s mind, brief images from the battle raging below.


    A Miradoran soldier tried not to sob as he gripped his broken leg, watching a Talar soldier lower his blaster to finish him.


    A young woman knelt in a cave with walls of rubble. Out of the broken stones, a single hand poked into the light, limp. She wasn¡¯t sure which family member it belonged to.


    A Talar officer knelt over his fallen brother, guilt washing over him, for he was the one that had convinced his sibling to join up in the first place.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be going in alone.¡± The voice interrupted the echoes, drawing Perelor back to reality. It came from the only other person in the hold, a man with a half-purple, half-green uniform. One of Larsh¡¯s Tormentors. Fitting, for one to come to something like this. ¡°It won¡¯t be dangerous, though, Valeo is running out of men. Valeo herself will be the real challenge, particularly since your orders are to capture, not kill.¡±


    Perelor nodded, though he did not meet the Tormentor¡¯s gaze. ¡°I wasn¡¯t worried to begin with.¡±


    ¡°Good. Larsh is running out of patience with you. Suffice it to say I don¡¯t think you¡¯ll find much mercy if you fail.¡±


    ¡°Understood.¡± He twitched uncomfortably. Could he actually survive defying Larsh?


    But then, Eliel depended on it. So it didn¡¯t matter.


    ¡°Do you have Valeo¡¯s description memorized?¡±


    ¡°Red hair, Herreon face.¡±


    ¡°That describes a lot of people.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen the hologram. When I find her, I¡¯ll know.¡±


    The Tormentor nodded again. ¡°Good.¡± They were getting close to the ground now, and Perelor had to grip the stabilizer handles as they twisted toward a flat section of roof on the east side of the building. ¡°Don¡¯t even think of trying to run away. Larsh has memory burners watching you. They won¡¯t hold back if you try anything.¡±


    Perelor snorted. If I wanted to escape, I would have tried a long time ago. But he said nothing.


    The ship groaned as they landed, and the doors slid open to reveal a troupe of Talar soldiers holding a perimeter around the landing pad. Perelor stepped out, hunching over. No plasma bolts were flying here yet, but he knew from experience just how fast that could change. Smoke billowed around them, and the rumbling explosions were so loud Perelor could hardly hear the Tormentor¡¯s voice as he pointed toward a nearby opening into the building.


    ¡°She should be near here, this is where we last spotted her.¡± He stepped back into the carrier, and a moment later, it lifted off, disappearing into the smoke-filled sky.


    For a long moment, Perelor stood alone on the platform, listening to the sounds of battle. Watching the echoes of innocent men dying. He felt almost as if he were back on Ethea, on that day, when everything had fallen apart. He remembered how much he¡¯d hated the soldiers who had taken his homeland, even knowing they¡¯d only been following orders. Now here he was, doing the same. All to stay out of trouble.


    It almost made him disobey. Almost made him angry enough to hope.


    Hoping was foolish. He steeled himself.


    Keep your sister safe, son.


    He closed his eyes. Drew in Purity. Then, glowing white, he stalked inside to find his prey.


    ***


    It wouldn¡¯t be enough. Ithrey and her men fought through the bloodied metal hallways like stardrakes, continuing on despite wounds and losses and exhaustion and fear, but in the end, it wouldn¡¯t be enough. They¡¯d lost half of their forces already, and Ithrey¡¯s Ever reserves were completely gone; she was now fighting on what little power the jewel generated. Her left arm screamed where a lucky shot had slipped past her defenses and burnt its way almost to bone. Her vision was swimming again, even as she drew in Ever from the Surge.


    She had given this her all. And she¡¯d still fallen short.


    No. She growled, attacking another Talar melee soldier, her arms protesting the movement, but still moving just fast enough that she bested him, stabbing him through the chest. Gritting her teeth, she threw his body aside, then raised her hand and burned a trace of Ever to snap another approaching soldier¡¯s neck. As the ethereal energy fled her body, her mind slowed even more. Her legs wobbled.


    No, no, please! God Above, please. She wouldn¡¯t fail. She just had to try harder. She yelled a battle cry, then attacked a pair of Talar, raw adrenaline pushing her forward as she slashed through their defenses.


    She continued onward, fighting for what couldn¡¯t have been longer than a minute or two but still felt like half of eternity. Then, abruptly, the battle calmed. The ever-present shriek of plasma fell quiet, and Ithrey found herself, for the first time, without an enemy to fight.


    They retreated, she realized. Her eyes darted down the hallway. They couldn¡¯t be too far from a landing pad; there were launch bays everywhere here. Involuntarily, she let out a loud laugh of relief.


    That laugh was quickly stifled as she saw someone turn the corner.


    He was a lone soldier, without armor. His uniform, blue and silver, was so tattered she was surprised it hadn¡¯t fallen off. His white hair was flecked with black ash, and an eyepatch covered his right eye.


    But his other eye glowed. Wisps of shining white mist poured off his skin. Wisps of Purity, far brighter than Ithrey¡¯s own aura.


    ¡°Surgewielder!¡±


    Ithrey¡¯s battered men panicked, falling backward. Ithrey, however, just stood silent as the man approached, shaking, trying to convince herself she had it in her to beat the newcomer.


    Just a touch longer. One more fight, and then you¡¯ve made it.


    As she stared at the man¡¯s grim face, though, she felt her hope dim.


    ***


    Seven men. Eight, if you counted Valeo herself. They stepped back as Perelor stalked down the hallway, hesitating. Afraid.


    He could have killed half of them in their moment of indecision. But Perelor had his own misgivings today. And so, he too waited, the echoes of those seven men holding him at bay. Most were fighting for their families. Most wanted to surrender, and go home. All of them shook with dread as they saw his glowing figure.


    He would have tried to spare them. But before he could, they opened fire.


    Plasma tore into his shoulders, legs, and chest. Perelor forced himself to return to reality, snapping his lasertip upward, returning fire. Bullets continued to tear into him, but he could heal, and his opponents couldn¡¯t. The last few tried to retreat, but it was too late. One after the other, all seven men dropped to the floor.


    Perelor stopped, considering as he stared down Valeo. She looked ragged. Cuts and bruises dotted her skin. A Surgeblade waited in her hand, and she was Infused with Ever, but only a trace amount of it. Her eyes moved slowly as they took in her fallen comrades, then turned back to Perelor. Her limbs shook, but she fell into a defensive stance, sword held in two hands before her.


    He could probably kill her now, with a plasma shot to the chest. But, that wouldn¡¯t look like an accident to Larsh. So, instead, he snapped his lasertip back upward, falling into stance himself. In a close enough melee fight, he could make it look like he¡¯d slain her in self-defense. He began striding toward her again.


    ¡°You¡¯re an Ethean.¡±


    Whether it was from surprise that she¡¯d spoken, or surprise that she cared, the words somehow made him stop.


    An Ethean. If only he still were an Ethean.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to fight for them.¡± Valeo¡¯s voice was weak, barely a rasp.


    She¡¯s just trying to buy time. He stepped toward her, swinging his lasertip. She blocked the blow, but her parry was weak, and her sword flew from her hands. She tumbled to the ground, gasping.


    As he expected, she burned the last of her Ever in that moment. It didn¡¯t amount to much. An invisible force shoved him a few yards backward, but he kept his footing, and ran back toward her as she feebly attempted to rise. Lashing out with his boot, he knocked her back to the floor, hard enough he heard something snap as she hit.


    So much for making it look like an accident. He frowned, hesitating, again. Hopefully Larsh didn¡¯t have too close of eyes on him. Either way, though, he had to do this. He rolled Valeo over with his foot, then raised his lasertip to stab her. She looked up at him, eyes wide. Tears streamed down her face.


    And suddenly, he was back there. On that terrible day, watching as Eliel was torn from him. Watching her eyes widen. Watching tears stream down her face.


    She begged for mercy that did not come.


    His hand suddenly trembled. His knees suddenly felt weak. Bile rose in his throat. How far had he fallen? What sort of man had he become, to even consider this?


    No. I have to save Eliel¡­


    The thought stifled itself as he stared again at Ithrey¡¯s eyes. At eyes so much like his sister¡¯s.


    Would she really want him to do this? Would his father really condone what he was about to do?


    But if it means seeing her again¡­


    He stood torn, for one traitorous moment. And then he remembered his father¡¯s voice.


    Let go of what you must, no matter how much it hurts, so that you can focus on what matters.


    Promise me you will let go, when the time comes.


    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± he said. He did not mean for the words to come out, but they did anyway. ¡°I can¡¯t lose her. I can¡¯t fail.¡±


    Let go.


    ¡°How?¡±


    You know how. You¡¯ve done it before.


    He closed his eyes, and in that sliver of time, he remembered everything, no matter how hard he had tried to forget. A thousand slaves, a thousand corpses he had failed to protect. Before that, Crelang. Before that, his father.


    It wasn¡¯t your fault, his father whispered.


    He didn¡¯t believe him. Not fully. But he believed him a little, and it was enough. Slowly, hand shaking, he twisted the lasertip away from Ithrey¡¯s neck, and opened his eyes. Making a different decision.


    ¡°Get up,¡± he said, voice soft. ¡°You¡¯re in my squadron now.¡±


    The sobbing stopped. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I said get up. You¡¯re being taken to the slave squadrons. Larsh¡¯s orders. But I get first pick there, so I¡¯m your captain. Now get up.¡±


    Ithrey just blinked.


    ¡°Being your captain means I can give you orders. Now get up. I¡¯m not going to searing carry you.¡±


    Finally, Ithrey rose to her feet. Her eyes darted toward the Surge on the ground, and she tensed, but Perelor placed his lasertip against her neck, and she let out a breath.


    ¡°I still have to take you captive,¡± Perelor said. ¡°Neither of us are getting out of that part.¡±


    Ithrey pursed her lips. ¡°But you¡¯re not going to kill me?¡±


    Perelor was silent for a long time. ¡°No,¡± he said finally. ¡°I¡¯m not.¡± He prodded her forward. ¡°C¡¯mon. It won¡¯t be good for either of us if we get caught in a skirmish.¡±


    Ithrey didn¡¯t obey, instead meeting Perelor¡¯s gaze. ¡°You were going to kill me, weren¡¯t you? And then¡­ you didn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Was there any use lying? ¡°Yes, I was. Can we have this conversation later?¡±


    Ithrey¡¯s eyes were suddenly wet again. ¡°Who are you?¡±


    Perelor met her gaze. Saw her tear-streaked face. Okron, it looked so much like Eliel¡¯s. Shame washed over him as he realized that he¡¯d caused those tears.


    ¡°I¡¯m broken,¡± he whispered. ¡°And not much else.¡± He nudged her forward. ¡°C¡¯mon.¡±


    This time, she obeyed, though she walked with a limp, and she was still sobbing. She kept glancing around her, as if hoping someone would interfere. No one did. It seemed all those who could have saved her were already dead.


    Except for himself. And as they arrived at the Talar ships, and Ithrey was bound in shackles, Perelor, to his shock, found himself swearing an oath. To himself, this time.


    He would protect this woman, as best he could, up until the moment she died. His honor demanded it. He could not be a good enough man to save his sister if he killed the innocent.


    He may be a broken man, but he wouldn¡¯t break others. That much honor he would retain.

 Interlude 1 - She Who Forgets

    Three Powers. Between them, Unity. Oh, Unity, where have you gone?


    -Anonymous Soldier, circa 1,500 Post Fall of Meridian


    Unity. The elusive combination of all Three Powers, named after what the Church considered the most holy of all virtues. The legends claimed it could twist fate, burn away the Void, and transform the entire galaxy into a place where suffering would not exist.


    Unity. Everyone wanted its benefits. But only Jadis Larsh was willing to pay its price.


    Today, she hovered above the city of Sudav, one of the five cities on Mirador she considered large enough to be of consequence. They¡¯d conquered four of those cities already, including Sudav. With the capital¡¯s forces now in retreat, only one remained, guarded by a military that was now fighting to the bitter end, despite Larsh¡¯s repeated attempts to negotiate a surrender.


    Not that the citizens here were any better; the disease of rebellion had spread here like a thin coat of paint. Visible, enough so to cause problems, but easy to peel away. Of course, crushing the disorder early was crucial, which was why Larsh was here, rather than fighting at the capital.


    She drifted over the streets, hands behind her back, ablaze with azure Ever, and alone, save for two dronecopters patrolling above her. Occasionally a bolt of plasma burst from the crowd as an angry rebel took their chance at assassination. She deflected those blasts easily, then shot them back into the rebels with a flick of her finger. They were fools to try it. Manipulating plasma was child¡¯s play for a burner with her skill.


    She focused on the people, on their faces. Were they resolute? Angry? Defeated? She nodded, grim satisfaction filling her as she noted more and more expressions dripping with dread as she passed by. Displays like this usually did that. It had been so long since memory burning had been legal that the sight of it made commoners shiver. That, combined with the charred scar of the Endowed seared onto her forehead, would give her authority here. In time, she would use that power to unify Delti into a cohesive army. For now, though, keeping the galaxy afraid would have to do.


    And afraid they were. She made certain to occasionally send bursts of energy flying into nearby structures, blowing them apart and raining rubble on the ground. It wasn¡¯t enough to kill; Larsh never killed without reason. But it was enough to kill their spirits.


    After half an hour of floating around the city, she eventually landed in a clearing near its outskirts. A play park, she guessed, before the grass had been scorched away and the toys blown to bits. A crowd had gathered here, shepherded into place by dozens of Talar soldiers, composed entirely of civilians, many of them female, even more of them children. At the head of the group, Traegus Yral, Larsh¡¯s head advisor and one of her foremost generals, stood atop a cement block, tall enough he could sweep his helmeted eyes over the entire crowd. Two other Surgewielders, one wielding Ever and one wielding Purity, stood beside him.


    Larsh gave a curt nod to Traegus, who stepped off the platform, leaving his companions to keep the masses in check. Together they moved toward a crumbling pavilion nearby, where today¡¯s victims stood in their chains.


    She forced herself to meet their eyes. They were stripped near naked, and beaten to a pulp, but many faces remained resolute. Rebels, they were. The toughest of the lot, the ones she hadn¡¯t broken thoroughly enough to trust Cyrla with. They were weaponless now, but each was a skilled fighter; Larsh may not have seen them during the mutiny, but she¡¯d seen enough battles to know the rugged muscles of warriors when she saw them. They had lost, and they would die, but Larsh afforded them the honor of meeting their eyes as she condemned them.


    She wasn¡¯t just condemning them. She cringed as she saw the children tied up behind the rebels, also naked, also beaten. Their faces were all variants of the same emotion: the shock of innocence burned away. Try as she might, she could not meet those eyes. Not when she knew what was coming.


    Aezer, Talar¡¯s captive Voidling, had proposed this solution when Larsh had first encountered resistance from conquered populations, in those first few months after taking Ethea. In the beginning, she¡¯d blindly ordered executions, then hung their corpses in the streets, hoping the horror of it would keep people down. In some areas, it had.


    But, as it turned out, people had two responses to horror, not just one. Some had shriveled in fear, but a lesser portion had only worked against her with greater vigor. The problem only continued to multiply when she killed the rebels, the most passionate among them becoming martyrs rather than examples.


    She hadn¡¯t told Aezer about the problem, but, somehow, he¡¯d known. And he had a solution. She hated it, and it had taken her two whole years to realize that her captive enemy was right, but it worked.


    She wrung her hands behind her back, forcing herself to stand straight as she barked a command to the guards holding down the group of children and rebels.


    ¡°Bring them forward, insurgents in one row, children in another.¡± She pointed to two specific guards. ¡°Except you two. Get the ethium.¡±


    The guards nodded, following her instructions. They were new to this. They always were; Larsh deliberately made certain no one had to perform this ritual more than twice. Though she did not believe in the Goddess of Justice, she did not want anyone¡¯s soul tainted more than necessary.


    As the guards worked, Traegus stepped over to Larsh, fingering his Surgeblade.


    ¡°This will be good. We¡¯re stretched thinner than I¡¯d like here. Recruitment is down, too.¡±


    ¡°I disagree,¡± Larsh said. ¡°The people are already discouraged. Once I secure Valeo¡¯s surrender, they won¡¯t last much longer. I¡¯m debating if this is even necessary.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯ll do it anyway,¡± Traegus said. ¡°Because we can¡¯t risk it, and there¡¯s no going halfway.¡± It was not a question, just a reminder of a fact. Of a necessity.


    Larsh pursed her lips, but nodded. ¡°I will. And you will help me.¡±


    The guards were almost done lining up the prisoners, and Larsh turned back to the crowd, briefly closing her eyes to light up with Ever, then drifting over to the cement platform. She kept herself glowing as she straightened, then spoke, burning trace amounts of Ever to amplify her voice.


    ¡°Quiet.¡±


    It was a single word, said with no malice, but the chatter of the crowd immediately died to almost no sound, then to pure silence as Larsh raised an eyebrow. She continued.


    ¡°Your nation is vanquished. The capital fell early this morning. Your armies are routed, your men are corpses, your women are slaves. I expect no further rebellion. Your life as Miradorans is over, and I will meet any resistance to my rule with swift punishment.¡±


    Larsh let her gaze drift to the captives, who were now in a straight line to the right of the cement platform, flanked by guards on either side. The children were prodded into place to form a line on the left. In the center, a man with a large spray tank of ethium waited, along with another man with a tank of water.


    For a moment, Larsh hesitated.


    But only for a moment. She turned her eyes back upward.


    ¡°However, some in this city have already chosen violence. Riots in the streets, attacks on supply depots, assaulting guards in the night. Petty measures, to try and stop me. Let me assure you that you have barely annoyed us ¡ª but even annoyances cannot be tolerated.¡± She forced a wicked smile onto her face. ¡°After all, to kill a gnat is no sin.¡±


    She turned back to the rebels. ¡°I will give you one last chance. Renounce your cause, beg me for forgiveness, and I will kill you quickly.¡±


    There was no reply. There never was, those who would have given in to such an offer had already been sent to the slave squadrons. Larsh nodded, and her smile faded; she could not pretend joy for this.


    ¡°So be it. You have played games rather than admit defeat, and, in return, a game you shall receive.¡± She gestured toward the children. ¡°The rules of this one are simple. A guard will hand you a knife. You will use it to kill yourself, right here, right now.¡± As she spoke, the man with the ethium tank doused the first shocked child in fuel. ¡°Should you refuse, a child burns.¡± She hesitated, again, then steeled herself. ¡°Begin.¡±If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    The guards immediately shoved the first rebel forward, slamming a knife into the palm of the man¡¯s hand, then placing their rifles against the man¡¯s head. The rebel¡¯s eyes widened, drifting between the crowd, the child, and the knife. Larsh let him stand there for a moment, feeling his panicked thoughts through her memory sense. Seeing his face slowly contort in rabid fear.


    Then she waved her hand. A guard fired a plasma bolt into the first child¡¯s leg. The child shrieked, and the ethium lit. The young boy¡¯s skin peeled away almost immediately, and the red flesh beneath it blackened as fast as flaming paper. His eyes boiled, and he fell to his knees, curling up as he died. The crowd screamed and wailed in shock. Most stepped backward in horror, though a few of the men tried to step forward, their thoughts betraying their rebellious intent. Larsh waved her hand, burning Ever, and bursts of plasma leapt from it, sizzling the ground in front of them. They stopped, then stepped back, anger fading into the shame of cowardice.


    The first rebel hesitated a moment longer, trembling. Then, finally, he rammed himself through the chest with his knife.


    He crumpled as blood spurted from his chest, twitching for several long moments as he died. Per Larsh¡¯s orders, the Talar men did not finish him, instead letting the gruesome scene play out completely before rolling him away and pushing the next man in line forward. That man killed himself immediately. And the next man. The man after that let a child burn, but then he, too, ended his life, weeping as he did.


    And so it continued, each rebel faced with a choice, a child punished until they made the right one, the crowd forced to watch by guards who patrolled about them, slamming them with the butt of their rifles if they tried to close their eyes or look away. Of the forty rebels they¡¯d rounded up for today¡¯s display, twenty-three killed themselves immediately, but thirteen of them waited for at least one child to die, and three of them were so conflicted Larsh had to burn two to push them over the edge. Nineteen children, total. Larsh made sure she memorized each of their faces, and probed their thoughts to learn their names. She would not spare them, no matter what she found. But the least she could do was hate herself for killing them. She let go of her Ever as the slaughter continued, instead reaching for Void, letting the corrupted Third Power flow through her, numbing the guilt almost completely.


    Almost.


    It was such a beautifully clean solution. Whether the rebels died to their own blade quickly, or whether they tried to resist, their deaths were pathetic either way. The public could make a beheading into a martyrdom, but a whimpering suicide? Never. That, combined with the sheer brutality of the burnings, was almost always enough to shut down any further insurgency.


    Even if it came at a terrible price.


    Finally, the last rebel stepped up to the front. He stood straighter than the rest, his eyes afire with determination. Larsh winced, knowing what came next. Knowing what she would have to do.


    The guards slammed the dagger into the man¡¯s hand, but he immediately dropped it. Snarling, the guard kicked him in the stomach, forcing him to his knees, then snatched the dagger, shoved it into the rebel¡¯s hand again, then yanked him back to his feet.


    He is enjoying this too much, Larsh noted, frowning at the guard. I should pull him off duty for a while. Not that she could afford to do that. The army was stretched too thin already.


    She focused back on the rebel as he rose to his feet, this time twisting towards the guard, trying to plant his knife in the soldier¡¯s chest. The Talar soldier easily grabbed the prisoner¡¯s arm, then slammed the butt of his rifle into the man¡¯s skull, throwing him back to the ground. This time, the rebel remained on the floor, gasping.


    ¡°Two children,¡± Larsh said. The soldiers carried out her order immediately, and two young girls whimpered as they were thrown forward, then lit ablaze. Larsh did not watch this time, instead raising an eyebrow as she stared at the insurgent on the ground.


    He lay there for a long moment, wheezing. But, as she¡¯d predicted, he rose to his feet, legs trembling, but standing. Spitting out blood, he spoke.


    ¡°Their death is on your hands.¡±


    He spoke without vitriol, without hatred, but firmly nonetheless. For a moment, Larsh was actually taken aback. Then she snorted.


    ¡°Two more.¡±


    The guards repeated the process with impunity, and the rebel¡¯s resolute expression fell, just a little, but enough. Larsh could feel his thoughts, quick and barely coherent, but there was still a pattern to them, and she knew what he would say next.


    ¡°Their blood is not on my hands. I¡¯ve seen people like you. You¡¯ll kill them whether or not I play your game. You can¡¯t let a kid live after putting them through that, they¡¯d talk.¡± His face turned to steel. ¡°So kill them. Kill me. Send us to Torment, laugh as we suffer, I don¡¯t care. If I must die, I will not die kneeling to a tyrant!¡±


    He had no microphone, nor any Ever, but his words rang out loudly to the entire crowd. Larsh let them hang there, outwardly composed, though, for once, her thoughts betrayed her.


    He is right, they whispered. Hyran would never approve of this.


    He would hate you, for what you¡¯ve become.


    She hesitated, for one agonizing moment, the image of her husband¡¯s pleading eyes blazing in her mind. For that moment, it was almost too much. No, it was too much.


    She Reached, harder this time, pulling in as much Void as she could grip.


    She felt a sharp stabbing pain in her chest as her emotions fled, pushed away as the corrupted Third Power burst alight in her veins, then spread into her skin. She felt the dread of the crowd, the terror of the children, the horror of the man who defied her.


    And somehow, simultaneously, she did not feel any of it. She knew it perfectly, but with Oblivion¡¯s presence in her mind, she did not care. That was the great danger of using Void, a danger most knew nothing of. People always heard stories of opening yourself up to the Third Power and being possessed, but those instances were rare. More often, disasters happened for the simple reason that, when your fear of retribution was numbed, and your sense of morality dulled, it was far too easy to let the knife slip.


    Larsh forced some of the numbness back, mentally willing a portion of the Void to flee. She did not want to be totally unfeeling, not with the carnage that lay around her. But she needed to be strong enough to do what must be done.


    She stepped off the platform, letting the man¡¯s accusations hang in the air, but meeting his eyes with hawkish impunity. She waved her hand.


    ¡°Release the children.¡±


    The guards hesitated, not out of disobedience, but simply because they hadn¡¯t expected the order. Larsh raised her voice.


    ¡°Release them. Their duty is done.¡± She turned back to the rebel, who looked both relieved and confused. Tucking her arms behind her back, she stalked toward him. His lips turned back up in a sneer as she did.


    ¡°You¡¯re still a murderer.¡±


    ¡°I am.¡±


    ¡°And a tyrant.¡±


    ¡°I am.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to spit in your master¡¯s face when I see him in Torment,¡± he spat.


    Larsh¡¯s lips turned upward in a smile. ¡°And that is where you are wrong. Oblivion is not my master. The Rift is not my creed. I am my own god.¡± She released her hands from behind her back. ¡°I do not hate you, friend, for I am not of Oblivion. I do not love you, either, for I am not of the Three Bladewielders. However, to me, you have committed a sin. A grave sin, I fear: you are in my way.¡±


    She burned the Void in her skin, and tendrils leapt from her fingers, thrashing through the air, then into the man¡¯s flesh, slamming through his eyes, snaking into his mouth, then tearing him apart from the inside as they burst back through skin, sending a spray of blood all across the ground. When the tendrils faded, there was nothing left but a gruesome puddle.


    Larsh whipped toward the crowd, releasing the last of her Void, then burning Ever. With it, she ripped the ethium tanks from off the backs of the guards, then sent them flying into the air, then blew them to pieces at the apex of their ascent. The fuel exploded with a thunderous crash, and ash and debris rained from the sky, none of it large enough to cause any injury, yet still enough to cause a host of coughing and confusion.


    Larsh burned more Ever, pushing the smoke away, then rose into the air. She amplified her voice one last time.


    ¡°I am not here to oppress you. I am not here as your savior. I am here simply because I want to be here, and I always get what I want. Let this be your lesson: that from this day on, there is only one rule.


    ¡°Do not get in my way.¡±


    She turned and shot into the sky without another word; the military complex in the capital had finally fallen, it seemed, and she needed to talk with General Valeo once she was captured. And there were the final preparations for the landing on Grahala. And she needed to inspect the other forces, the ones preparing for a larger campaign on Artensia.


    So much to do, so little time. She wasn¡¯t sure exactly when the calamities the Tower of Foreseeing had prophesied would occur, but it couldn¡¯t be longer than ten years.


    Ten years. A long time, for most. But to assemble all the galaxy into a unified army? To kill a god that had terrorized mankind for millennia?


    Ten years was nothing. Larsh herself was nothing. But without Larsh, the worlds would fall, so she did what she had to.


    Unfortunately, it seemed the best way to stop a god from burning the galaxy was to make certain you burned it first.

 Interlude 2 - Creed

    The Confederacy is not what it once was. Oh, they claim the same ideals, but to claim something and to own it have never been the same thing. Instead of using the power of burners for good, they repress them. Instead of uniting the galaxy, they exploit its division. Instead of trying to find the Endowed, they use the Testing to keep their power.


    The church is no longer a gap between evil and light. It is now dark, in and of itself.


    -Rion Krot, circa 1,253 Post Imprisonment


    Fendor Creed pursed his lips, watching as hands went up in the air. There were too many to count on his own, but the overall vote was clear: they would hear out the Talar diplomat. It was the first step toward opening trade with their old enemy. Toward resuming commerce with a nation so corrupt it made Fendor sick.


    ¡°I want to stop this,¡± he muttered. ¡°I have to stop this.¡±


    ¡°There is nothing you can do,¡± said Li. A short, thin man, he was Fendor¡¯s advisor. Fendor still wasn¡¯t sure why he even had an advisor, but at least Li wasn¡¯t the worst of the politicians here. Though he wasn¡¯t the best, either. ¡°And I warn against doing anything, young Creed. Your brother¡¯s patience is already thin.¡±


    ¡°My brother can burn in Torment,¡± Fendor muttered. ¡°This is his fault.¡±


    ¡°That attitude,¡± Li sighed, ¡°is exactly why he is angry with you, young master.¡±A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    Fendor snorted, leaning back. ¡°Well, good. If that¡¯s his logic, then I don¡¯t have to apologize.¡±


    Li sighed again, but was otherwise silent. Fendor tapped his foot against the floor violently, trying to restrain his objections as servants recorded the votes. Was it just him or were they taking forever counting? With so many hands in the air, and so very few still withheld, it was just a formality to number them. He let out a long breath, rolling his eyes as the time continued to drag on. Beside him, Li cleared his throat.


    ¡°If you are truly concerned, this might be a good time to note the Assemblymen who voted against.¡±


    Fendor hesitated, trying to come up with an excuse not to do that. He couldn¡¯t; as usual, Li was right. Okron, the man was infuriating sometimes. Grumbling, he leaned forward, sweeping his eyes over the crowd. It seemed more of the Northern Province members had decided not to support the proposal than any other sector, including, notably, Jerin Rostro, who had fought beside Daridin Ryth, back when Artensia had been actively fighting the Talar¡¯s expansion. He had a look of fiery defiance on his face as he stood, arms folded, sweeping his gaze over the other Assemblymen, many of whom wilted beneath his stare. Well, at least someone was still willing to be brave.


    ¡°Peace may not be such a bad thing, Master Creed,¡± Li said beside him. ¡°Our rivalry with the Talar has been long and bloody. It may be time to set that aside.¡±


    Fendor¡¯s hand tightened into a fist, and he forced himself not to respond. He doubted he could contain an outburst if he did. The Talar were savages. Void-cursed savages. And now they threatened to spread that savagery all across the galaxy. It was almost as bad as a Khazath invasion, and instead of standing up, his brother was trying to open up the searing trade routes.


    Well, Eldinar might be a fool, but Fendor wasn¡¯t. He stood himself, folding his arms, glaring at the idiots who held their hands in the air. Beside him, Li put his head in his hands. It seemed the servant wasn¡¯t just playing Oblivion¡¯s advocate; he actually believed Eldinar was doing the right thing. Well, Fendor would have to fire him.


    There was no room for cowards when the galaxy faced this.

 Interlude 3 - The Storyteller

    Feel nothing but hate, do nothing but destroy.


    -Opening line of Tal Shadi Alvathi, a Khazath sacred text


    Arrus knelt beside a woman caked in blood, gripping her hand, watching her breathing gradually steady. A long gash ran across her chest, but it was shallow. She would live. Hopefully. She would if he had anything to say about it.


    The surrounding battle had slowed to a stop. Gunshots still rang in the distance, but the louder rumbling of bombs had ceased, and Talar soldiers now patrolled the street, setting up tents and stands and preparing for the occupation. Arrus still hadn¡¯t seen any Miradoran citizens, but he suspected it would only be a few more hours before the Talar started taking stock of their new captives. For now, though, the invaders confined themselves to the streets; Larsh had a strict policy against unnecessary looting.


    Arrus could see a medic among the nearby soldiers, tending to wounds, most of them minor. He caught the doctor staring at the wounded slave several times, though no help came. The woman wanted to, though. Arrus could tell. She was just too afraid to actually do it.


    The slave in his arms shivered. ¡°Am I going to be alright?¡± She was growing pale.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Arrus lied. He clenched her hand tighter. ¡°Just hold on.¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    There was no reason to thank him. He didn¡¯t have the training nor the equipment to do anything real for her. But he nodded back, and kept holding her hand, until her eyes finally closed, her chest rising and falling in a constant rhythm. Then, finally, he rose to his feet. His legs ached, but he stumbled over to a small, makeshift fire where the other survivors sat on empty crates, eyes staring lifelessly into the flames.


    Arrus gazed at those flames for longer than he should have, numb. He wished Perelor were here. Not that the captain¡¯s presence would improve his mood, but conversation with a cynic was at least conversation. He tried to force himself to start telling a story, but couldn¡¯t muster the willpower. Instead, he folded his arms in close, closing his eyes as night fell and a chill swept over the army.


    He couldn¡¯t get the image of the Talar doctor out of his head. The way she stared, lips pursed, but didn¡¯t help. Not because she didn¡¯t want to, but because she was afraid.


    So many of the Talar were like that. Not all of them, of course; there were plenty of bloodthirsty monsters who kept everyone in line. But most people were good. Like Ryla, his cousin, who had given him his Surgeblade. Or Captain Vyrus, who had helped exploit the legal loophole that had allowed him to wield the Surge. Yes, most people were good. But, like the doctor, they were far too safe with their goodness, trying too hard not to step on the toes of the few who were truly monsters. Because they were afraid.


    He hated that. Yet, he wasn¡¯t really sure what he could do about it. It wasn¡¯t as if they had no reason to be afraid. And, deep down, he was afraid too. So he just did the little things. Like holding a woman¡¯s hand, hoping she wouldn¡¯t die.


    Little things were just that, though. Little. And the galaxy was a big place. Sometimes, stories helped Arrus feel bigger than he was, but not tonight. So he just kept his eyes closed, the wind whipping against his too-thin uniform.


    He stayed silent for a long time before one of the slaves spoke.


    ¡°We really are going to die, aren¡¯t we?¡±


    Arrus¡¯ eyes involuntarily peeked open at the words. He opened his mouth to say something, then realized he had nothing to say, and closed it, instead giving a curt nod.


    ¡°I thought Captain Krot was exaggerating,¡± the man continued. He was a tall, hulking man, though against the backdrop of a smoking city, even he seemed small. ¡°I told myself he just hated us. Kept pretending that even after the first raid. But after today¡­ he¡¯s right. We¡¯re doomed.¡±


    Again, Arrus was silent. He hated how Perelor had given up, but what he hated even more was how sensible he was about it. Hearing the same logic from someone else wasn¡¯t helpful.


    ¡°No story tonight,¡± the man whispered. ¡°I guess I can¡¯t blame you.¡± He shook his head. ¡°I can feel Torment already.¡±


    Arrus closed his eyes again, for a moment. Then he sucked in a breath, and forced them back open again.


    ¡°I do have a story tonight,¡± he said. ¡°One you¡¯ve heard before, I think.¡±Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    The man¡¯s expression turned surprised for a moment, then relaxed. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°The tale we¡¯re all in,¡± Arrus said. ¡°The one with no ending yet.¡± He straightened. ¡°The Tale of the Endowed.¡±


    The man sighed. ¡°A lie.¡±


    ¡°Or a truth not yet revealed.¡± Arrus looked upward, where the stars were slowly beginning to peek through the night sky, mostly hidden by the thick pollution, but still there. ¡°You¡¯ve heard the prophecy, I presume?¡±


    ¡°Who hasn¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°Many hear, few listen,¡± Arrus said. ¡°Repetition is not evil, but I think I will keep quiet tonight.¡± He paused before continuing. ¡°Did you know, though, that Erak¡¯assala ¡ª the word for the Endowed in the native tongue of the prophecy ¡ª is not specific to any group of people? There are no gender identifiers. No racial tags. It¡¯s neither singular nor plural. There is a lesson in that, I believe.¡±


    The man snorted. ¡°That we don¡¯t have any idea who the searing person is?¡±


    ¡°Exactly. It could be any of us, really. We talk about things like scars and mastering the powers, but, in the end, it could be any of us. And, in a way, that means it is all of us. We don¡¯t know how our actions will affect the greater picture.¡±


    A long pause. ¡°And if the outcome for us is death?¡±


    ¡°The only thing to do in the face of death,¡± Arrus said, ¡°is to live the best life we can in the time we are given. This is the burden we all carry.¡±


    Another long silence. Then the man sighed. ¡°Well, thanks for trying.¡± He rose, stepping away from the fire and toward a flatter portion of ground where some of the other slaves were lying down. Slowly, Arrus let himself close his eyes again.


    Then a hand shook him. He started, hand whipping downward to the now-empty blade on his belt, but a voice hissed.


    ¡°It¡¯s me.¡±


    Arrus¡¯ arm relaxed as he recognized the voice, but his chest tightened.


    ¡°Father.¡± He pursed his lips. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ¡°I had a moment, so I came to see you. Is being your father not reason enough to visit?¡±


    You¡¯re the one who always screamed that I wasn¡¯t your son, Arrus thought. ¡°I see.¡± Slowly, he turned, meeting his father¡¯s eyes.


    Though he was less muscular than the slave Arrus had just been talking with, Traegus Yral somehow seemed larger. Perhaps it was the way he held himself, his head always tilted up just a notch higher than everyone else, his legs spread apart just a bit more, his mouth always turned slightly down in disapproval. His skin was a perfect Talar tan, his jawline flawlessly square, his long, curly black hair tied into a bun atop his head. He was covered in immaculately painted titrite; the only chips and discolorations were those acquired today. His helmet was tucked under his right arm, and his other hand rested on the pommel of a Void Surgeblade ¡ª a rare honor for even a noble, as accessing the Third Power always came with the risk of losing one¡¯s sanity. Arrus didn¡¯t think he¡¯d ever seen his father far from either his suit of armor or his Surgeblade ¡ª Traegus was nothing if not proud in public, and nothing if not paranoid in private.


    Traegus shifted uncomfortably at Arrus¡¯ tight expression, turning his gaze toward the stars in the distance. As much as he liked to pretend he was the perfect father, Arrus knew that deep down, Traegus hated his own parental failures. Arrus just wasn¡¯t sure how to turn that hate into actual change.


    There was a long silence. ¡°Krot is gone,¡± Traegus said finally.


    Arrus grunted.


    Traegus snorted. ¡°Off slashing himself again, then? I thought you told him not to do that. Granted, he¡¯s clearly too Soulcursed to think.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not Soulcursed,¡± Arrus grumbled. ¡°And what would it matter if he was?¡± He¡¯s a better man than you.


    Traegus shook his head, gesturing toward the slaves surrounding him. ¡°Oh, Arrus. Look at this place, full of filthy men covered in filthy mud. Look at yourself, taking pleasure in the squalor. One day you will see sense. Mud is exciting for a child, but not for a man.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps we all need to be more like children, then.¡± Arrus met his father¡¯s eyes, frowning. ¡°I know why you¡¯re here. And the answer¡¯s the same.¡±


    ¡°Is it? These men will all die, son. Even Krot only has so much time before he slits his own throat.¡±


    ¡°They will.¡±


    Traegus sighed. ¡°And you¡¯ll stay anyway, won¡¯t you?¡± He shook his head. ¡°Such potential, all wasted because of a lack of vision. It is a shame that there are no Purity Surges for that kind of blindness.¡± He straightened. ¡°But, if it is your answer still, then so be it. One day, the bloodshed will be too much for you, and you will finally kneel.¡± He paused before continuing in a lower tone. ¡°That day may be coming soon. Things are¡­ afoot. You would be wise to reconsider, before the hour is too late.¡±


    He left without another word, armor clinking as he walked. Arrus didn¡¯t even bother looking at his father as the man left, though, instead turning back to the fire and trying his best to put the encounter out of his mind.


    In that, he failed.


    He didn¡¯t know exactly what the Shadi were, though he¡¯d gotten glimpses into their motives through his father, and those glimpses weren¡¯t pretty. Lots of things about changing Delti, no matter the cost.


    His father always spoke of changing Delti, of the ways he would end the old traditions and usher in a new age. He sounded very sure he would succeed. Arrus dearly prayed his certainty was misplaced, for he suspected that, if his father did change the galaxy, it would not be for the better.


    But, Arrus was Arrus, and so far, he hadn¡¯t even changed his father, much less the galaxy. So, falling silent, he watched the fire until dawn broke, the slaves woke, and the army began to move again.

 Chapter 14 - Rain And Regret

    I am tired of this.


    It is something I cannot afford to confess. My men look to me for reassurance. They have fought this foe for a few decades at most, while I have fought it for two eons. They think this gives me an edge. In terms of skill, I suppose it does.


    But I am tired. I do not know how much longer I can hold on anymore. This frightens me, as, for the first time, I begin to understand the Enemy.


    -Aiedra Okron, circa 2,100 Post Fall of Meridian


    Icy rain pattered against Ryla Magala¡¯s carbon fiber battlesuit as she descended onto the cement ground of the launch pad. Lightning flashed in the distance. A pause. Then thunder.


    After that, the louder roar of an engine as a massive carrier took off, thrusters sending smoke billowing over the waiting crowd. All around Ryla, mechanics and soldiers and passengers alike cursed and coughed, shoving their noses into the sleeves of their rain-covered coats. Ryla shielded her own nose with her hand, though she burned Ever to push the smoke away from herself.


    Strange, how reflexively she did that these days. Before training with Larsh, she¡¯d nearly had a panic attack every time she¡¯d used the ethereal energy. That was before learning that her memory burning would not, in fact, drive her insane.


    As if in response to her thoughts, she saw a red line of light flicker in the air beside her. She shivered, continuing forward.


    How did one appear while I¡¯m Infused with Ever? Larsh swore you can¡¯t see the afterlife while wielding another Power.


    Well, it wouldn¡¯t be the first time Larsh had been wrong.


    Eyes followed her as she made her way through the crowd; though many of the departing passengers also wore Talar uniforms, with the Bladed Wheel emblazoned on her chest, she still stood out. Whispers followed her, too, none of them loud enough she could have heard them with her natural senses.


    Being a memory burner, though, had its perks, and she caught every word they said and more.


    Voidling, one woman thought, strutting around here, of all places.


    Look, it¡¯s the anti-war activist, an older man muttered. Wearing her battle uniform. Hypocrite.


    Hypocrite. She tried to show no visible reaction to the man¡¯s words, but they still stung. All she¡¯d done, and this was the thanks she got?


    They don¡¯t know my plans, she reminded herself. Things will change soon. Very soon, if I can manage it.


    She pushed those thoughts away, too. There wasn¡¯t time for her plans, not now. Right now she needed to catch her brother before he got himself killed.


    Smoke billowed again as another massive carrier, the size of a small skyscraper, lifted off nearby. As it did, a young girl nearby burst into tears, burying her head into the leg of a man who stared wistfully at the ship as it soared upward. Her father, probably. Though perhaps not; it may very well be the girl¡¯s father who was on that ship.


    How many families were torn apart today, Ryla thought, just so Larsh can start another invasion? Her fist tightened in anger. Another flicker of ethereal red light warped the air beside her. She cursed under her breath.


    It didn¡¯t take long for her to spot her destination, a terminal where hundreds of young soldiers, in newly commissioned purple uniforms, were filing into line, waiting for the cruiser that would take them away to Grahala.


    That cruiser would also take Ryla¡¯s brother to Grahala.


    She swept her eyes over the crowd, then, realizing there were too many people to pick out her brother normally, she stepped away, closing her eyes and drawing on her memory sense.


    Her mind expanded, thoughts rushing through her, an overwhelming amount of them. Enough she had to lean over and grip her knees just to remain coherent.


    But Larsh, for all her faults, was a competent teacher, and within moments, Ryla picked out her brother¡¯s mind. He was sitting and chatting with a shorter man next to him, wringing his hands in anticipation for his squad to be called.


    Lighting up with Ever, Ryla soared into the air ¡ª an act that drew even more eyes and whispers ¡ª then shot over to her brother. She didn¡¯t do a great job slowing her descent, and her knees strained as she struck the cement. I¡¯ll have to work on that.


    Her brother looked away from his conversation as she landed, eyes widening, then narrowing as he saw Ryla. His cheeks tightened, and he cursed softly under his breath, rising from the bench.


    ¡°Ryla. What¡¯re you doing here?¡±


    Behind him, the other soldier cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. ¡°Uh, Kai, might not be best to upset the noble¡­¡±


    Ryla¡¯s brother ¡ª Kairus ¡ª raised a hand. ¡°Long story,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you later.¡± He met Ryla¡¯s eyes. ¡°Why are you here?¡±


    Ryla could feel his thoughts, even though she tried not to. Okron, if she¡¯s here to turn me in¡­


    So he was trying that foolish plan of his. Idiot! Why?


    ¡°We need to talk,¡± she said. She glanced toward the other soldier. ¡°In private.¡±


    Kairus snorted. ¡°We¡¯re in the middle of a spaceport. There¡¯s nowhere private to go.¡±


    Ryla closed her eyes, burning thoughts, letting her flesh fill with Ever until she was blazing with blue light. Then, she waved her hand, and both she and her brother began to hover. Kairus¡¯ eyes widened.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°Ryla, I don¡¯t think this is a good idea!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m your sister. Doing things you don¡¯t approve of is my job.¡±


    Kairus groaned, but he didn¡¯t have another chance to protest before Ryla burned more Ever to send them rocketing into the sky. She was careful not to accelerate them too quickly ¡ª pushing two objects at once took extra focus ¡ª but they still went fast enough that Kairus¡¯ eyes nearly popped out of his head.


    Ryla smiled deviously. ¡°Good view, eh?¡±


    ¡°Put me down,¡± Kairus yelped.


    Ryla¡¯s grin widened, and she let Kairus¡¯ acceleration slow, just enough that he would experience a moment of weightlessness. He yelped again, louder this time.


    ¡°Alright, alright, stop!¡±


    Ryla laughed, letting them both slow to a constant hover above the spaceport. ¡°I¡¯m not going to drop you.¡±


    ¡°You sure made me think you would,¡± Kairus muttered. But, slowly, he relaxed. ¡°I suppose this is one way to have a conversation alone.¡±


    ¡°The best way.¡± Ryla paused, eyes turning downward, a part of her not wanting to ruin this moment. The view really was astounding, you could see the city sprawling out in every direction, rolling over hills, twisting through canyons, covering every plot of land it could. Her brother hovered silently beside her.


    Did she really have to ruin this moment, with more talk of war?


    Sadly, she knew the answer. ¡°Why?¡± she asked. ¡°It took a lot of effort to get you out of the draft, Kai. And then you sign up anyway?¡±


    Kairus frowned. He was silent for a moment, and Ryla had to resist the urge to read his thoughts. It was better, she¡¯d found, to have a proper conversation, especially when you were talking with someone you cared about.


    ¡°People are dying,¡± he said finally. ¡°I can¡¯t just stand aside.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that what uncle would do? Going to war only results in more death.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Kairus¡¯ voice was suddenly firm. ¡°Uncle got himself out of the draft, yes, but only so he could stay and pressure Larsh through the court. You weren¡¯t old enough to remember, but he actually hated doing it. Kept saying he was sending his men to die, while he lounged at home.¡± Kairus sighed. ¡°It was the right decision for him. But not for me. Not with father in the way.¡±


    Ryla shifted. ¡°That¡­ does sound like him, I guess. But¡­ Kai, this war is brutal.¡±


    ¡°You would know,¡± Kairus muttered.


    Ryla winced. ¡°You know I don¡¯t have a choice.¡±


    Kairus pursed his lips. ¡°You do. You just don¡¯t want to admit it.¡±


    Ryla stiffened. ¡°If I run, Larsh kills me.¡±


    ¡°And?¡± Kairus smiled sadly. ¡°I know you can read my thoughts, Ryla. You know what I¡¯m actually doing here.¡±


    ¡°Deserting,¡± Ryla whispered. She trembled. ¡°They¡¯ll kill you.¡± She closed her eyes, as if the darkness could somehow make the truth go away. ¡°Just like they did uncle.¡±


    ¡°Only if I¡¯m caught.¡± There was a question in his tone, and in his thoughts. Are you going to turn me in?


    ¡°I won¡¯t tell on you; I¡¯m not Mother. You don¡¯t have to worry about that. I just¡­ I want to know why.¡±


    There was a long pause. Ryla¡¯s Ever was running low, and while her eyes were still closed, she Reached for more thoughts, pulling them from the people below.


    A mother ran her hands through her hair as she watched her son¡¯s carrier rise into the atmosphere. His father had died on Ethea, fourteen years ago. Now she would lose him, too; she was sure of it.


    A young man limped on crutches to his wife. They embraced. The hug didn¡¯t last long, for they both knew the cost of healing his leg would crush them.


    And that little girl Ryla had seen earlier. The poor little girl, who didn¡¯t understand why her papa was going away¡­


    As she opened her eyes and returned to reality, she knew what Kairus would say.


    ¡°We¡¯re the bad guys, Ryla.¡±


    ¡°Larsh is the bad guy.¡±


    ¡°And those who follow her?¡±


    Ryla raised an eyebrow. ¡°What¡¯re you suggesting?¡±


    Kairus raised a placating hand. ¡°I understand you don¡¯t see it the same way. And I understand that you have¡­ plans, and I do hope they work. But I can¡¯t keep sitting at home, supporting a war machine just by my presence.¡± He met her eyes again. ¡°And I think, if you look at your actions hard enough, you¡¯ll realize you can¡¯t justify them, either.¡±


    Ryla tensed. ¡°I¡¯m doing what I have to, Kai. To make a better galaxy.¡±


    ¡°Oh? And where are you headed after this?¡±


    ¡°Shal Alai challenged me. I have to take care of that.¡±


    ¡°By pummeling him into the dirt?¡±


    ¡°He killed uncle!¡¯


    ¡°Oh? And what choice did he have, with Larsh breathing over his shoulder? You hate him, but can¡¯t you see yourself in him?¡± He grunted, shaking his head. ¡°We¡¯ve already had this argument a dozen times. If you¡¯re not going to turn me in, let me down.¡±


    Ryla paused. A part of her was tempted to turn Kairus in; at least if he were in prison, he wouldn¡¯t be dying in a mutiny.


    But then, as she studied Kairus¡¯ fiery, determined expression, she realized even that wouldn¡¯t stop him from getting himself killed.


    He¡¯s stubborn. Like me, like Mother. Like uncle.


    Tears threatened to well up in her eyes, but she pushed them backward. He¡¯ll be fine. No need to cry. Burning Ever, she drifted toward him, wrapping her arms around him in an embrace. He hesitated, then hugged her back. She felt tension drain from his muscles as he did.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he said. ¡°That might¡¯ve been a bit too blunt.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. You resist Larsh your way.¡± She let go, forcing herself to smile. Forcing herself to pretend like everything was fine. ¡°I¡¯ll resist her my way. And, well, one day it¡¯ll all work out.¡±


    Kairus smiled, too, though there was a distinct sadness to the gesture. ¡°One day.¡± He paused. ¡°Take care of Arrus for me. Kid¡¯s in way more trouble than he realizes.¡±


    One day. Endowed, Ryla thought. I wish I actually believed that. ¡°I will,¡± she said softly.


    They hovered in silence for a moment. An instant Ryla wished could last an eternity. Then, straightening, she waved her hand, and they descended back to the ground. Soldiers swarmed Kairus as they touched down, and Ryla gave him one last goodbye, then returned to the sky. She was already almost late to the arena.


    Sear you, Alai, for challenging me today of all days. She shot one final glance back at the spaceport. A third ship was taking off. She knew rationally that her brother wasn¡¯t on it, he still had an hour before his battlecruiser left, but it seemed to her a sign. For a moment the tears threatened to surface again, but she twisted the emotion into a simmering rage instead.


    Things will change, Larsh. I will stop you.


    Whatever it takes.

 Chapter 15 - Sand And Swords

    Oh, Torment, what have I done?


    -Nathazar Vorcix, circa 1,302 Post Fall of Meridian


    Ryla swung the door to her dressing room open, panting as she strode inside. She¡¯d sped the rest of the way to the arena with Ever, and though that hadn¡¯t required any physical exertion ¡ª using Ever never did ¡ª jogging her way through the winding hallways of the stadium had taken more out of her than she¡¯d thought it would.


    ¡°You¡¯re late.¡± The words came from Naidi, one of her servants, who stood with arms folded, and a sly, almost playful smile on her face. She was blonde-haired, with a slight blue tint to her skin: a classical Darian look.


    ¡°I had¡­ things to attend to,¡± Ryla said.


    Naidi rolled her eyes. ¡°You always do.¡±


    ¡°Can we just start getting the armor on? The duel¡¯s about to start.¡±


    Naidi snorted again, but she and the other attendants ¡ª who, as always, remained perfectly silent ¡ª stepped up to her, each bearing several pieces of white titrite. Faces shielded by cloth veils, they still looked ominous to Ryla even after years of working with them.


    I thought I told them to stop wearing those. Granted, she¡¯d ordered them to talk to her, too, and they hadn¡¯t done that, either. They¡¯d obey orders, of course, just not orders that contradicted the Talar servants¡¯ Code.


    She shifted uncomfortably as her attendants latched the armor onto her skin. She¡¯d forgotten how heavy the stuff was; she preferred to fight without it. Larsh had insisted she wear it today, though, and there was no disobeying Larsh.


    At least, not yet. Things will be different soon.


    ¡°How¡¯s your day been?¡± she asked Naidi. She tried not to read her friends¡¯ thoughts, though it was difficult.


    ¡°Fine,¡± Naidi said. There was a tartness to her voice, though. Ryla glared at the other servants.


    ¡°Are they treating you alright?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine, Ryla,¡± Naidi said.


    ¡°But¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡±


    Ryla scowled, but let herself fall silent.


    ¡°Sear it,¡± Naidi cursed a moment later.


    Ryla frowned. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    ¡°Thing won¡¯t fit,¡± Naidi grumbled. She wiped sweat from her brow. ¡°I forget how stubborn this is when you aren¡¯t controlling it.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry too much,¡± Ryla said. Not like I want to wear it, anyway. She smirked. ¡°I¡¯m the one who has to do the worrying today.¡±


    Naidi cringed. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s fair. I think you¡¯ll be fine, though. He¡¯s been a Voidmage for what, two years?¡±


    ¡°Longer than I¡¯ve been training with Larsh,¡± Ryla said quietly.


    ¡°Yeah, but you¡¯ve been Connected longer. You¡¯ve got him.¡± Naidi finally finished the leg plate she¡¯d been working on, and she stood, folding her arms, inspecting the armor. ¡°Does it feel tight enough?¡±


    ¡°Plenty,¡± Ryla said. She forced a smile. ¡°Don¡¯t worry too much. I rarely fight in this stuff, anyway.¡±


    ¡°Still,¡± Naidi said, frowning, ¡°I don¡¯t think I could forgive myself if he gets a hit in.¡± She leaned in close, inspecting the joints closer, then sighed. ¡°But this is the best I know how to do.¡± She straightened, meeting Ryla¡¯s eyes. ¡°Got your good luck charm?¡±


    Ryla tapped the dagger on her belt with her free arm ¡ª the other was still being strapped into a gauntlet by one of the other servants. ¡°Yup.¡±


    ¡°And you haven¡¯t used Ever at all today?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡±


    Naidi¡¯s frown deepened. ¡°How much?¡±


    ¡°Just a little,¡± Ryla said hastily. ¡°To get here.¡±


    Naidi hesitated, then sighed. ¡°Good enough. Said your prayers?¡±


    Ryla rolled her eyes. ¡°Yes.¡±


    Naidi relaxed. ¡°Well, Okron be with you, then.¡±


    ¡°Already is. Ever is her thing, isn¡¯t it? I¡¯ll be fine, Naidi. Seriously, don¡¯t worry.¡±


    ¡°Oh trust me, I¡¯ll worry,¡± Naidi said. ¡°But thanks anyway.¡± She sucked in another deep breath, then stepped away as the other servant finished with the gauntlet ¡ª the last piece of armor that needed to be strapped on. Another servant handed her a gleaming white helm, which had been fitted to her head earlier. She slid it into place, tapping a button on the side to activate the goggles on its front, then strode forward out of the dressing room and through the hallway toward the arena.


    None of the other servants said anything as she left; they never did. I¡¯m going to have to drill their silence out of them. Forcing herself to focus, Ryla stretched her hands and limbs, checking to make sure her armor moved properly, then reached to her hip and drew her blade. She checked to make certain the Surge in its hilt was full of blue light, then strode forward through the final gateway and onto the arena sands.


    Odd, she noted, how she didn¡¯t feel nervous. A touch apprehensive, and a touch annoyed by the behavior of the servants, but not nervous. Just¡­ numb.


    The arena itself was built much like the Testing arena on Xeredon ¡ª or, rather, Ryla suspected that the Testing arena on Xeredon had been modeled after the Talar arenas. A sandy pit covered the floor, and grains of gravel shifted beneath Ryla¡¯s feet as she stepped forward. Giant poles stretched from the ground into the sky, and curved metal bridges arced between the poles. There were even spherical drones today, hovering and darting between platforms, simulating the busy traffic of a city street; the Talar liked their duels to feel as true to a battlefield as possible. All around, Shalarhai nobles, Heldarhai tradesmen, and even Sarhai low citizens crowded into the seats of the cylindrical shell surrounding the sand. It was an incredible sight. A testament to Talar grit.


    This, Ryla thought. Is who we should be. Tough, determined. Warriors, instead of savages.


    And speaking of savages¡­


    She lowered her eyes to her opponent, who waited across from her. He was barely a speck from this distance, though Ryla knew his face well; she¡¯d spent the weeks since he¡¯d Challenged her studying his fighting patterns.


    I will win this. For Naidi. For Kairus.


    For Uncle.


    Hate raged in her chest. A loud voice boomed over the speakers.


    ¡°The time has come. Are the contestants ready?¡±


    ¡°Ready,¡± Ryla said, forcing herself to grin as she raised her blade to the sky, indicating a positive response to the watching referees. Shal Alai, covered in his own titrite armor, raised his sword, which bore a glimmering white Purity Surge in its hilt.


    That was standard practice for duels; most of them weren¡¯t to the death, and having a Purity Surge would allow its wielder to surrender and heal if they had to. Incidents requiring that weren¡¯t uncommon, either. Though titrite could block a lot, the suit Ryla wore wouldn¡¯t be half as effective as an actual atom burner¡¯s set. There was a good chance Ryla¡¯s choice to use an Ever Surge, rather than a Purity one, would lead to her demise.


    She didn¡¯t regret it, though. She was going to win this duel, whatever it took, and she was far better with Ever than she was with Purity. Besides, Shal Alai was a Voidburner, not an atom burner, which meant he couldn¡¯t use his Surge unless he let go of his natural powers. That gave Ryla an advantage, if only a slight one.


    ¡°We shall review the terms, then,¡± the voice over the intercom continued. ¡°Shal Yrus Alai has challenged Shal Ryla Magala for her seat as apprentice to House Cunning One. Should he win, Shal Magala will be expelled from her apprenticeship, Shal Alai taking it in her stead. Should Shal Magala win, Shal Alai forfeits every Surge his House currently possesses. As he is sole proprietor of House Alai right now, he can make this forfeit should he lose. Do both sides agree to this arrangement?¡±


    Ryla raised her blade again in agreement. Alai did as well. Murmurs ran through the crowd.


    ¡°Then the Council approves this Challenge,¡± the voice said. ¡°The duel begins in three, two, one, ahek!¡±


    The crowd cheered, and the fight began. Alai immediately stepped back, and a moment later, red light began leaking through his armor ¡ª the glow of Void. Ryla stepped back herself, closing her eyes.


    Thoughts ran through her mind as she Reached.


    A baker sucked in a breath, trying to forget about the bills due later this week. And the taxes with them..


    A former soldier caressed the stump that was his leg, cursing softly under his breath. Why did that searing limb always feel like it was still there?


    A woman watched numbly, sipping wine from her cup. Hoping that wine would somehow erase the image of her son¡¯s mangled body, laying on that funeral altar as they prepared the pyre¡­


    Stress, grief, pain, all caused by this war.


    All caused by Larsh.


    Her eyes flashed open, and her skin lit aglow with Ever, as much of it as she could fit in her flesh. The crowd roared, though Ryla felt their thoughts; for most, this spectacle was just a temporary distraction from greater worries. One day, though, they would look back, and realize it had been much more.


    All she had to do was win.


    Burning Ever, she shot into the air, twisting between two of the drones to land in a crouch atop one of the pillars. Echoes danced in her mind, images, sounds, smells, pricks of feeling. With her mind heightened by the First Power, though, she could ignore all of it. She¡¯d been using her powers since she was three years old ¡ª even before burning had been legal in Talar ¡ª and the cacophony of the echoes was nothing new.


    This was, though, the first time she¡¯d fought a Voidburner one on one. She tried not to think too hard about that as Alai summoned tendrils of red, which lashed out, gripping the pillars and hoisting him into the air.


    So he¡¯s not powerful enough to awaken the whole pole. Either that, or he¡¯s faking. The former was more likely, though she couldn¡¯t yet draw conclusions. She relaxed a little, raising her hand and burning Ever to shoot a spray of plasma toward her opponent ¡ª not much of it, just enough to test his defenses. The air shimmered as the plasma shot through it, warping to push the blasts off course. It shimmered red as it did, Reanimated by Alai¡¯s use of Void. That was what Void did; allowing the user to pull spirits from Torment and use them to turn objects into imitations of living things. It was by far the most versatile of the Three Powers.


    Doesn¡¯t make it right to use it, Ryla thought, anger ¡ª and fear ¡ª mixing in her chest. She shivered as her mother¡¯s eyes, glowing crimson, flashed through her mind. Tensed as she remembered tendrils slamming into her back, over and over¡­


    She cursed as a tendril shot past her, barely pushing herself out of the way. Focus. Alai killed your uncle.


    Do you really want him to ruin your plans? Him, of all people?


    Her opponent landed atop her pillar ¡ª the top of each was a good five yards wide ¡ª and she growled, deflecting two more tendril attacks with bursts of plasma, then leaping into the air, burning Ever to hover above even the poles.


    She couldn¡¯t go upward too much further ¡ª there was a boundary to how far the contestants could go without being disqualified. But that boundary was still several dozen feet above the poles, and there was nothing else to grip onto for Alai to rise further. He could still Animate the air, of course, but Ryla¡¯s trick had earned her an advantage.


    She pressed that advantage with a fury, burning almost all of her Ever to send a torrent of fiery plasma shrieking into the pole. Alai yelped, barely summoning a shield of Animated air, the flames lapping against his armor even through that shield. Smoke billowed as the pole sizzled; it was built of dense lead to prevent it from being destroyed by a memory burner, but even the lead was melting from the sheer heat. Alai was forced to stretch his other hand behind him, summoning a tendril and swinging over to the next pole.


    Ryla followed him, though she stopped attacking, instead closing her eyes and refreshing her Ever with thoughts from the crowd. Her mind raced, sped up by the Ever, but also straining to hold that Ever within her body. Memories flashed through her mind. Some were memories of those in the crowd.


    But most of them were Ryla¡¯s. One specific memory, most of all. Of a whip, coming down, again and again, her mother holding her back as she sobbed.


    Alai held that whip.


    I hope you remember me, Voidling, she thought. I want to see you squirm when I beat you.


    I want you to be afraid, like my uncle was.


    The memories faded, and again she lit aglow as Ever spread from her forehead, through her veins and back out into her skin. Her eyes flashed open, and she soared toward Alai. He summoned tendrils in the air again, trying to stop her, but she blew them apart with flares of plasma, then burned half of her Ever to send a single bolt of superheated air roaring into his chest. He grunted as it threw him backward, to the edge of the pole, his breastplate cracking. For half a moment he knelt, stunned.


    Then, growling, he slammed his fist into the pole and burned all of his Void at once.


    Ryla cursed. So he was faking. Sure enough, an instant later the pole trembled, rising into the air. Red light began steaming off of it, and she could see something writhing within the metal: the unlucky spirit of someone long dead, pulled back into the physical realm to Animate the pole.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    The crowd gasped, and the lead groaned as the structure ripped free of the ground. Alai leapt off of it, summoning a tendril to swing back to the first pole. He was barely glowing at all now, and his breastplate lfell to the ground as he swung, too damaged to hold together. He was vulnerable.


    Unfortunately, before Ryla could press her attack, the pole swung through the air toward her. She barely wove to the side as the lead began breaking apart, forming into a swirling vortex, two red eyes blazing to life at its center. Eyes that seemed to bore into the very fabric of Ryla¡¯s soul.


    Even as adrenaline pumped through her veins, Ryla shivered.


    Fortunately, Larsh had trained her to fight such constructs. Those red eyes weren¡¯t actually eyes, they were the focal points of the Reanimated creature¡¯s power, and she targeted them with a spray of fiery plasma bolts. The metal fragments swirled inward, blocking most of the attacks, but one of them struck home, burning into the right focal point. It flickered, and the lead hung weightless in the air for a moment before its power returned.


    Ryla took advantage of that, pushing herself inward, expertly dodging between the larger chunks of flying debris, batting away smaller bits with her blade. Few memory burners would dare attack a Void construct head on, and even Ryla might not have attempted it were it not for her titrite, but she was far more skilled at flying than most of her peers. She was nearly to the creature¡¯s center before it started folding in on itself, desperately throwing everything it could at her to stop her from reaching the focal points. She burned Ever to summon a field of force around her, pushing the debris backward, before finally arriving at the two red, blazing lights. She slammed her fists into them, one for each, letting the Ever in her flesh sizzle against the Void powering the creature. The spirit inside shrieked, then fell silent, and the red light blinked out.


    The metal immediately crashed back downward, no longer held in place by the Third Power, and Ryla had to burn most of her Ever to keep it from crushing her as it tumbled down to the sands. She was running dangerously low by the time she burst out of the cloud of debris, and she was forced to close her eyes immediately, refreshing her Ever so she could stay afloat.


    Just as she reopened them, blue light blazing to life in her veins, Alai pounced. Ryla cursed as he dove towards her, latching on to a piece of falling debris with a tendril and swinging right for her, slashing at her chest. She barely blocked the blow, then kicked Alai in the face. He sputtered, falling, but then summoned a tendril that lashed around Ryla¡¯s leg.


    They both began to fall; Ryla was only burning enough Ever to support herself, not both of them. An idea forming, Ryla stopped pushing herself upward completely, instead reversing her Ever to throw herself downward, accelerating their descent. Alai¡¯s eyes widened as Ryla, blocking another swing of his blade, shifted so that she was standing atop him.


    They hit the sand at incredible velocity, and though Alai¡¯s titrite backplate absorbed the force ¡ª as Ryla had anticipated ¡ª doing so shattered it. Alai yelped as shards of it dug into his back, and blood stained the sand below.


    Desperately he let go of Void, Reaching for the Purity in his Surge, but Ryla slammed her gauntleted fist around his neck as he did. He fell deathly still, and no white glow surrounded him.


    ¡°I yield,¡± he whispered. It was not loud enough the crowd could hear, but they seemed to see enough to understand, for a hushed murmur ran through them.


    Ryla¡¯s fist, however, only tightened, squeezing against the neck plate, which was already cracked from the fall. It broke into pieces as she did, and more shards dug into Alai¡¯s skin.


    ¡°I yield,¡± he hissed.


    Ryla paused for a moment, hesitating. Knowing what she wanted to do. Knowing, too, what her uncle would want her to do.


    But her uncle was dead. Because of Alai.


    She burned a trace of Ever, and, using a trick she¡¯d learned long before training with Larsh, she forced her memories into Alai¡¯s mind. They ran through her mind, too, vivid as always.


    Her uncle, gripping her shoulder as he met her eyes and gave her one last talk for comfort.


    Her brother, holding to her as she tried to crane her neck high enough to see through the crowd.


    And then, when it was over, a body laying in tatters on the crimson-covered cobblestones.


    When it was done, Alai spoke again. ¡°You.¡± His voice was high-pitched, and filled to the brim with fear.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Ryla said, voice deathly cold. ¡°Me.¡±


    Immediately, Alai Reached, then burned all of his Void in a massive burst, throwing tendril after tendril toward her. Ryla parried each blow with a small flicker of plasma, burning away the attacks with ease. Her hand remained firmly on Alai¡¯s neck as he ran out of Void.


    ¡°Please,¡± he wheezed. ¡°I yield. I yield!¡± His voice was high-pitched, fast. The voice of a coward exposed.


    Okron, she wanted to snap his neck so badly.


    She hesitated. ¡°Why?¡± she hissed. ¡°Why did you kill him?¡±


    ¡°Larsh was there,¡± he pleaded. ¡°She threatened me. What would you have done?¡±


    ¡°What would I have done?¡± she growled. ¡°I would have done better.¡±


    For a moment her hand squeezed tighter, and Alai gasped for breath.


    Torment, it would be so easy¡­


    And yet¡­


    I would have done better.


    Slowly, she let go of him. The motion felt almost physically painful, but, as she gritted her teeth, her hand slipped loose, and he dropped to the sands. Immediately, he pulled in Purity, then began chuckling. It was a hysterical laugh. The laugh of a man driven insane by Oblivion.


    She glanced back, hesitating, again. Listening to the laughs as they went on far longer than they should¡¯ve. Then, she sighed, turning and striding away, ripping her helm off her head, unstrapping her other armor pieces and letting them drop to the sand. No one protested her departure; everyone had heard Alai yield. Most of the crowd was already filing out of the pews. She had won.


    And yet she still felt¡­ numb. Not victorious. Just¡­ numb. She¡¯d solved one problem, but Larsh still reigned. Her mother was still insane. Her brother was still heading off to war.


    Her uncle was still dead.


    ¡°Alai deserved death,¡± she muttered to herself. ¡°Filth deserved it! I should¡¯ve¡­¡± she closed her eyes, wincing. ¡°I don¡¯t know what I should¡¯ve done.¡±


    She paused, standing still on the edge between the sand and the hallway. Red lines began dancing around her. She closed her eyes, cursing.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m doing! Thaus, I¡­¡± she shook her head, catching herself.


    Torment, I¡¯m going insane now, too. She unhooked the last piece of her armor, then forced herself forward, back through the hallways. She gave Naidi only a curt nod as she left, and the other servants she gave even less. They could talk later.


    Right now, she just wanted to go home, and rest.


    However, a figure was waiting for her as she exited her dressing room. One she recognized. She tensed as she saw him, then forced herself to relax. Staying calm was the best way to deal with Traegus.


    He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his face taut and grim. He smiled as he saw her, though.


    ¡°Ryla! Congratulations on the victory. I must say, I was nervous for you for a moment, but you pulled through.¡±


    Ryla sighed. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ¡°No greeting, I see.¡±


    ¡°Why would I greet you?¡±


    Traegus paused, then shrugged. ¡°Fair enough.¡± He paused, considering.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± Ryla repeated.


    ¡°You know what I want,¡± Traegus said softly. ¡°Cyrla and I¡¯s offer is still on the table.¡±


    Ryla paled. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°We have the same goal.¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Ryla¡­¡±


    ¡°No!¡± She leaned forward. ¡°Cyrla¡¯s a Voidmage, Traegus. A searing Voidmage.¡±


    ¡°And?¡±


    Ryla shook her head in disgust. ¡°If you don¡¯t know why that¡¯s a problem, then you¡¯re already hopeless. The answer is no.¡± She forced herself to relax again; though Traegus was good at appearing to be a calm man, she knew firsthand her uncle was as dangerous as Larsh if you pushed past that facade. Thaus, I wish he had died and Uncle Dairus had lived. ¡°I¡¯m tired. Can I leave?¡±


    Traegus paused for a long moment, then shrugged, stepping to the side. ¡°So be it. But be aware, niece: things are about to change. Sooner than you realize¡­¡±


    Ryla just walked past him. She didn¡¯t have the energy to deal with this. Not now.


    Maybe never.


    She made her way outside, pushing through the crowd, ignoring the questions and stares they gave her. Finally, when there was no ceiling above her, she drew in Ever again, then shot into the sky, soaring deeper into the cloudy metropolis of Myridith and toward her home.


    ***


    Four hours after the duel, Ryla sat in her parents¡¯ dining room, slowly picking at a slab of sauce-covered meat on her plate, fingering the hilt of a dagger in her other hand. Her good luck charm, as Naidi liked to call it.


    It had been her uncle¡¯s. One of the few possessions of his they hadn¡¯t sold after his death. Partly because of Ryla¡¯s insistence on keeping it, and partly because it wasn¡¯t actually worth anything ¡ª her uncle had loved forging, but he¡¯d never had the time to actually become good at it. Even her brother wondered why she kept it; the handle had already begun to bend, and parts of the blade were rusting.


    Yet she cherished it still. Flawed as it was, that only made it the perfect symbol of how her uncle had viewed the galaxy. Imperfect, yet beautiful.


    Keep the family together. Keep your mother alive. Keep loving them all, for me. I¡¯m sorry, Ryla.


    ¡°Sear you, Larsh,¡± she whispered. ¡°Sear you for taking him from me.¡± She wasn¡¯t sure if she was referring to her uncle or her brother. Perhaps both. It didn¡¯t matter.


    A door creaked open. Ryla tensed, reflexively reaching for the properly forged sword at her belt, then relaxed as her father shuffled through the entryway.


    Other houses routinely called Sivus Magala an embarrassment to his house. Though Ryla tried her best not to let herself agree with them, she could certainly see their logic. Though he was not Soulcursed like Ryla¡¯s mother, he was short, pasty, thin, and generally looked like someone dying of a disease ¡ª despite the fact that, as a noble, he had access to Purity Surges to get rid of any such malady. As usual, he had a flask in his hand. Probably empty, the only reason he would¡¯ve left his room was to fill it.


    Sure enough, he barely gave Ryla a nod of acknowledgment before he opened a pantry door, revealing several shelves stocked full of wine bottles. He perused them for a moment, then selected one, poured some of it into his flask, then set it aside. He began walking away, then stopped.


    ¡°You won, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°I did.¡± Barely.


    He nodded. ¡°Good.¡± He paused a moment longer, then walked back through the door, toward his own quarters.


    Ryla¡¯s eyes lingered on the empty doorway for a moment, and she frowned. How in Torment is that man Uncle Dairus¡¯ brother? But then, that man was her father, so perhaps it wasn¡¯t a genetic thing. Sighing, she stuffed her uncle¡¯s dagger back on her belt and began eating more vigorously. Best to get done quickly, before¡­


    The door opened again, and Ryla¡¯s mother entered the room.


    Before that, Ryla thought bitterly.


    Ryla¡¯s mother, Nythla Magala, was not what one usually pictured when one thought of a Soulcursed. She was tan-skinned and distinctly muscular, with short black hair and narrow, imperious eyes, which, as always, were accented with black makeup. She wore a flowing black dress, decorated with red rubies running across several of the larger seams. She walked into the room with a confident, almost arrogant gait, and her hawkish gaze fixed immediately on Ryla.


    Her eyes were glowing a soft red. Thaus. That was never a good sign.


    ¡°Ryla. You¡¯re back.¡±


    ¡°I am.¡± Ryla hesitated, glancing down at her plate, then decided it would be better to throw the food away then to stay. She rose. ¡°I have some things I need to get done¡­¡±


    Nythla raised an eyebrow, and Ryla noticed her fists clenching. No, there would be no escaping this.


    ¡°Did you win?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± The word came out almost too high-pitched. Red mist was rising off her mother¡¯s skin. Panic rose in Ryla¡¯s chest, and she had to focus to keep the crystal plate within her grip.


    Relax, she told herself. She¡¯s just a Soulcursed. You¡¯re a memory burner.


    You can beat her in a fight, now.


    It was sound logic, yet it did nothing to reassure her racing heart.


    ¡°Did you kill him?¡±


    Ryla paused. ¡°No.¡±


    Nythla sneered. ¡°Why? I specifically told you he was to die!¡± She strode toward Ryla, eyes still alight with red light. With Void.


    With the power of the god of death.


    The fear was too much. The plate slipped from her grip, exploding into glass shards as it struck the tile floor. Ryla turned toward her mother, raising one hand in warding, the other reaching for the hilt of her sword.


    ¡°No closer,¡± she hissed.


    Nythla snorted. ¡°You¡¯re my daughter. I can do what I want.¡± She shook her head. ¡°I want you to find him tonight. The filth deserves death.¡±


    ¡°Do you want me to get arrested?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re of House Cunning One now. You have power. You¡¯re supposed to be using that power to further our House interests.¡±


    ¡°And if I have power,¡± Ryla said, ¡°why are you giving me orders?¡±


    A smile crossed Nythla¡¯s face. ¡°Because you¡¯re my daughter.¡± She stepped forward, and Ryla instinctively stepped back, tensing. Nythla¡¯s grin widened. Her teeth were well cleaned, nearly pure white, but to Ryla it seemed a wicked color. ¡°And because you¡¯re afraid of me. Mostly because of that.¡± Nythla shook her head. ¡°Coward.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a coward,¡± Ryla snapped.


    ¡°Oh? Then why is Kairus gone? I know you visited him before he left. You could¡¯ve brought him back.¡±


    ¡°He wanted to go.¡±


    Nythla snorted. ¡°He wants a lot of things. Most of them are foolish. Most of the things you want are foolish, too.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to kill Alai,¡± Ryla said firmly. I already made that decision.


    Nythla sneered again, and the red light in her eyes grew brighter. Ryla stepped back further, bracing herself. For a moment, Nythla waited, face frozen, hand twitching.


    Then, as she always did, she lost control. A tendril of red light lashed toward Ryla. She batted it away with a burst of Ever from the Surge in her blade. A second tendril lashed at her face from the other side. This one she didn¡¯t catch in time. Blood dripped down her cheek as a gash opened there. Nythla stepped even closer to Ryla, reaching out her hands.


    Ryla growled, burning more Ever and hurling one of the dining room chairs toward Nythla. It collided solidly with her mother¡¯s chest, throwing her backward, the chair shattering into wood splinters. Nythla tried to rise, but Ryla slammed the wood splinters downward with another burst of Ever, holding her in place until Ryla herself laid a boot on her mother¡¯s chest. Nythla struggled, sparks of red alighting the air around her, until Ryla drew her Surgeblade, placing it at Nythla¡¯s neck.


    ¡°Stop.¡±


    Nythla hissed, a guttural, animalistic sound.


    ¡°I said stop.¡±


    Nythla spat at her. Ryla growled.


    ¡°Let go of it.¡± She raised her hand, summoning plasma in her palm. Nythla paused.


    And then, finally, the red light faded. Nythla¡¯s sneer dissipated. Her eyes turned to their normal green color. Tension fled, replaced by confusion.


    ¡°Where¡­ where am I¡­.¡±


    Her eyes closed, and her breathing steadied. Ryla stayed atop her for a moment, checking to ensure the Void was truly gone, then slowly stepped off of her. She burned more Ever to push the wood splinters away, sucked in a deep breath, then turned to leave.


    The door to the dining room opened again as she did. Her father, holding his flask again. He paused, blinking.


    ¡°You¡¯re bleeding,¡± he muttered.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Ryla said angrily. ¡°I am.¡± She pushed past him. A part of her wanted to scream at him, remind him why he couldn¡¯t let Nythla out when she was having a day like this.


    Most of her just didn¡¯t care anymore. Nythla was taken care of. Sure, the kitchen floor wasn¡¯t the best place to sleep, but Ryla wasn¡¯t going to bother giving her anything else. She stormed down the hallways of the manor until she arrived at her bedroom, then slammed the door behind her.


    She was still panting. Still shaking. The rest of her Ever had fled, her mind too taxed to hold it, and she hadn¡¯t even noticed. She sank down against the door, holding her head in her hands, trying not to panic. Trying, above all, not to cry.


    ¡°Why?¡± she whispered. ¡°Why did everything have to go wrong? It was so right before.¡±


    She was rambling. She sucked in deep breaths, then, trembling, forced herself to lie down on her bed and close her eyes.


    Even with her eyes closed, she still saw those cursed lines of red light, writhing around her. It took her a long time to finally settle down enough to sleep.

 Chapter 16 - Alive

    Six times we marched. Six times we proclaimed a mortal as our god, and six times we paid the price.


    Six times we attacked Morghol, and Torment, and Oblivion himself.


    Oblivion. If only oblivion had been our end.


    Men seek the Endowed still. Fools. Six times we marched, six times we failed. If there is one thing mankind can depend on, it is that the prophecy will disappoint them.


    -Zaethin Devaro, circa 200 Post Imprisonment


    Ithrey was alive. Her veins still felt like they would burst, and her muscles burned like the core of a white star, but she was alive.


    That might not last long. As the Ethean Surgewielder had promised, she was still in Talar captivity, surrounded by half a dozen armed soldiers, all of whom looked far less exhausted than she. Her Surge had been confiscated, and she now huddled in the corner of an enemy carrier, ascending through the sky towards the wormhole.


    The Ethean was with them. Unlike the other soldiers, he did not stand at attention, instead leaning against the wall of the carrier, eyes closed, twisting his lasertip in his hand. He was muttering to himself, though Ithrey couldn¡¯t tell what he was saying.


    She¡¯d thought the man had defied orders in sparing her. There was no way he hadn¡¯t at least considered killing her, with the way he¡¯d fought. She shivered as she remembered him standing over her, lasertip ready to strike, a grim expression on his face. His remaining eye had seemed to glow with fiery orange light as he¡¯d stared impassively downward. The eye of a killer. Like the eyes of her father that night, all those years ago, planted on the face of a different man.


    And suddenly, he¡¯d stopped, the killer¡¯s glint puffing away like smoke. Muttered to himself, as he did now. Then, against all reason, spared her. He¡¯d almost seemed protective of her when he¡¯d delivered her to the Talar guards, insisting that Larsh wanted her alive, and not to harm her. Such a strange man. Though she probably should have suspected that, judging by his uniform. No sane Ethean would fight for the Talar. Not after what the Voidlings had done to that poor planet.


    She forced her gaze away from the man. Whatever his intentions, he was in her way. Mirador had fallen, but she was alive. That meant she hadn¡¯t failed Alaran, not yet. She still had a chance.


    It was wonderful. And terrifying. She¡¯d known the Talar victory was coming, and she¡¯d known it would be a tragedy for the people she served, but she hadn¡¯t had any time to think about what the nation¡¯s defeat would mean for her. In a way, it hadn¡¯t mattered. Not until she¡¯d received that message from Alaran, informing her he¡¯d found the Endowed.


    The Endowed. Found, after millennia of searching. Most would be skeptical of anyone who made such a claim, but Ithrey knew her brother. He barely believed in the Tower of Foreseeing at all, let alone the prophecy. Yet, he thought this girl was it. For Ithrey, that spoke volumes. And the fact that Alaran didn¡¯t think he could save the girl alone said even more.


    So. A plan. She needed a plan. She steadied her hands, which she hadn¡¯t realized were still trembling, and forced herself to breathe in deeply. Her mind still felt slow, taxed to the limit from the fighting and especially from her use of Ever, but she did her best to clear it.


    They hit the wormhole just as she closed her eyes, and her concentration was momentarily broken by the gut wrenching sensation of teleportation. It quickly faded, though, and she relaxed. A plan. If Alaran were in her position, he¡¯d make a plan first. Then he¡¯d adapt as need be. And to make a plan, she needed to analyze her current situation.


    It wasn¡¯t promising. She had no Surge now, and barely any information on what would happen next. The Ethean had claimed Larsh wanted to meet with them both, but heavens only knew if the man was sane. Even if he was right, she couldn¡¯t think of any reason Larsh would want her, save for an execution. She winced as she thought of the noose slipping around her neck.


    No time to worry about your own life, she chided herself. Too much is at stake.


    Her biggest asset, she decided, would be her connections. If she could contact the rest of the Seekers, perhaps they could assist her. Ithrey might not know what to do herself, but Aiedra certainly would.


    She opened her eyes, craning her neck to stare out the carrier window toward their destination. She recognized it immediately: a planet with an atmosphere so full of green clouds it looked more like a gas giant than anything habitable. Xilia, capital of Talar, as the Ethean had said. Perhaps he wasn¡¯t insane after all.


    As they approached the planet¡¯s surface, the soldiers began handing out thick metal facemasks; though Ithrey had never visited the planet, she knew Xilia¡¯s surface was rife with poison gas. The Ethean handed her one, and she slipped it over her face, trying not to meet his gaze.


    ¡°Make sure you tighten it,¡± he muttered. ¡°Any leaks, and you¡¯re dead.¡±


    ¡°I know how poison works,¡± Ithrey replied. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    The Ethean hesitated a moment, then nodded. ¡°I guess the poison isn¡¯t the real danger,¡± she heard him whisper as he walked off.


    They landed a few minutes later. The doors slid open to reveal a landing pad shrouded by wisps of green fog. An entrance to a tall, black tower waited at the end of it, though through the fog she could not see any farther. One of the Talar soldiers checked each of the passengers¡¯ masks one last time, and then the door slid open and they made their way out. The air outside licked hungrily at Ithrey¡¯s skin; she could feel it drying out. She let out a relieved breath as they reached the entrance, where a pneumatic door snapped open and admitted them into a hallway, where a second door held off the outside air from the rest of the building. The first door snapped close, and there was a loud whine as a filter sucked away the green mist. A moment later, the second door popped open, and the soldiers stepped into a bustling hallway. Several of those escorting Ithrey took off their masks as they entered the chaos. The Ethean, notably, did not, instead fastening it tighter and sweeping his eyes over the hallway, expression hawkish.


    They proceeded to the nearest lift, where, strangely, the Talar guards moved away, leaving Ithrey alone with the Ethean. As the door sealed behind them, Ithrey cleared her throat.


    ¡°What is this?¡±


    ¡°I told you, we¡¯re going to see Larsh.¡±


    Ithrey frowned. ¡°I see. I¡­ thought you were joking.¡± Deep down, she¡¯d been hoping he¡¯d been insane. It would certainly make things easier if he were. It didn¡¯t seem likely anymore, though.


    ¡°Why would I joke about that?¡±


    Ithrey was silent. No need to give this man more information than he needed.


    Eventually, he grunted. ¡°Well, she wants to see us.¡± His tone softened. ¡°Don¡¯t give her what she wants. The worst she can do is kill you, and I don¡¯t think that¡¯s avoidable anyway.¡±


    ¡°How comforting.¡±


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t meant to be comforting.¡±


    They fell into silence, and the Ethean slowly closed his eyes again, leaning against the wall. The lift continued to whirl, headed, strangely, downward rather than upward. They had to be almost below ground at this point, didn¡¯t they? Did Xilia have an Undercity?


    The Ethean had a dagger out now, and was scraping the flat of the blade against his arm, breathing fast. Ithrey twitched uncomfortably.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    The Ethean cracked open an eye, sighing. ¡°You¡¯re a talkative one.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m too exhausted to care what you think. Put the knife down. You¡¯ll have plenty of opportunities to stab me later.¡±


    ¡°If I wanted you dead, I would have killed you by now,¡± the Ethean muttered. But he obeyed, sheathing the blade. Beneath their feet, the lift slowed to a stop. The door slid open to reveal a short hallway, unoccupied, that ended in a single door. A symbol had been painted on that door, a deep purple Bladed Wheel, the seal of the Cunning One, leader of Talar. The Ethean immediately snapped into posture, and his hand began to shake again as he stepped out into the hallway.


    ¡°Don¡¯t let her intimidate you,¡± he muttered. ¡°The worst she can do is kill you.¡±


    ¡°You already said that.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not talking to you.¡±


    The whole interaction, combined with his strange uniform and bright white hair, raised a host of questions, but Ithrey had to quiet those as the second door popped open, revealing a small, almost cozy office behind it, with a small oak desk and shelves covered in data tablets. A window covered a large portion of the far wall, though Ithrey could see nothing but rocky blackness beyond it.


    The more important thing, though, was the woman standing in the doorway. She was tall, with dark hair and purple eyes, and skin that had clearly been smothered with white makeup. She wore black-painted titrite armor, though the armor was surrounded by a decorative violet skirt. She gave the Ethean a brief nod, then beckoned toward Ithrey, her expression growing dark.


    ¡°Ithrey Valeo. Come, we have much to discuss.¡±


    ***


    It did not take long for Perelor to realize that Ithrey was far better at handling a visit with Larsh than he was. He could tell she was nervous ¡ª and who wouldn¡¯t be ¡ª but she handled herself with a cool confidence that masked it well, gliding into the room with her arms clasped behind her back, somehow regal despite her tattered uniform. The crying desperation she¡¯d shown when he¡¯d almost killed her would be unthinkable if you saw her now.


    At first Perelor tried to stay outside, but Larsh glared pointedly at him, and he shivered, forcing his feet forward and into the little office. As always when he was around Larsh, he felt as if he were moving through liquid rather than air, and he kept his eyes away from her face as much as he could. That face brought too many memories to the surface. He drew his dagger again, sliding it across his arm, not cutting, but reminding himself that he could cope with this, later. Ithrey shot him another nervous glance as he did, but he didn¡¯t care. She could think him unstable all she wanted. She¡¯d be right, just not in the way she thought.


    You did almost kill her, a part of him noted. So she¡¯s not wrong to be scared of you.


    He wasn¡¯t sure if that was the right choice, now. It had all come upon him so fast, emotions he hadn¡¯t realized how much he¡¯d suppressed. They were gone now, burrowed back into the deeper parts of his soul since the danger had disappeared. And so he was left in a strange clarity, wondering.


    His sister was the Endowed. Strangely, he felt more sure of that now than he had just hours before. In the grand scheme of things, she was far more important than any small planet general could ever be. It was horrible, but it was the truth. On most days, his emotions would have cooperated with his earlier decision to kill Ithrey. After all, he¡¯d sworn an oath.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    And yet, somehow, he didn¡¯t regret his decision. He questioned it, yes. Loathed himself, more than a little, for breaking his promise yet again. But he didn¡¯t regret it.


    Even if the woman was searing annoying.


    Larsh let the silence hang for a long while, staring out the window, though there was nothing beyond it but solid black rock. Finally, she turned.


    ¡°Ithrey Valeo. High Commander of the Miradoran forces, yes?¡±


    Ithrey hesitated, and Larsh rolled her eyes.


    ¡°Anything I ask you is only a formality, girl. I can read your thoughts. Speak clearly, though, and you may earn my respect, if not my mercy.¡±


    Ithrey winced, but cleared her throat. ¡°I am.¡±


    ¡°Your capital has been captured. I personally slit the throats of every member of the Miradoran Assembly.¡±


    Ithrey¡¯s face grew suddenly pale. ¡°I see.¡±


    Larsh raised an eyebrow. ¡°I am not a kind woman, Valeo. Surely you have seen enough to know that. I would also have you know that every member of that group offered their secret allegiance to me at one point or another, all before the capital had fallen. I elected not to use their services, as I have no need for spies, nor for cowards.¡±


    Ithrey swallowed, but nodded. ¡°I see.¡±


    Larsh smiled. ¡°You are afraid. Good. It means I am doing my job.¡± She leaned forward, hands on her desk. ¡°I had Krot capture you, rather than kill you, so I could negotiate surrender. I assumed, based on your reputation, that you would be more sympathetic to the plight of your people than those Assemblymen. Was I wrong?¡±


    Ithrey hesitated, and for a moment Perelor wondered if she actually was as confident as she¡¯d appeared earlier. Then, she straightened, the hesitation fading.


    ¡°I am willing to talk peace,¡± she said. ¡°Though, with the government in shambles, I cannot promise any agreement I make will be honored by the remaining Mirador forces.¡±


    ¡°Not peace,¡± Larsh corrected. ¡°Surrender. And that is fine. I have plenty of experience quashing rebellions. I simply want this formalized, for my representatives on Xeredon.¡±


    Ithrey nodded. ¡°What are your terms, then?¡±


    Perelor felt his interest in the conversation fade as they began talking politics. Had Larsh really only asked him to bring Ithrey in for this? And why have him stand in during the negotiation? It wasn¡¯t as if she needed a searing bodyguard.


    Cyrla knew Ithrey, too, he realized. To the point where she was willing to defy orders to have me get rid of her. Why?


    He considered for a moment, then pushed the thoughts away. It was all probably some strange political maneuver ¡ª after all, Cyrla had also implied she was working on overthrowing Larsh. Her and every other noble in the Six Houses. Okron, this entire thing was reminding him just how much he hated these games. His father¡¯s diplomatic skill was one of the few things he¡¯d never managed to understand about the man.


    Eventually, the negotiation slowed to a stop ¡ª if you could even call it a negotiation. Perelor only caught a small amount of the conversation, but it seemed to consist mostly of Larsh demanding things from Ithrey, and Ithrey conceding, though repeatedly informing Larsh just how little control she had over the remaining Miradoran forces. The red-haired woman¡¯s shoulders slumped down further and further as Larsh continued listing her expectations. But, eventually, the Talar leader was satisfied, and she turned back to the window.


    ¡°That settles it, then.¡± She cleared her throat. ¡°Now, for what I really brought you here for.¡±


    Ithrey grew visibly paler. Larsh turned, lips pursed.


    ¡°You know what I want already, don¡¯t you? I can feel your emotions; you are afraid. Terrified, even. I assure you, though, I have no intent to harm your master. Not as long as she assists me where she is needed.¡±


    That was a lie. Perelor knew from experience that Larsh tortured anyone who didn¡¯t serve her. That was how he¡¯d ended up in the slave squadrons; Larsh had, rightly, assumed that the bloodshed there would drive him further and further toward the breaking point. Surprisingly, though, Ithrey relaxed.


    ¡°Aiedra has no interest in assisting you.¡±


    ¡°Our goals are the same,¡± Larsh said.


    ¡°Your goals are the same in word only. Aiedra condemns you for your war. She says it is a war not only against other nations, but against the fabric of morality itself.¡±


    Perelor frowned. Who is Aiedra? Some higher up on Mirador? She just said she killed all those.


    Larsh began pacing. ¡°You assume much,¡± she said, voice quiet, ¡°about your master¡¯s intentions. She has lived far longer than either of us, and I do not think either of us are capable of predicting her.¡±


    ¡°Maybe not,¡± Ithrey said, her expression tightening, ¡°but I do know myself. You will get nothing from me.¡±


    Larsh snorted, then closed her eyes. ¡°I,¡± she said, ¡°can get whatever I want.¡±


    Perelor winced. This was a classic memory burner interrogation tactic. Get someone thinking about a subject, then use your connection to the First Power to read their thoughts. No matter how mindful you were, there wasn¡¯t any getting around a trick like that.


    Larsh eye¡¯s snapped open a moment later, though, and she growled angrily. ¡°Identity wards,¡± she snapped. ¡°Fool! I should have expected this.¡± Her fists tightened, and she closed her eyes again, this time forcing herself to relax. ¡°Your master is skilled. I had hoped not to resort to brutality, but understand that, should you not speak, torture is my only remaining method to loosen your tongue.¡±


    Ithrey straightened. ¡°I will endure what I must.¡±


    ¡°Oh, it will not be physical torture, girl. I know when someone will go mad before they break. However, there are other forms of torment. Much, much worse forms.¡± She glanced at Perelor, who felt his stomach sink as he realized what she was going to do.


    ¡°I have researched you,¡± she continued. ¡°You are friends with many of your infantrymen. You may be willing to die for this, but they have not made any commitment. Nevertheless, their fate will be decided by you.¡± She waved to Perelor. ¡°From this moment on, you are under Captain Krot¡¯s command. I have filled the empty spots in his squadron with Miradorans. They will die there. If you question that fact, you can ask Krot himself. For every one that dies, I will send you a holoscreen with the respective footage.¡±


    Ithrey blanched. ¡°You Voidling,¡± she hissed.


    Larsh¡¯s face was impassive. She wasn¡¯t smiling, nor was she regretful. She just gestured toward the door. ¡°You are dismissed.¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t kill my friends,¡± Ithrey seethed. ¡°I won¡¯t let you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you won¡¯t. You are dismissed, girl.¡±


    Ithrey¡¯s face was red with anger, but her eyes drifted down to Larsh¡¯s Surge, and some of the color drained away as she turned and left. Perelor made to leave behind her, but Larsh held up a hand.


    ¡°You will stay. Valeo will wait outside, but we have more to discuss.¡±


    Perelor swallowed, but nodded, shutting the door behind Ithrey, then straightening. Larsh let silence hang in the air for several minutes. They felt like hours. Images flashed through Perelor¡¯s mind, memories. His father¡¯s charred out eyes. Crelang, fully aglow with Ever, thrown aside like litter.


    And¡­ and¡­


    Flames.


    Blood.


    Screams.


    Rubble.


    And a blade he so desperately wanted to thrust through himself¡­


    His mind suddenly went blank, and he let out a relieved breath. Larsh finally began to speak.


    ¡°Cyrla ordered you to disobey me.¡±


    ¡°Yes. She spoke of a mutiny.¡±


    ¡°I was already aware of that. She has not acted directly enough to warrant any retribution, but she has laid the groundwork for an usurption. I am not particularly concerned; precautions are long since in place.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ good, I guess.¡± Perelor couldn¡¯t actually decide if Cyrla or Larsh would make a better leader, though he didn¡¯t care to give the matter more thought.


    ¡°The more concerning thing to me is how sorely tempted you were to actually go through with it,¡± Larsh said. ¡°You were wise not to, of course. You could have covered up any physical evidence, but the mind does not forget, and I would have found out eventually.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ am sorry.¡±


    ¡°You do not need to apologize. You did not act on her offer, and your weakness is not an offense, merely concerning.¡± She paused. ¡°You still seek your sister. Curious.¡±


    ¡°Is it wrong to want to be with my family?¡± Perelor asked, not completely able to suppress the ice in his tone. The only family member you haven¡¯t killed?


    Larsh was silent for a long time. Strangely long. But eventually, she spoke. ¡°No. No, it is not. But it is curious.¡± She met his eyes, and she stared into them for a long time, her own eyes narrowing. ¡°Very curious.¡± She sighed. ¡°But that is not relevant. I merely wanted to assign you the duty of keeping Valeo alive. I want her to see the slave squadrons firsthand, but she cannot give me what I need from Torment, and between you and your Surgewielder friend, I do not think keeping her alive will be too difficult. I will give her a healing Surge, I think, less potent than yours, but with the same strings attached. My only real concern is Cyrla, but I think I can keep her in check.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ think I can do that. As long as you really do give her a healing Surge.¡± He felt a weight he hadn¡¯t realized he¡¯d been carrying rise off his back. He knew Ithrey¡¯s name, but he wouldn¡¯t have to watch her die.


    Not yet. Once she gives in though, her death will be even worse¡­


    He forced himself not to think that far ahead. ¡°Is that all?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I think that is all.¡± Her voice softened. ¡°Thank you, for not betraying me. I do understand how much reason you have to want me dead.¡±


    His father¡¯s smiling face flashed through his mind, then another image. A charred version of that same face. It wasn¡¯t for you.


    ¡°No,¡± Larsh whispered. ¡°I suppose it was not.¡± She straightened. ¡°You are dismissed.¡±


    Relaxing a bit, Perelor turned to leave. Just as Perelor reached to open the door, though, he felt a soft force push his hand back. Larsh sighed audibly, and Perelor turned.


    ¡°One last thing,¡± she said. ¡°I already know the answer, but I must ask it anyway.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t join you,¡± Perelor hissed.


    ¡°We will need memory burners, Perelor. Perhaps not for the conquering, but when we fight Oblivion.¡±


    My powers don¡¯t even work, Perelor thought. Larsh cocked an eyebrow.


    ¡°They do,¡± she said softly. ¡°You simply have to remember. Once you reignite them, they may be even stronger than before. You could be a great asset to the cause.¡±


    ¡°The cause? What cause?¡± Perelor snapped. ¡°I know you can read my thoughts, so I¡¯ll be straight with you. I¡¯ve watched you burn children alive. I watched you burn my father alive. And no matter how much you pretend to regret that, I can see in those violet eyes that you don¡¯t. So let me say it again: I. Will. Never. Serve. You.¡± He balled his hands into fists, and his arms yearned to twist backward and unsheathe his lasertip. This woman, this searing monster, had taken everything from him. Everything. How dare she even suggest he join her! How dare she stand unharmed with those pursed lips, analyzing everything but feeling nothing, watching his men die, making them die.


    He hated her. And Okron, he hated that anger. The fire of it felt too much like the warmth of hope. Slowly, he forced his hands back open. That might have been too much. Larsh was already growing impatient. He shouldn¡¯t have pushed her; if he died, Eliel¡¯s hope for rescue died with him.


    To his surprise, though, Larsh actually smiled. She almost looked wistful as she stared at him, tapping her finger against her desk.


    ¡°You¡¯re more like Rion than you realize,¡± she said, tone perfectly level. The tone she used when she was about to do something horrifying. ¡°It is why I keep you alive, I think. One last reminder of my humanity, even as I do what I must.¡± She waved her hand, and the door snapped open. ¡°Your answer is understood. You are dismissed. Though I do warn you, Krot. There is very little mercy left in me anymore. Tempt me too much longer, and one day I will stop asking for your loyalty.


    ¡°On that day, you will fear as your father did.¡±


    Something about the way she delivered those words sent chills running up Perelor¡¯s spine, and though defiance still burned in his chest, he felt only relief as she turned and stared out the window again. She remained silent as he walked away and shut the door behind him.

 Chapter 17 - Who Are You?

    I wish I could say confidently that we were right. That Nathazar will, as prophesied, destroy Oblivion, once and for all. As we prepare for our assault on the Tomb, the people look to me for affirmation of his divinity.


    I cannot give them what they seek. The truth is, I do not know. No man can, save the Tower give him the knowledge.


    I worry, though, that we give him too much credit. He has ambition, and he is clever, and his heart is good, but I worry still.


    -E¡¯vin Yaenke, circa 1,300 Post Fall of Meridian


    Ryla drifted in the realm of souls. Her body was sound asleep in the real world, and only a small piece of her was here, manifesting as a tangled mess of ribbons of green light, vaguely humanoid, with a face and appendages that were clearly supposed to be limbs.


    Fear gripped her chest, stronger in this place, as she took in her surroundings. She was hovering a few feet above the peak of a jagged, basalt mountain. On almost all sides of her, more mountains rose, some taller than hers, some shorter, but all weaving into each other to form a tapestry of waving hills that stretched farther than the eye could see. In one direction, the slope cut down sharply into a caldera-shaped valley. The valley itself was mostly barren, full of smoldering rock, but in its center stood a glistening, castle-like fortress, made of pure stone, a thousand red lights shining out into the cold night air.


    The Tomb of Souls, it was called. Dareth Guur. The stronghold of Oblivion.


    She found herself drifting down toward the highest tower of the structure. She fought against whatever force pulled her, thrashing, cursing, but it did no good. Within moments, she found herself sucked through the window, then deposited into a stone chamber.


    The room was larger than it seemed it should have been from the outside. In fact, as Ryla turned back to where she had come, she found the window gone, replaced by a solid wall, and behind her, the chamber extended into what seemed to be an endless hallway. The floor was made of slick stone, stained a dirty crimson. The walls were made of metal, though it had a rough, sporadic texture, as if the substance had been melted into a sludge and splattered outward to solidify. There was no ceiling, only hovering dark mist, though pillars of human skulls held up the mist, plastered together with tar. Shivering, she turned to face forward again, and found what she always found.


    A man sat on a spiked throne, which itself sat several feet higher than Ryla, elevated by a set of circular stairs. Men and women, half made of flesh, half made of red mist, knelt before the throne, bowing repeatedly and moaning cries that sounded like pleas for mercy, but whose words were unintelligible. Upon the throne sat Oblivion himself, his eyes closed, his head laid back, perfectly still save for the rise and fall of his chest. Slowly, his eyes opened as Ryla stepped back.


    ¡°You are here. Good. Cyrla is loyal, but much has been lost since the Imprisonment. I worried she would not be able to pull you through as Traegus has in the past.¡±


    Ryla stepped back, whimpering. Oblivion rose from his chair. He waved a hand, and the people worshipping him puffed away, screaming as they did. He strode toward Ryla, and as she tried to retreat backward, she felt a force clamp down on her shoulders, locking her in place.


    The dark god continued until he was directly in front of Ryla¡¯s face, as if he were about to kiss her, though his expression was grim and he stared deep into her barely-formed eyes, his own glowing with a deep, fiery light.


    ¡°The Tower insists it cannot see your fate,¡± he whispered, as if to himself. ¡°It has lied before, but in this I think it has been truthful. It sees the effects of your choices on others, but it cannot see you, and neither can I. I would be less concerned by this, but I have seen that you will cross paths with the Endowed soon. Very soon.¡± He leaned forward.


    ¡°I have tortured you in the past, hoping to make you my servant. I see now that this is the wrong tactic.¡± He stepped back, then seized Ryla¡¯s head.


    ¡°You will not break, I think, not yet. But all men can be predicted, if you know them well enough. Know who they are, and you know how they will act.¡±


    He smiled, and Ryla felt a subtle pain begin to pound in her skull ¡ª not just here, but in the physical realm, too. Oblivion smiled.


    ¡°Do not worry, this will not hurt. You will not remember any of this, when you return. But I must know, Ryla Magala.


    ¡°Who are you?¡±


    ***


    Ryla awoke with a start, sweat pouring down her forehead. She bolted upright, shaking, almost instinctively snapping her eyes shut and Reaching for Ever. In her panic, the thoughts proved to be too much, and she failed to relive them, her eyes flashing back open, her heart rate increasing. She swept her gaze over her room, and found nothing. Slowly, she forced her breathing to steady, and her pounding pulse slowed. Shaking her head, she swung her legs over the side of her mattress, wiping the sweat off her forehead with her hand.


    What was that? There had been a dream involved, she was sure of that. It had been about¡­ been about¡­


    She frowned, then shrugged. It didn¡¯t matter. She rose from her bed, walking over to her wardrobe, then slipped back into one of her many Talar military uniforms, carefully straightening the wrinkles in the carbon fiber. Once that was done, she retrieved her holoscreen from atop a dresser. A message waited on it:


    To Grahala. Meet me on the Dawnslayer. Now.


    She sighed, but the message was from Larsh, so there was no way out of it. She strapped her blade and dagger onto her belt, then immediately left to go take her personal cruiser to Grahala.


    ***


    A few hours later, Ryla waited in the observatory of Larsh¡¯s flagship ¡ª aptly named Dawnslayer ¡ª watching a battle for a heavily-shielded refinery unfold in the wheat field below. Talar men dropped by the dozens, sniped time after time by entrenched Grahalans, but they were gaining ground, if slowly, and if only through sheer force of numbers. Ryla itched to light up with Ever and join the fray, but Larsh had expressly forbidden her. So she waited, glancing nervously at the clock on her holoscreen. Larsh was late.


    A man in a general¡¯s uniform stood beside her, dictating orders to lesser officers who sat behind him in rows, relaying commands and other information to one another, to the general, and out through comms channels to those in the field. No one seemed to notice Ryla standing there, even when she closed her eyes to light up her skin with trace amounts of Ever.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    An explosion rocked the field below. Bodies went flying. Flames roared, consuming crops all around the refinery, burning away enough food to feed dozens of families.


    I will stop this, Ryla thought, hands tightening into fists, her heart pounding fast. I need to stop this.


    Kairus will not die here.


    Pneumatics hissed, and she turned around to see Larsh stepping into the room. Finally. The officers did acknowledge her, eyes drifting toward the false scar on her forehead, and several bowed.


    ¡°Erak¡¯assala,¡± they whispered. ¡°Praise the Endowed.¡±


    Larsh ignored their prayers, walking straight to Ryla and the general. The general, too, turned, and the two exchanged words about a potential strike force making its way through tunnels below the refinery. Larsh shot down the idea immediately, noting that a few well-placed grenades could cave the entire mine in.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to incentivize them to damage the refinery in any way; they¡¯ll likely try it even if we don¡¯t encourage them. Keep pushing forward. Their line will break eventually.¡±


    The general nodded. ¡°It shall be as you say, Cunning One.¡± He turned back to the battle as Larsh turned to Ryla, lips pursed. She studied Ryla with a critical eye.


    Her uncle, gripping her shoulder as he met her eyes and gave her one last talk for comfort.


    Her brother, holding to her as she tried to crane her neck high enough to see through the crowd.


    And then, when it was over, a body laying in tatters on the crimson-covered cobblestones¡­


    It took everything Ryla had not to wilt before her gaze.


    Finally, Larsh turned, then gestured toward the battle below.


    ¡°Thoughts?¡±


    Ryla pursed her lips. ¡°Well, we should be fighting with them.¡±


    ¡°A memory burner cannot always be fighting,¡± Larsh said ¡ª though Ryla had not so much as dueled an infantryman the entire day. ¡°Besides, you need to learn tactics, yes?¡±


    Ryla hesitated, then sighed. ¡°Fine.¡± She frowned. ¡°I don¡¯t know why we aren¡¯t caving in those tunnels, frankly. If we hit them hard enough, wouldn¡¯t the whole refinery collapse?¡±


    ¡°It would.¡±


    ¡°So¡­ why not? It¡¯s an easy victory.¡± And one that doesn¡¯t cost any of our men their lives.


    The barest hint of a smile crossed Larsh¡¯s lips. ¡°I suspect you know why. And it makes you uncomfortable.¡±


    Ryla felt a chill run up her spine ¡ª not an uncommon feeling when talking with her warlord master. ¡°We want the refinery,¡± she said softly. ¡°It¡¯s more valuable than our men.¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡± Larsh cocked an eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯re not protesting.¡±


    Ryla bit the inside of her lip angrily, restraining a retort.


    You wouldn¡¯t listen, no matter what I say.


    ¡°It is good that you care about the men,¡± Larsh said. ¡°But caring for someone will not produce results, even results for their well being. The best way you can truly care for someone, Ryla, is to sacrifice. For a relationship between two individuals, that can mean time, or money, or emotional connection. For the galaxy at large, though, the cost of caring is often paid in blood.¡±


    Ryla forced herself to keep silent. She¡¯d heard this lecture a thousand times. Each time it went the same.


    ¡°You are to be my heir,¡± Larsh continued. ¡°I have no children, and no House. When I have finished my work, I will let myself die, Ryla. It will be your job to make certain what I have crafted remains. This is why I teach you politics, philosophy, tactics, rather than just memory burning.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Ryla said. And I won¡¯t be anything like you. That I promise.


    Larsh glanced over at her, and Ryla cursed beneath her breath. She hadn¡¯t been Infused with any Ever in that moment. A foolish lapse, one that could have cost her far too much. Larsh frowned.


    ¡°It is good you do not think the way I do. If all goes to plan, you will not have to make such choices when you are Cunning One. But I cannot guarantee such fortune. You must be willing to make the hard decisions, Ryla. Choices between tradition and humanity. Between safety and achievement. You have dodged these things for too long.¡±


    She straightened. ¡°You have been doing well in your memory burner training. You excel well above your peers, and you have almost mastered the First Power.¡± She turned, meeting Ryla¡¯s eyes, and Ryla felt a sinking pit open in her stomach as she realized what was coming next.


    ¡°There is only one logical way to continue your instruction. You are Connected to the Third Power, yet you do not use that capability. It is time we remedy that.¡±


    Ryla growled, and this time, she didn¡¯t force her anger back. ¡°I told you no! I¡¯ve told you no every time, and you still¡­¡±


    Her mouth slammed close, and she noticed that Larsh was glowing with blue light now. Filth! How did Larsh Reach so well without closing her eyes? She shook with anger, but the Ever held her in place, and facing Larsh¡¯s glowing figure, she couldn¡¯t muster enough boldness to light up with power herself.


    ¡°This is not up for debate. I understand your reservations, and they are valid. As evidenced by your¡­ unfortunate encounters with your mother, Void is incredibly dangerous if not handled properly. But your mother is an unsupervised Soulcursed, while I am a soul burner with years of experience. I will give you two more days to prepare yourself before we begin. After that, we train.¡±


    The hold on her mouth loosened, and Ryla let out a hiss. ¡°And what will you do if I don¡¯t let you train me?¡±


    A distant expression came over Larsh¡¯s face. ¡°Your brother is in the army,¡± she said softly. ¡°Should you disobey, there will be¡­ consequences for him.¡±


    Ryla paled. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°I think that, based on our previous conversation, that you know that I most certainly would.¡± Ryla shivered, and Larsh seemed to notice the gesture, her eyes twinkling darkly. ¡°Yes, this will be a good way to teach you this lesson. Your moral code demands that you avoid using the Third Power. But you also feel for your brother. Will you inflict pain on him, to uphold your own sense of justice?¡± Larsh nodded grimly. ¡°A perfect way to teach this indeed.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t give in,¡± Ryla hissed. ¡°Using Void is always wrong, no matter how it benefits the war. The ends don¡¯t justify the means.¡±


    ¡°Then your brother will suffer.¡± Larsh met Ryla¡¯s eyes. ¡°And in allowing it, you put the ends above the means, too.¡± She waved a hand. ¡°You are dismissed. Traegus is waiting for you; you¡¯re on duty today. I have nothing further to say.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to¡­¡±


    ¡°You are dismissed, child. Don¡¯t make me question crowning you my heir.¡± She waved. Two guards, equipped with toxin staffs, stepped between her and Ryla. Ryla hesitated a moment, then turned and left, heart pounding.


    Void. She shivered, hand drifting up to her cheek, where the cut from her scuffle earlier remained. Red lines writhed around her, and no amount of focus dispelled them.


    You still have two days, she reminded herself, to find a way out of this. She threw the hood of her cloak over her head, and raced away to her ship, trying to conceal the raw panic plastered across her face.


    She¡¯d been afraid this day would come. It was time to set plans in motion.

 Chapter 18 - The Naming

    14 Years Ago¡­


    The Grand Shrine of Ethea was a sight built to astonish. The dome that contained it was ten stories tall, constructed of interlocking gold, bronze, and metallic teal plates. From the outside, they looked almost like Perelor imagined the scales of the stardrake from his father¡¯s story. The dome was held up by a building made of gleaming granite, with swirling marble pillars inlaid into the structure, framing hundreds of stained glass windows. The building itself was in turn framed by a courtyard several times its size, full of ferns and flowers and fountains and people. And statues. Hundreds of them, more detailed than any others Perelor had seen, depicting scenes from events as long gone as the Fall of Meridian and as recent as Perelor¡¯s father¡¯s battles against the Talar.


    As they strode into the courtyard, Perelor couldn¡¯t help but notice his father stiffening as they passed the statues depicting the more recent war. His father had led the Etheans against the Talar, joining with Herreon armies and pushing the enemy back, but he spoke little of those days. Some speculated it was because he didn¡¯t want to offend Jadis Larsh, the new Talar leader, who hadn¡¯t yet started any wars, and was, in fact, opening trade lines with several systems. Others said it was because he didn¡¯t want to give Daridin Ryth, the leader of Artensia, any support in his own conquests.


    Perelor, though, didn¡¯t think any of them were right. The way his father tensed whenever the war came up, the way he always isolated himself after conversations surrounding it, and the amount he leaned on Yaenke to make decisions about the military told Perelor a different story ¡ª his father had despised fighting. He¡¯d done it, because it had been necessary, but the pain remained. Post-traumatic stress, his sister called it. Eliel claimed it had gotten even worse when their mother had died, though Perelor had little memory of those times.


    They drew eyes as they got closer to the building. Some of it was the usual attention the family got during a Naming, people nodding and bowing to Perelor¡¯s father, who would officially bestow Eliel the Name they together had agreed on. Some of it, though, came from the hateful eyes of the more orthodox members of the Church, who still regularly complained at Rion¡¯s appointment to High Minister of Foreign Affairs. Though Perelor¡¯s father did not meet the gaze of his detractors, Perelor made certain to shoot them glares as he passed. Okron, he wished he could get some of those fat old Voidlings in a dueling ring¡­


    They arrived at the doorway, where two guards, one male, one female, stood dressed in heavy steel armor. It was incredibly impractical; even the cheapest suits used a titanium-steel alloy these days. But then, it wasn¡¯t designed to be practical. The armor was painted navy blue, with silver trim, and had dozens of runes inscribed in various spots on the shoulders, chest, and legs. Supposedly, it was of a style from long before even Meridian, when mankind had lived on one planet, and had just barely begun traversing the stars. Perelor had trouble believing that. How could mankind have even survived without more than one world? Even nations like Ethea depended on imports for food, and that was after Ancient Meridian had heavily terraformed their planet.


    Rion nodded to the guards, and they stepped inside, to a dome-shaped dressing room, the floor covered in ornate tile, the walls made of solid granite. Perelor¡¯s sister Eliel waited in that room, clad in a long, white, silk dress that looked almost like the wedding gowns worn on Artensia, though blue stripes along her waist made it distinguishable from those. Her white hair was done up in a bun, teal, gold, and bronze jewels inlaid into it. She smiled as their father approached, hugging him.


    ¡°You¡¯re late,¡± she said.


    ¡°You can blame Perelor for that,¡± Rion chuckled. ¡°It¡¯s a sword day at his school.¡±


    ¡°Ah. We wouldn¡¯t ever want Perelor to miss out on a chance to stab someone.¡±


    Perelor folded his arms. ¡°Hey! We¡¯re not that late. The ceremony¡¯s still going to start on time, right?¡±


    Eliel pulled herself away from Rion. ¡°As long as you don¡¯t slap the priest.¡±


    Perelor snorted. ¡°If I do, he deserves it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure he will.¡± Eliel inspected Perelor. ¡°No suit,¡± she noted.


    ¡°I came straight from practice. Haven¡¯t had a chance to change yet.¡± He wrinkled his nose. ¡°Besides, those uniforms are¡­ uncomfortable.¡±


    ¡°Military uniforms aren¡¯t meant to be comfortable, son,¡± his father said. ¡°They¡¯re meant to keep you alive. Besides, you¡¯d best get used to wearing them, if you¡¯re still planning on taking the Calling of the Protector.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, I know,¡± Perelor sighed. He frowned. ¡°You never told me what Calling you were going to take, El.¡± The Naming, in addition to being a religious ceremony that initiated one into adulthood, was also when most teens declared their Calling, which would determine their educational path from then on. Unlike the Name Eliel would be granted, the Calling decision could be changed, but it was still a big part of the ceremony.


    Eliel¡¯s smile fell. ¡°You¡¯ll see,¡± she whispered.


    Perelor frowned. ¡°Is everything alright?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll see,¡± she repeated.


    ¡°El, if you need help deciding¡­¡±


    His father rested his hand on Perelor¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Not now,¡± he said. ¡°There¡¯ll be time to discuss things later.¡±


    Perelor turned, frowning, but as he met his father¡¯s weary eyes, he nodded. If his father knew what was going on, then it was best to let him handle it.


    A knock came at the door, which had closed behind them. Perelor¡¯s father¡¯s expression grew grim. ¡°Let them in,¡± he shouted.


    The door opened, and two men entered. The first was Captain E¡¯vin Yaenke, head of the Governor¡¯s Guard and one of the leaders of Ethea¡¯s military training program. He gave Perelor a curt nod as he entered; recently Yaenke had begun giving Perelor sword lessons to prepare him for his own Naming, which would happen in a year and half. He was dressed in a crisp Ethean military uniform.


    The man beside him was not, at least, not a crisp one, the top button of his carbon fiber shirt was unbound, revealing a hairy chest beneath. He had a beard, or at least, a scraggly attempt at one, and he hadn¡¯t even bothered to dye his hair white today. Still, Perelor knew not to underestimate the man. Dromidius Scant didn¡¯t care for Ethean traditions, but he was more intelligent than anyone Perelor knew, except maybe his father.


    ¡°So,¡± Dromidius said. ¡°Today¡¯s the day then?¡± He unclasped a vial from his belt, full of murky white liquid: an Adrellian shot. It wasn¡¯t a drug, or at least it didn¡¯t muddle one¡¯s mind, though Dromidius used it so often Perelor wondered if it had become an addiction.


    ¡°It is,¡± Perelor¡¯s father said.


    E¡¯vin pursed his lips. ¡°I still do not think this is a good idea, Rion. I will support you, of course, if you persist, but I will not pretend that I agree with your logic.¡±


    ¡°I am aware of your objections,¡± Perelor¡¯s father noted.


    Eliel cleared her throat. ¡°We don¡¯t really have time for more debate.¡±


    ¡°Girl¡¯s right. Decision¡¯s made,¡± Dromidius said. ¡°No use discussing things until after it¡¯s done.¡±


    Perelor¡¯s frown deepened. ¡°Again, what are you talking about?¡±


    Perelor¡¯s father hesitated, then cringed. ¡°Sear it. I should have told you earlier.¡±


    Yaenke cleared his throat. ¡°You made the right choice, Rion. He will find out soon enough.¡±


    Perelor¡¯s father looked at him, face conflicted, then back at Yaenke, then sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t know if you¡¯re right, but it is too late now.¡±


    ¡°Dad?¡± Perelor pressed. ¡°Why won¡¯t you tell me what¡¯s going on?¡±


    ¡°If I explain now, you¡¯ll end up even more confused,¡± Rion said. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I should have told you earlier. But Dromidius is right. We only have a few minutes before the Naming starts, and we won¡¯t have a better opportunity than today.¡± He straightened. ¡°We will talk later, son, I promise. For now, go get dressed and sit down. Everything will be clear in a few minutes.¡±


    Perelor paused, glancing between the faces of the others in the room. Dromidius, for once, looked serious. His father had fear on his face, an emotion Perelor couldn¡¯t remember ever seeing there. Yaenke, as always, looked grim, though even he was more intense today. Eliel had her eyes closed, and she was muttering to herself.


    What in Torment?Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    He wanted to keep questioning them, but, whatever they were hiding, they were right about one thing: the ceremony was only a few minutes away. Collecting himself, he nodded.


    ¡°Alright. We¡¯ll talk later.¡±


    He exited out the other side of the room to go change.


    ***


    For once, Perelor was grateful for the itchy uniform. It kept him from thinking too hard about the strange conversation he¡¯d stood through earlier. Their words had been so vague that he didn¡¯t have any clue what they could be talking about, though their tones had clearly shown that, whatever it was, it was important. There was also the ominous story ¡ª and warning ¡ª his father had given him as they¡¯d driven here. Combine it all, and the itch was a welcome distraction from his racing veins.


    The room for the Naming was small; though Rion had a high enough profile in Ethean society that this event would be televised, there were hundreds of Namings this temple would have to perform today, so only a few were allowed to attend in person. Only a few of those were from the Krot family, instead, most of the audience members were political figures. Perelor spotted the High Minister of Trade, the current High Minister of the Militia, and the High Minister of Law Enforcement among them. All men who hated his father. In fact, Perelor only spotted a few people here who didn¡¯t hate his father, Yaenke and Dromidius notably among them. Perelor couldn¡¯t help but notice that the Guard Captain¡¯s eyes were continually fixed on him, narrow and annoyed. For reasons Perelor didn¡¯t understand, Yaenke had always disliked him, even if the swordsman had proved an excellent teacher.


    At the head of the room, in front of the pews where the watching crowd sat, an altar waited in between three massive statues of swords ¡ª one for Okron, goddess of courage, one for Etheri, goddess of mercy, and one for Vertras, god of wisdom.


    A priest from the Church of Meridian stood in front of the altar, reciting scripture from the Book of Eternity ¡ª or maybe it was the Book of Ever or the Book of Purity. Sear it if Perelor cared. He¡¯d been droning on for a solid thirty minutes now. Even the more orthodox among the politicians had begun shifting uncomfortably, bored out of their mind. They couldn¡¯t do this all the time, could they? Must have something to do with this Naming being televised.


    Rion and Eliel stood behind the priest, waiting. A shawl rested on the altar, one that had the Krot family name embroidered onto it, along with a host of other runes Perelor didn¡¯t recognize. Eliel herself had sewn that shawl, just as Perelor would when his time came. That particular aspect of the ceremony was not something he looked forward to; sear him if he had to spend hours on sewing of all things.


    His sister did seem nervous. In fact, though Perelor had noticed his father lean in and whisper to her multiple times throughout the priest¡¯s speech, she only seemed more nervous after he did. Her hands shook, not enough that the rest of the crowd could tell, but enough that Perelor certainly could. He tensed. Now would not be a good time for an episode ¡ª not that Eliel could control those.


    Eventually - finally - the priest stopped his blabbering, and started into the actual ceremony.


    ¡°We are gathered here today,¡± he said, ¡°to herald Eliel Krot as an adult among the Ethean branch of our religion. As all from your nation are, she will be given a Calling, to guide her actions, and, most importantly, a Name, to guide her very being.¡± He nodded to Perelor¡¯s father. ¡°Rion Krot, you have been selected as her Bestower. You may now grant her her Tapestry, and announce her Calling.¡±


    Eliel paled, but stepped forward, closing her eyes, then opening them a moment later. Perelor¡¯s father grabbed the shawl, then hesitated, for a long time. Long enough that it actually drew whispers from the audience.


    Eventually, though, Rion¡¯s expression steeled and he placed the shawl on Eliel¡¯s shoulder¡¯s. ¡°Eliel Krot,¡± he said, ¡°chooses the Calling of the Protector!¡±


    This earned a few murmurs from the crowd, and Perelor, too, frowned. The Calling of the Protector? That, of all things? Eliel sometimes wished she could fight, but he¡¯d always thought that was just her trying to prove she could function despite her Soulcurse; Eliel was far too timid a soul to ever hold a sword. Plus, she had so many other talents. She excelled in academics, she sculpted bronze for fun, and she got along incredibly well with everyone around her. Being a protector was probably the only thing she couldn¡¯t do well.


    The murmurs died down, though, and Perelor relaxed. Eliel had chosen this Calling herself, and one¡¯s Calling was changeable. Things would work out.


    Perelor¡¯s father stepped to the center of the three massive stone swords, and Eliel followed. They turned to face each other. Eliel was shaking violently. Was she sure her Soulcurse wasn¡¯t affecting her today? His father gave her a reassuring smile, though, strangely, his face had tension in it too. He turned, raising his voice as he addressed the crowd, Eliel kneeling in front of him.


    ¡°The day has come for the Naming of Eliel Krot,¡± he said. ¡°She is my daughter. I have known her all her life, and loved her just as long, and she has chosen me as her Bestower.


    ¡°This Name shall guide you through the time of mortality. It shall be your compass, till the day of the Silver Dawn, when all evil shall be vanquished. Know it deeply, and cherish it.¡±


    He turned and met Eliel¡¯s eyes again, and paused for a long moment. Then he raised his voice even louder.


    ¡°Eliel Krot, I name you Erak¡¯assala, Endowed by the Powers. Rise, Erak¡¯assala!¡±


    There was silence. Deathly, utter silence. Then an instant of realization, as people took in what had just been said. The Governor¡¯s face grew white. Captain Yaenke closed his eyes with an expression of resignation. Dromidius smiled broadly. People all around Perelor moved from impassive to shocked and angry and joyful.


    Then the shouts began.


    ¡°The day has come! Our savior is here at last!¡±


    ¡°Your family is Unworthy! How dare you!¡±


    ¡°Six times! Six times mankind has tried this! Would you lead us astray again?¡±


    And on and on and on. Perelor¡¯s muscles locked, his grip now tight on the armrests of his seat, his expression frozen in disbelief.


    Eliel thought she was the Endowed? And his father agreed with her? He must be dreaming. This had to be a dream, one of the nightmares he got sometimes, where Oblivion would appear out of nowhere. Those were strangely vivid now and then.


    But the shouting just kept going, people standing, people kneeling, people stumbling away, whispering the news as they went. The sounds slowly became more sharp to Perelor, the cushy fabric on the armrests suddenly growing distinctly uncomfortable. Somehow, he admitted, this was no fabrication from the Void.


    As he realized that, he found himself unable to think. How did one face something like this? What would happen?


    He only knew two things, he decided: first, that his entire life would be different, and second, that he had no idea what those differences would look like.


    Some of the more angry audience members began rushing toward Eliel. The priest, eyes now wide, tried to hold them back, but they quickly shoved him aside.


    Before they arrived, Eliel closed her eyes and raised her hand. For a sliver of a second, nothing happened. Then blue light exploded outward, intense, blinding, radiant. Perelor averted his gaze, but even the light¡¯s reflection on the tile was glaring. He squinted, trembling. The crowd grew deathly quiet, the shouts of anger turning to whispers of disbelief.


    ¡°Memory burner,¡± a woman nearby Perelor breathed. ¡°A powerful one.¡±


    Those who had rushed toward Eliel stepped back, raising their hands in surrender. Rion, shielding his own eyes, stepped in front of Eliel.


    ¡°Dear,¡± he said, ¡°would you mind showing them some Purity?¡±


    Eliel nodded, and the blue light faded, though it was quickly replaced by an equally intense burst of white light. Perelor¡¯s father smiled.


    ¡°She can do the Third Power, too,¡± he said, raising his voice, ¡°but I think we¡¯d all prefer it if she didn¡¯t, yes?¡±


    A few audience members mumbled their agreement. Eyes adjusting to the brightness, Perelor took in the crowd. The reactions were as diverse as they could be. Some wore faces creased with doubt, others had their mouths hanging open in awe, still others had grimly pursed lips, and many more appeared confused and afraid. The priest was one of the latter; he stood pressed against the wall, hands clenched tightly into fists, eyes wide, muttering to himself. Absently Perelor wondered how the rest of the Church would respond to this.


    ¡°I understand this is galaxy-shattering news to many of you,¡± Rion said. ¡°All of you, I think.¡± He chuckled, though the laugh came out forced. ¡°I also understand the historical context of your apprehension. Mankind has mistrusted six different people, and six different times we have paid the price. I assure you that neither I nor my daughter has any desire to lead the nations of the galaxy into a war we cannot win. I also assure you that, though my family line has been involved in unnecessary wars in the past, this has no bearing on my decision here.¡± His voice grew haunted. ¡°I have experienced the horrors of wasteful conflicts myself. You may not trust me, but you can trust this: I will not let any life be lost without cause. In truth, I wish I was not called to bear this burden. But the signs of Eliel¡¯s calling have become impossible to ignore.


    ¡°But back to you. You will have questions. What effect will this have on the government? What is my plan to meet the demands of the Testing? And many more. I do not have all the answers, but I will answer what I can. My daughter and I plan on being here until day¡¯s end. Until then, ask what you will.¡±


    He stepped back, and Eliel lowered her hand. Her glow faded, the room returning to its normal hues. For a precious few moments, there was silence.


    Then the questions began, people swarming toward Eliel and Rion, speaking and stepping over each other. Perelor just sat, stunned, until some of the audience members realized that he was Rion¡¯s son. Then, a smaller portion of them swarmed toward him, asking the same questions, their eyes frantic or angry or full of worship. Even as they swarmed him, he was still silent, the numbness of shock overtaking him. Finally, as hands shook him, he ran.


    The crowd parted before him, still shouting their questions, but he clamped his hands over his ears, and continued onward, bursting out of the Shrine, racing into the courtyard, weaving between people who stared at him with confusion, not yet aware of what had transpired. He ran as far as he could, out of the gardens and into the streets, until, finally, in a back alley, he found himself alone, and he collapsed, laying down beside a wall, hands still clamped over his ears, for even the low thrum of hovercar traffic was too much.


    He sat there for hours, with barely a thought crossing his mind. Hoping this had been a dream, even though he knew it wasn¡¯t. Trying to think, but realizing every time that there was only one thing he actually knew.


    His old life was gone. In its place was chaos.

 Chapter 19 - Repercussions

    I¡¯m afraid. I tell them this, and they stare at me with blank eyes, then laugh, and continue their chants of praise. I understand why they ignore me, even if I hate it. I¡¯ve burned Unity from Dawnbreaker. I¡¯ve mastered Veracity. I slew Vorcix at the Tower.


    Yet, whenever I think of facing the Enemy, the true Enemy and the endless pit that is his soul, I tremble. I know, deep down, that I am not the Endowed, not yet.


    And I know, deep down, that I have only a little more time to become what I must become.


    -Nythala Magalas, circa 1,700 Post Fall of Meridian


    Ithrey took in shaky breaths, trying not to lose control as Perelor talked with Larsh. She knew what the slave squadrons were; she suspected that, with all the broadcasts, everyone in Delti knew them better than they¡¯d like to. But it was one thing to watch something you were afraid of, and it was another to face that same fear head on.


    The fear of death was overlaid with another fear: fear for Alaran, and the Endowed. She¡¯d foolishly let herself believe, when Perelor had spared her, that she was now in a position to work toward helping them. But, after the meeting with Larsh, she couldn¡¯t deny the truth anymore: she was in a terrible position. Her breaths grew more frantic as she considered plan after plan, and realized, time after time, that those plans wouldn¡¯t work.


    In truth, she only had one actual idea: rebellion. Escape on her own would be impossible; she¡¯d heard enough about Talar security to know that. But a mass mutiny, that might work. The Ethean ¡ª Captain Krot ¡ªwas certainly a good fighter. There might be others, too, warriors forged by the harsh reality of battle with no armor. There had to be at least a few men who consistently survived, right?


    The bigger problem, she suspected, would be actually getting said warriors to turn on their masters. Something told her that Captain Krot wouldn¡¯t do so easily, and if the others reacted to slavery anything like him, she¡¯d have a lot of very disgruntled, unstable men on her hands.


    Larsh did assign my men to my squad, though. She hated that they were being put in such danger because of her. Part of her wanted desperately to crack.


    But she trusted Aiedra, so she wouldn¡¯t. Besides, having men she knew in her squad could help with the rebellion. She was contemplating how to press that advantage when the door swung open, and Perelor stepped out.


    He looked¡­ disturbed, though it was hard to read him, between his eyepatch and the way he seemed to suppress any expression from coming onto his face. He closed the door behind him, and stood silent for a long moment, his breathing heavy.


    Then, shaking his head, he turned to Ithrey. ¡°So. You¡¯re part of my squad now.¡±


    Ithrey hesitated. ¡°Yes, I suppose I am. Though I should make you aware that I do not relish the idea of fighting for the Talar.¡±


    Perelor snorted. ¡°I¡¯ve yet to meet someone who does. Even Arrus isn¡¯t that much of a patriot.¡± He glanced back at the closed door, then shivered. ¡°We should leave.¡±


    ¡°On that much, we agree,¡± Ithrey said softly.


    They stepped into the elevator, and began ascending back toward the landing pad they¡¯d arrived at. Perelor swung his mask back on, carefully fastening it to his face. Ithrey followed him; at first, she¡¯d just thought he was being paranoid, but the longer she spent on Xilia, the more she realized it might be just as dangerous a place as the Ethean thought it was.


    They rode in silence for a good minute before Perelor spoke.


    ¡°So. Who is this Aiedra?¡±


    Ithrey raised an eyebrow. ¡°So that¡¯s what Larsh was talking to you about. Getting the secret out of me.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Perelor admitted. ¡°Though that¡¯s not why I¡¯m asking. I would, however, like to know why this is so important.¡±


    ¡°And why should I tell you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m no friend of Larsh¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t stop you from bringing me in.¡±


    Perelor winced. ¡°I¡­ fair. But, if it hadn¡¯t been me, it would have been someone else.¡±


    True enough, Ithrey supposed. But there was also no way in Torment she was telling this man about the Seekers of the Light. Besides, she didn¡¯t intend to give up the one bargaining chip she had with Larsh. The Talar leader could read her mind to discern anything else, but the careful wards Aiedra had put in place would keep Larsh from learning anything important about the Seekers.


    So, she remained silent. Perelor grunted. ¡°I see.¡± More quiet followed. Then Perelor spoke again.


    ¡°So. Miradoran general. Commanding a losing army isn¡¯t a very typical career choice.¡±


    Ithrey rolled her eyes. ¡°If you¡¯re trying to make conversation, you¡¯re doing a terrible job.¡±


    Perelor shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m not paid to talk.¡±


    ¡°From what I understand,¡± Ithrey sighed, ¡°neither of us are actually paid to do anything.¡±


    ¡°If you don¡¯t want to have a conversation, then tell me, and I¡¯ll stay quiet. No need to be dramatic about it.¡±


    Ithrey hesitated. He is a potential ally. Though that depended on how loyal he really was to Larsh. Even if he only obeyed the Talar leader out of fear, he still might betray her. Frankly, even her own men might turn on her, if the right threats were put in place. It was one thing for soldiers surrounded by allies to stay true, it was another when those same soldiers were placed behind enemy lines. She was going to have to be very, very careful about this.


    ¡°I apologize,¡± she said finally. ¡°But I will not ¡ª I cannot ¡ª tell you anything about Aiedra; even if you don¡¯t give that information to Larsh directly, she¡¯ll take it from you.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough.¡±


    ¡°But I¡¯m also not opposed to working with you. I will need to escape, I think.¡± That was a simplification of the truth, if a bold one, but she suspected that he knew as much already. What slave didn¡¯t dream of escaping?


    His face turned grim at the words, and he said nothing for a long time. The elevator began slowing to a stop.


    ¡°If you think that¡¯s possible,¡± he said finally. ¡°Just don¡¯t get any of my men killed when you try it.¡±


    My men, Ithrey thought, not yours.


    The doors slid open before she could reply, and they stepped into the bustling hallways of the main Xilia complex. Perelor pulled out a buzzing holoscreen, glanced at it, then waved for Ithrey to follow him.


    ¡°Come. Let¡¯s get you that Purity Surge.¡±


    ***


    Ryla drifted through the air, carefully burning trace amounts of Ever to counteract gravity as she hovered over a hundred feet above the bulk of the Fifty-Second Talar Army Division. Naidi floated beside her, also held up by a steel plate and Ryla¡¯s use of Ever. For a less experienced mage, lifting two people at once would be a challenge, but Ryla had been trained by the best. Larsh might not be a good person, but she was an extraordinary burner.


    Larsh. Ryla frowned, anger building in her chest, almost more than she could contain. How dare she ask Ryla to burn Void. After promising she¡¯d let Ryla choose for so long, after swearing over and over she wouldn¡¯t force Ryla to become her mother, she¡¯d finally broken that oath.


    Ryla wasn¡¯t surprised. But she was furious.


    And she needed a way out.


    Cyrla and I¡¯s offer is still on the table¡­


    ¡°Great view from up here,¡± Naidi noted. ¡°I don¡¯t know why we don¡¯t do this more often.¡±


    Ryla shrugged. ¡°Looks like just a lot of dusty plains to me.¡±


    ¡°Yeah but interesting dusty plains. Look at all the red swirls over there. And the purple lines to the east.¡± Naidi pointed toward a patch of ground that looked like it had a little coloring, though not much. Still, Ryla let her ramble. It was a welcome distraction, compared to the other things on her mind.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Is it worth it to work with a Voidmage, so I don¡¯t have to become one myself?


    Her holoscreen buzzed. She opened it to find a message from Traegus ¡ª she and Naidi would both fight under his command today.


    The battle has begun. I want you to cover the south side. Cyrla will be there.


    ¡°Of course she will be,¡± Ryla muttered. As if I need more confusion today. But then, if Cyrla was there, the slave squadrons would be there, too. That meant she could protect Arrus, if it came to it. And it wasn¡¯t uncommon that her cousin needed protection.


    ¡°What was that?¡± Naidi asked.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± Ryla said. ¡°Just our orders.¡± She slowly began lowering them to the ground. ¡°Let¡¯s get this over with.¡±


    ***


    An hour later, Perelor fastened his mask as he and Ithrey strode out into the toxic Xilian air toward a waiting cruiser. They were swarmed by guards now, including two wielding Ever Surges ¡ª now that Ithrey had her own Surge, it seemed Perelor¡¯s supervision alone was no longer enough.


    She had taken easily to that Surge, barely wincing as the doctors had implanted it into the back of her neck. Glancing over at her, he didn¡¯t even see any scarring. Fortunate for her, really. He¡¯d been sick for days after his own operation.


    He tried not to think about what her new abilities meant for his squadron. If she tried to escape¡­


    Flames.


    Blood.


    Screams.


    Rubble.


    And that blade¡­


    He shivered, reminding himself that, if he and Arrus didn¡¯t take part in the rebellion, they would be fine. Still, the feeling did not leave him. He¡¯d seen several such attempts in his time as a captain. All had ended brutally; the Talar ensured that being caught in a mutiny resulted in a far more painful death than simply falling in a raid.


    They stepped into the cruiser, and the doors shut behind them as the ship immediately took off. Cursing, Perelor had to reach out and snatch one of the handholds on the walls before the cruiser¡¯s gravity stabilizers took effect. Ithrey nearly toppled to the floor, but barely maintained her balance.


    After that, though, there was a long silence. Ithrey kept glancing toward Perelor, but the guards around them seemed to keep her from speaking. Finally, as they neared the wormhole, the pilot¡¯s intercom broke the quiet.


    ¡°Teleporting in: twenty. Destination: Grahala.¡±


    Ithrey¡¯s expression immediately shifted, her eyes widening, and for just a moment, a smile seemed to touch her lips. Then she looked toward Perelor again, and the moment ended as quickly as it had begun.


    Perelor frowned, turning to the nearest guard. ¡°My squad¡¯s been transferred?¡±


    The guard nodded. ¡°Orders came in just after you left. The rest of the men have already moved there.¡±


    Perelor sighed. ¡°Lovely.¡± Well, hopefully Arrus had kept everyone in line. ¡°When¡¯s the next battle?¡±


    ¡°As soon as we get there,¡± the guard said. His voice was softer than before. He hesitated before continuing. ¡°Be ready, kid. Larsh wants to draw out an enemy memory burner.¡±


    Perelor studied the man¡¯s face. He couldn¡¯t be older than twenty-five; he had no right to call Perelor ¡°kid¡±. But his eyes had the haunted look of a soldier walking into an impossible battle. Glancing around, Perelor could tell the others were worried, too.


    That did not bode well for his own men.


    At least we have another Surgewielder now. If she cooperates¡­


    They struck the wormhole, and a few moments later, they were soaring toward Grahala, escorted by a pair of fighters. All around them, other carriers, large and small, also descended toward the planet. Asking around, Perelor quickly found out that the ground assault here had just begun a couple of days ago; it seemed that, with the imminent fall of the Miradoran capital, Larsh had decided to start mobilizing ground troops here. She had led the charge herself just hours before, crushing several Confederacy weapons depots with the assistance of her elite memory burners.


    Grahala, unlike Mirador, was a planet that had clearly been terraformed. There were no continents or scraggly borders between bodies of water and land; instead, square lakes sat evenly spaced in a grid around the planet, with massive wheat fields surrounding those lakes. Even the poles had been carefully put to use, housing the planet¡¯s two major cities. Though some carriers broke off toward the equator, Perelor¡¯s ship twisted toward the south pole as they drew nearer to the surface. As they entered the atmosphere, he began to see the telltale signs of war.


    Smoke was everywhere, ashy, thick smoke, pulsing as it drifted through the air. More Talar fighters soared in beside them, forming up in a protective sphere around Perelor¡¯s carrier. When they broke through the cloud line, Perelor could see camps set up in the wheat fields below, fields dotted with burned-out sections, like scars on the skin of the ground. On the horizon, Perelor could see a Grahalan city, half in shadow, half in the dim light of dusk. The smoke was pouring from there, though the dancing spots of fighters in the sky told Perelor that the city had not yet fallen.


    They pulled away from the city, heading toward an open patch of ground where several other carriers sat dormant. Their fighter escorts moved back into the sky, and they landed a few moments later, weeds crunching beneath them as they hit the ground. The doors opened, and Perelor and Ithrey stepped out, followed by their ever-watchful guards.


    The air was humid, even despite the smoke. Definitely terraformed, Perelor thought. His father would have been in the Three Heavens here. He¡¯d always loved studying ancient technology, even if most of the knowledge had long since been lost.


    ¡°Grahala,¡± Ithrey whispered beside him. ¡°We¡¯re actually here. Okron be praised.¡± She sounded almost in awe, her eyes staring at the smoky clouds as if they were a brilliant painted tapestry.


    Perelor raised an eyebrow, snorting. ¡°Okron be praised, huh? I wouldn¡¯t say that just yet.¡±


    She pursed her lips. ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°You¡¯re right. Not yet.¡± She shook her head. ¡°Not yet.¡± She straightened, her expression returning to that same paranoid look she¡¯d worn all day.


    Such a strange woman. Granted, he¡¯d almost killed her, so he couldn¡¯t complain too much about her behavior.


    The guards prodded them forward, toward where a few small campfires had been set up next to a grid of cots. Talar soldiers, wielding long shockrods, swarmed around the slaves who waited there. Perelor noted their uniforms were clean and crisp. That meant a recording was coming soon; the Talar replaced the clothing just before each battle.


    Unfortunately, he didn¡¯t have much time to think about that, for his eyes caught hold of someone staring at him. Someone he had desperately hoped would not be here. She folded her arms, nodding for Perelor to join her, her expression tight.


    ¡°Cyrla,¡± he muttered. ¡°Torment.¡± Well, he¡¯d known it would come to this when he¡¯d made his decision. He tapped Ithrey on the shoulder. She jumped when he touched her, but quickly relaxed.


    ¡°Lay low for a bit,¡± Perelor said. ¡°There are some people who¡­ don¡¯t like you here.¡±


    Ithrey frowned, then suddenly seemed to see Cyrla. Her eyes widened, and she nodded. ¡°I think you¡¯re right.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll take care of it.¡± Hopefully. He turned away from her, then strode toward Cyrla. Her frown deepened as he approached.


    ¡°You have forced my hand, Krot.¡± Perelor did not miss the crimson glow that spread across her veins and into her skin as she spoke, fainter than it would have been if she were going to attack, but enough to cast a red shadow around him. Fear spiked in his chest, but he forced himself to stand tall, drawing in some Purity from his Surge.


    ¡°I disobeyed you.¡±


    ¡°No denying it, then?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not here to play games. Not even games where the prize is my sister.¡± He winced, wavering as he remembered her. Did Cyrla actually know where she was? Had he turned down an opportunity to fulfill his oath?


    But no. He couldn¡¯t win that way. Not by becoming someone his sister would hate.


    Cyrla was silent for a moment, meeting his gaze, those terrible red eyes seeming to bore straight through the false uniform he wore and into the wretch inside. Then she nodded.


    ¡°Eliel is not prize enough, I see. Either that, or you doubt my power to deliver.¡±


    ¡°I reported you to Larsh,¡± Perelor found himself saying. ¡°She¡¯ll deal with you. There¡¯s nothing you can do to me, or Ithrey.¡±


    Cyrla laughed. ¡°I can deal with Larsh, child. And there is plenty I can do to you. Like I said, you have forced my hand.¡± Her frown turned to a smile, and she pulled a holoscreen from her pocket. ¡°I wasn¡¯t going to send your men on another raid so soon, you know. It has only been a few hours, and they are tired, and the fighting here is fresh and fierce. But¡­¡± She twisted the holoscreen in her hand, ¡°my mind has been changed. Though it can be changed again¡­¡±


    Perelor froze. Cyrla¡¯s grin widened.


    ¡°How many lives are you willing to spend for her, Krot? Your own life, perhaps, but will you throw away the lives of others?¡±


    Perelor tensed, cursing. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ¡°The same as before. Kill her. Now.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t do that.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t you? From what I¡¯ve heard, you already bested her once.¡±


    ¡°You know what I mean, Voidling. Larsh would have me hanged in a heartbeat. Both of us.¡±


    ¡°I told you I can deal with Larsh. She already knew of my intentions, you know. She has no power over me. Only the one true god has any power over me.¡±


    The one true god? Perelor shivered, realizing what she meant as he took in her red glow again.


    What have I gotten myself into?


    ¡°She is a member of an organization called the Seekers of the Light,¡± Cyrla said, as if she could hear his unspoken question. ¡°She has not told you this, I assume?¡± He was silent in reply, though that was answer enough it seemed, for she continued. ¡°She will make you a puppet, if she lives. I have dealt with her kind before, always playing in the shadows, pulling strings.¡± Her glow intensified suddenly, and she stepped closer, leaning in, her breath against his ear. ¡°But we don¡¯t have to play in darkness, Perelor, do we? The offer is still on the table. Your sister, for a woman who lied to you¡­¡±


    For a moment, he wavered, his sister¡¯s tears raging in his mind, her cries as she¡¯d been dragged away screaming at him, condemning him.


    But then, he saw Ithrey¡¯s tears, too.


    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± he hissed. ¡°I will retain my honor.¡±


    ¡°You think you have honor left?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± he wavered again. ¡°I do,¡± he said finally. Or at least, I want to believe I do.


    Cyrla was quiet again, her eyes searching him. Then, pursing her lips, she nodded, then clicked a button on her holoscreen. All around Perelor, alarm bells rang, and the slaves stirred. The grin returned to Cyrla¡¯s face.


    ¡°So be it, Perelor. You have forced my hand.¡±


    She whipped around and walked away before he could say another word.

 Chapter 20 - Wax To A Thruster

    I am afraid to close my eyes, for every time I reopen them, I am haunted by a nightmare I cannot remember.


    -Arath Dralei, circa 2,900 Post Fall of Meridian


    Grins spread across the faces of Captain Vyrus¡¯ soldiers as Ryla stepped inside a rusted troop carrier, followed shortly by Naidi. Naidi grimaced as she stepped inside, wrinkling her nose; this place was filthy. Rust spots dotted the floors, the smell of sweat permeated the air, and as Ryla gripped a stabilizer rod, she felt grease squelch beneath her fingers. There were certainly more sanitary places to be, even on a battlefield.


    Any disgust Ryla felt melted as Captain Vyrus strode up to her. He was a tall, bulky man, with buzzed hair and a face matted with so many scars she could hardly tell which cuts were fresh. His uniform, scuffed with dozens of char marks from plasma bolts, was hardly purple at all; the paint was peeling badly. His appearance would make most think he was a hard man.


    Ryla knew better. She smiled as he entered the troop hold, his helmet tucked underneath his armpit, and he smiled back.


    ¡°Shal Magala!¡± He always called her by her formal title, even though she told him not to. He nodded respectfully to Naidi. ¡°And Lady Evar. Nice of you to join us today.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Naidi muttered, studying the grease on her hands with obvious distaste. ¡°I definitely wasn¡¯t forced to.¡±


    Vyrus just shook his head fondly. ¡°Weren¡¯t we all, Lady Evar. Weren¡¯t we all.¡± He turned back to Ryla. ¡°My men tell me you won a duel yesterday.¡±


    Ryla shrugged. ¡°Wasn¡¯t too hard.¡±


    Vyrus¡¯ eyes twinkled. ¡°That¡¯s not what they said, eh, Haevus?¡±


    Another of the soldiers ¡ª Haevus ¡ª nodded. ¡°Fought a Voidmage, I heard. Was up on the Holochannels. Quite a close one, if you ask me.¡±


    Ryla shrugged again. ¡°He challenged me. I couldn¡¯t afford to lose.¡±


    ¡°Still, quite impressive, lass.¡± Vyrus shook his head. ¡°I¡¯ll never understand why you avoid the war front so. We could use your help.¡±


    ¡°I think I can help you better in other places,¡± Ryla said. Ice crept into her voice, even as she tried to keep it out.


    Vyrus frowned. ¡°Perhaps. War is hard to end. More hard than you realize, I think.¡± He was silent for a moment, but then his characteristic grin returned. ¡°Should be an easy one today. Things were bad earlier, but the Grahalans have mostly evacuated now. We¡¯ll have to deal with those soldiers later, I think, but I¡¯ll take the lazy days when I get them.¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± another soldier called out behind him.


    Lazy days, Ryla thought. We¡¯re going to ransack a city, burn buildings to the ground, and leave thousands dead, and it¡¯s a lazy day.


    Thaus, but I hate this.


    She paused, mind drifting to Cyrla again. To her and Traegus¡¯ offer. Okron, she hated the idea of working with that woman. That filth.


    And yet, wouldn¡¯t it be selfish of her not to? Sure, Cyrla wasn¡¯t a good woman by any measure, but Ryla¡¯s attempts to overthrow Larsh on her own had been fruitless; she was lucky she hadn¡¯t been caught yet.


    And I¡¯m heir. Once Larsh is dead, all it would take is a wave of my hand, and Cyrla dies¡­


    Dangerous thoughts. Perhaps traitorous thoughts. Or perhaps thoughts that would pave the way to these men¡¯s salvation. She wasn¡¯t sure if this path was the right one or not.


    That was what scared her most.


    ¡°Shal Magala? Are you alright?¡±


    Ryla blinked. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s fine,¡± Naidi sighed. She still seemed disgruntled; she hated combat even more than Ryla did. ¡°Just lost in thought.¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Ryla said, realizing Vyrus had continued to speak to her, even as she¡¯d been musing. ¡°What were you saying?¡±


    ¡°Oh. Just that we¡¯ve taken off. And to be ready.¡±


    Ryla nodded. Yes, the engine was humming now, and as she focused she could also hear the soft shriek of the wind against the hull. The battle would begin soon. Men would die soon. Maybe even her brother.


    Kairus probably isn¡¯t in this battle, she reminded herself. He¡¯s barely done basic training. Yet it was still possible. Larsh¡¯s army was stretched thin these days, and she patched the holes with whatever and whoever she could find, no matter who it harmed. It was necessary, she said. So she did it.


    Necessity. Could Ryla forge an alliance of necessity, and nothing else? With someone she despised?


    I need your help uncle. Now more than ever. I don¡¯t know what to do.


    There was silence, save for the distant thud of explosions as they drew closer to the enemy city, and the battle began.


    ***


    Dust and ash sprayed out from under Perelor¡¯s feet as he dashed back to the slave camp, muttering every curse he knew. The shrieks of the raid alarms rang out around him, accompanied by the yells of Talar guards as they bullied the slaves to their feet. He could hear Cyrla¡¯s shouts within the cacophony, high and shrill, though he could only spare a brief glance toward her, now waiting on the edge of the grid of cots. Stumbling into camp, he shoved past a couple of slaves, then stopped, realizing that, in his panic, he had forgotten where he was going.


    My squad. I need to get to my squad. He realized he didn¡¯t remember most of the survivor¡¯s faces; he hadn¡¯t bothered to memorize them before being sent to face Ithrey. That, and he¡¯d have new men, the ones Larsh had sent from Ithrey¡¯s captive soldiers.


    Find Arrus. He¡¯ll know what¡¯s going on. Forcing his breathing to steady, he paced around the bustling camp, trying to find his friend, and trying not to think about Cyrla¡¯s veiled threats. I¡¯ll be fine. I have a Surge.


    He still glanced back at her blazing figure, stomach twisting.


    He turned his eyes back to the crowd, sweeping them through the chaotic blend of faces. Around him, guards continued to shout, forming a circle as they pushed the scrambling slaves toward empty carriers waiting nearby. Finally, Perelor found Arrus standing next to Ithrey. She was flanked by a pack of men in Miradoran uniforms. She had her arms crossed, and Arrus¡¯ brow was scrunched upward in confusion, though he lit up as Perelor approached.


    ¡°Hey, you¡¯re here! I was beginning to worry Larsh had killed you.¡±


    Perelor forced a quick smile, though his stomach churned at the mention of Larsh. ¡°I¡¯m fine. But this surprise recording. Do you have the details?¡±


    ¡°I do. Perelor, there¡¯s not going to be a fighter escort.¡±


    Perelor tensed. ¡°They haven¡¯t done that in years. Are you sure?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure, Arrus?¡±


    ¡°I checked three times.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s been years.¡± Please be wrong.


    ¡°I know. It¡¯s random, but the orders are there.¡±


    No, it¡¯s not random, Perelor thought. This is exactly what Cyrla was threatening. Without a fighter escort, their ship would be vulnerable to enemy cannons, meaning it was possible they¡¯d get shot down, the entire squadron killed. Including Perelor, depending on how fast his Surge could heal him. It wasn¡¯t something the Talar did often, not with the slave squadrons; a flash of light accompanied by screams wasn¡¯t gruesome enough a death for their propaganda. But for Cyrla, who seemed only to be looking to kill Ithrey without sullying her own hands¡­


    I¡¯ve been outmaneuvered. Badly.


    Ithrey cleared her throat suddenly, and Arrus wilted. ¡°The other problem,¡± he muttered, ¡°is her. Sorry, Perelor, I did try to tell her¡­¡±


    Perelor frowned. ¡°Tell her what?¡±


    ¡°I intend to take command of the squadron,¡± Ithrey said.


    Perelor paused, then snorted. ¡°They won¡¯t allow that. I won¡¯t allow that. End of story.¡± He waved to the men behind her. ¡°Grab your lasertips. It¡¯s time to load up.¡± And time to make a plan for dealing with Cyrla, he added to himself. Was there some way to appease her without killing anyone? He turned away, mind racing, too caught up in the chaos to truly absorb what Ithrey had said. Hopefully, she wouldn¡¯t be stubborn¡­


    ¡°No, Captain. I¡¯m afraid that is not the end of the story.¡±


    Well, maybe just hoping wouldn¡¯t work. He turned, glaring. ¡°We don¡¯t have time for this.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t, but I cannot fail to address it, either. From this moment onward, I have no intention of following your orders. I will try not to anger the Talar any more than I have to, but if I have to, I will. I cannot yet explain why.¡±


    Arrus winced. ¡°Sorry. I tried to tell her, I really did.¡±


    Seeker of the Light, Perelor thought, remembering Cyrla¡¯s words from earlier. Has motives of her own. He¡¯d guessed that much, though he¡¯d never heard that name before, and he had no idea what it meant. Whatever her goals were, though, he would not let her start a mutiny.


    He glanced at the uniformed Miradorans behind Ithrey. Soldiers, or at least they carried themselves like soldiers. They certainly knew how to hold their lasertips. ¡°And you fools are following her, I take it?¡±


    The men nodded. Hesitantly, but they nodded. Perelor cursed silently as he noticed more men in Miradoran uniforms gathering nearby. He also saw several Talar guards¡¯ helms swiveling towards their conversation. Though he wasn¡¯t sure how to deal with Ithrey, let alone her followers, he knew one thing: he did not want those men hearing anything about treason.


    ¡°Fine,¡± he said. ¡°For now, at least, we have the same goal. Survive. I hope you plan to do at least that.¡±


    Ithrey smiled. Tar and flames, Perelor wanted to slap that grin off her face. ¡°I do.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯m your best chance. So for now you follow my lead, and we¡¯ll talk later.¡±


    The smile faded ¡ªthank Okron¡ª and Ithrey hesitated a moment, then, seeming to notice the surrounding chaos, she nodded. ¡°That is acceptable.¡±


    With her lips still pursed and her arms still folded, she did not look as if she were actually going to back down, but before Perelor could argue further, a Talar guard pushed toward them, shouting.


    ¡°No more chat! We¡¯re moving out in minutes, vret. Minutes, not hours.¡± He shoved Arrus forward, then paused as he saw Perelor, his eyes widening as he took in the Surge on the back of Perelor¡¯s neck. The look of fear was quickly replaced by a scowl, though. ¡°Move. Now.¡±


    The guard left before Perelor could reply, but he found his hand tightening on his lasertip. That guard had been new. He didn¡¯t know the Talar¡¯s names, but he recognized their faces. Usually, they carried a certain solemn reverence as they did their duty, not sparing the slaves, but not relishing in the cruelty of it. Larsh kept them that way deliberately.


    That guard, though, was enjoying himself. You could see it in his eyes. The sickening light in them.


    Is Cyrla somehow changing out the guards? Trying to keep Larsh¡¯s eyes off her? But no, she couldn¡¯t have done so this fast. He was jumping at shadows. Cursing, he realized he¡¯d been standing still as Arrus and the others began marching toward their carrier. He hastened to the front of his still-forming squadron.


    As usual, there were only a few hollow-eyed survivors from the previous raid, many bearing wounds that would certainly doom them in the coming battle. The rest, though, were as Larsh had promised: Miradorans, all with the same muscular build and hardened expressions of soldiers. Dressed in their now-conquered home planet¡¯s uniforms, they almost looked like an army of their own, if one that was being swallowed up by a sea of Talar purple and gray.


    Most slave captains would have given half a limb to have a group of well-trained, well-coordinated men under their command, Perelor realized. But not him. Not now, with Ithrey threatening mutiny and Cyrla threatening executions.


    ¡°Lasertips are outside the carrier!¡± Perelor yelled. His voice was barely audible over the still-blaring alarms. ¡°Inside there¡¯s an eight by five array on the floor. Stand where your number is. Faster, let¡¯s move!¡±


    There was a long pause. Too long. These men were still questioning whether to obey him or Ithrey. Sear Larsh and her games. After a moment, though, Ithrey moved to her spot ¡ªa place in the front, Perelor noted ¡ª and the other Miradorans followed. Perelor let out a relieved breath as he and Arrus stepped inside the carrier, shutting the door behind them.


    Stomach-wrenching fear quickly replaced relief as the engine hummed, and he remembered that there would be no escort this time. No way to control whether his men lived or died. His eyes drifted toward them, injured, beaten, eyes wide, limbs shaking. Even the Miradorans didn¡¯t know what they were stepping into. He could feel their echoes, fast, chaotic, dreading what was to come. He saw their families and friends flash through their memory, heard the words of regret and love and sorrow that ran through their minds as they faced the end¡­


    Beside him, Arrus cleared his throat, and Perelor realized the man had been speaking, though he had hardly noticed through the haze of the echoes.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Fool. This is why you don¡¯t learn their names. They¡¯re all going to die.


    ¡°So,¡± Arrus said. ¡°She has a Surge? What happened while you were gone?¡±


    Perelor hesitated, eyes drifting toward Ithrey. She was assigned to the front, but had moved away from her allotted number, and was chatting with another man, her hand on his shoulder. Chatting. He shook his head angrily. Chatting, when they were all about to die. He cleared his throat, then shouted again. For once, he had no difficulty making himself heard.


    ¡°Men,¡± he said. ¡°You are going to die. Don¡¯t let anyone¡ª¡± he glared at Ithrey, ¡°anyone deceive you. Talar or otherwise. There is no escape. Trying to save yourselves will only kill you faster. There is no chance. No choice.¡±


    The way he practically growled the words surprised him. He was supposed to be calming these men down, not riling them further; mutinies came from fear just as often as they came from anger. Perhaps Cyrla had unnerved him more than he¡¯d thought.


    Not just Cyrla, sear it. All of this. I spared one woman, and now everything¡¯s falling apart¡­


    Everything falling apart. In a way, it felt just like the day Ethea had been conquered, so many years ago.


    He realized he¡¯d been standing silent again, and the whole squadron was staring. Snorting, he lowered his voice, though he still shouted his orders. ¡°To your posts and stay there. I don¡¯t want any complaints. I don¡¯t want any talk. Understand?¡±


    It was harsh. Too harsh. But they fell quiet, especially as the engine thrummed louder, and they lifted off. Arrus twitched uncomfortably beside Perelor, and Perelor didn¡¯t think it was just because of the way he¡¯d snapped at the slaves. Indeed, as his friend had said, Perelor didn¡¯t see fighters soaring beside them as they gunned the boosters and sailed toward the burning city.


    ¡°This is bad,¡± Arrus muttered. ¡°Very, very bad.¡± He craned his neck to stare out the hold window. ¡°Don¡¯t tell anyone I said that, though.¡±


    Perelor nodded. It would be even worse if the slaves were panicking. If they weren¡¯t already. ¡°Is your Surge ready?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Arrus met his eyes. ¡°I can only do so much with it, Perelor. I¡¯m worried.¡±


    ¡°Well, it¡¯ll have to be enough.¡± Perelor tried not to think about what would happen if it were not enough. He also tried to ignore Ithrey staring daggers at his back. It seemed she had not appreciated his speech, though, thankfully, she didn¡¯t seem to be starting her rebellion just yet. She was glowing with Purity, enough that it was easily visible, drawing the eyes of both the Miradoran slaves and the slaves who had been here before today. There was awe in their gazes. Perelor pulled in his own Purity, as much as he could hold. This woman would not outdo him. He would not watch men die for nothing again.


    This has nothing to do with them, a part of him whispered, and everything to do with what happened to Eliel.


    He ignored that part of him. It should not exist, for the rest of him could not face the memory of that day, no matter what he did.


    They were above the city now, fighters dueling in the air all around them. A plasma bolt missed them by only a few feet, and Perelor noticed Arrus¡¯ glow visibly diminish as it did. The Talar teen was still staring intently out the window. Perelor shivered as he thought of what would have happened had Arrus not been there.


    He¡¯ll die if they hit the ship, he realized. The thought made him sick to the stomach. The others he could live with losing, but Arrus¡­


    I should never have learned his name. Because he will die, one day.


    They all will, Perelor¡­.


    That last part was spoken in a hissing voice in his mind, and he tensed, eyes darting about. The last time he¡¯d heard a voice like that¡­ well, it had not been a day to be caught idle. He swept his eyes over the cruiser, searching for any sign of Void, finding only the usual red lights on the inside of the ship. He forced himself to relax.


    Jumping at shadows again.


    He winced as he turned back to the hold window to see a fighter whizzing past them, guns ablaze. Heat and color burst in a wave outside the ship as the carrier¡¯s shield barely absorbed the blows. Arrus¡¯ glow was almost gone, and he was sweating, his usually jovial eyes laser-focused. They widened as he pointed toward a nearby building.


    At first, Perelor had to squint to spot them, but once he did, he could not unsee them: Surgewielders, aglow with the blue light of Ever, hovering in the air in a tight formation. Their silhouettes were growing larger, and there were at least ten of them. Perhaps more; with his heart beating fast in his chest, Perelor could not summon enough concentration to count.


    ¡°Thaus,¡± he swore. ¡°Thaus, thaus, thaus.¡± It was an incredibly risky maneuver on the part of the Grahalans; no amount of Ever would save you if you were hit by a plasma cannon, and then the enemy would have the very object you¡¯d tried to use against them. However, though they had little defensive power, a well-trained Surgewielder could often weave about and bring down dozens of ships before their opponent could land a lucky shot. It was risky, ships were easier to replace than Surges, but then, it wasn¡¯t as if Grahala could win this war without risk.


    Today, it would pay off. The Surgewielders were headed straight for Perelor¡¯s carrier, and nothing Arrus or the shields could do would stop them. He tried to think of some way out, anything, but he found himself standing still, heart pounding. Remembering a day, five years ago, when he had also stood frozen in shock, watching as his sister was taken away, unable to think fast enough¡­


    Suddenly, a blazing streak of blue shot through the sky toward their enemies.


    ***


    Of course you had to get yourself into this, Arrus. Of course you did.


    Warm, humid air whipped against Ryla¡¯s face as she swung the door to the troop carrier open, then leaped outward, closing her eyes to Reach as she fell.


    The tug of weightlessness in her gut made it more difficult to focus, but after a couple of moments she found enough stillness within the wind to call on the First Power. To Reach, as other memory burners liked to call it.


    Though she used it, too, she found the term silly. It wasn¡¯t as simple as just extending your arm and grabbing something. Maybe if you were using a Surge, but not if you were truly memory burning. It was more like taking hold of a great weight and hoisting it into the air, except the strain was in your mind and not your muscles.


    That weight took hold as echoes flooded her. Not the barely audible echoes from before; she had to concentrate to hear those. No, these were far, far stronger. Men¡¯s panicked, rushed thoughts as they tried to follow orders. Flashes of their vision as they fought through clouds of smoke and hordes of enemies. Snippets of memory as they recalled events they did not even realize they were remembering, for the First Power knew even a man¡¯s subconscious. Time slowed, sped up, blurred. Where using a Surge felt like drawing water from a trickling stream, this was like blowing apart a dam and spreading your arms outward to catch it all. It was no wonder to Ryla that so many burners lost their sanity long before they mastered their powers.


    Ryla was not insane. Tired, angry, and confused. But not insane.


    Mentally pushing with all the willpower she could muster, she burned the echoes, letting them flow over her, somehow standing firm as the dam broke. As they raced through her mind, then faded into whispers, she opened her eyes, finding herself back in reality. Though it had seemed like days to her, no time had passed here, and she was still plummeting downward, the wind of her fall threatening to push her pinned-up hair out of its restraints.


    Her veins were now glowing. Light and energy spread rapidly outward from the center of her forehead, through her blood, then out into her skin, all of it happening so fast that to an outsider it appeared as she¡¯d suddenly lit ablaze with the radiance of an azure star. Were it not for special contact lenses she¡¯d placed in her eyes before the battle, even Ryla would¡¯ve been blinded by the sheer intensity of her aura.


    She pushed herself back upward, then shoved herself toward the Surgewielders, continuing to burn Ever and accelerate until she was rocketing at them like a comet. Her mind quickened, a rusty machine suddenly greased. She counted the enemies as fast as she could flick her eyes over them. Sixteen total, all glowing with the blue light of Ever. She felt their echoes, and while Connected to the First Power, she could focus on them easily. They were desperate. The entire planet was desperate, but these soldiers especially; she could tell by the way they held themselves in the air that they were untrained.


    This¡¯ll be easy, then. She felt sickening guilt wash over her. Sixteen Surges was a fortune; they¡¯d likely thrown all of them against the Talar line in hopes of buying time to further their evacuation. As she looked past the figures, Ryla could still see dots rising in the distance. Ships, holding civilians.


    Many of them would die, because of what Ryla was about to do. But then, if it weren¡¯t Ryla, it would be someone else.


    I¡¯m sorry, she thought.


    Then she attacked.


    Burning the smallest pinch of her newfound reservoir of Ever, she directed herself toward three of the Surgewielders who had clumped together in a pack. They tightened their formation as she approached ¡ª an unwise move. They should¡¯ve raced forward, rushing toward Ryla and engaging her on their terms. Instead, they allowed her to crash into them, spewing bursts of heat and flame as she struck them down; they did not defend themselves properly, and no amount of Ever could heal their wounds. Ryla felt their rushed, almost incoherent thoughts as they died. With her perception quickened, it seemed to take an eternity for them to fall, their auras fading as the Ever they had wielded puffed away. She saw their frightened eyes, their burned chests and faces, and for just a moment, she let herself feel ashamed.


    I¡¯m sorry. At least she had killed them quickly. It was the only mercy she could grant.


    Her uncle would¡¯ve despised this. He¡¯d always insisted war was never necessary. He would¡¯ve been shocked to learn that his niece had entered the war at all.


    But, he¡¯d been wrong, and Kairus was wrong with him. The luxury of refusing to fight was just that: a luxury. Like all pacifists, he now lay in an early grave. She shivered as she realized that, when she learned Void, she might hear his voice, screaming in Torment. The other Voidmages always said they heard those shrieks.


    She burned Ever to turn herself upright, hovering in the air. She drew her blade from her belt, a simple, steel blade, no ornamentation, no Surge. A traditional Talar sword. Almost immediately, bolts of flame and plasma soared toward her, along with two of the other Surgewielders, their own blades bared. Instinct taking over, she let the nerve-wracking thrill of battle consume her, her expanded mind drifting involuntarily toward the decision she faced.


    How far am I willing to go to get out of this? How far can I go to end this war, while still keeping my humanity?


    Metal clanged as she parried a swinging sword from a nearby Surgewielder, a tan-skinned woman with long, blue-dyed hair. She saw light in her peripheral, and only by reflex twisted away from a bolt of plasma that whizzed past her and almost hit the blue-haired woman.


    Even if I have to use Void, I probably won¡¯t become Mother. Larsh says there is some level of self-control to it. Heavens, Larsh manages it better than Mother seems to.


    And yet, she couldn¡¯t get the image of Nythla¡¯s crimson eyes, staring at her as she prepared to lash out again¡­


    She batted aside another attack from the second Surgewielder, then burned Ever to flip in the air and kick a third man who had flown in for a melee strike. He grunted as he was knocked back, then groaned as Ryla sent a bolt of plasma into his neck. Green mist poured from his mouth as his glow faded, and he fell, eyes wide. For a moment, the shame returned.


    Could she really stop herself, when tempted by the will of a dark god?


    Unable to answer her own question, she continued to fight, swooping between enemies, her legs pulled in tight, only lashing out with her arms to cut down one of her opponents. It wasn¡¯t an easy contest, but it wasn¡¯t hard, either. In a sickening way, that was perfect for today. It required just enough of her that she could release her pent-up tension, while still using her quickened mind to ponder her new course of action.


    Insanity, or working with someone insane. A terrible choice. Yet, when had she ever had the choices she wished for?


    She ran another Surgewielder through the chest, then ripped it free and let the body fall. These men could¡¯ve overwhelmed her if they were more skilled; she suspected few of these soldiers had used their Surges for more than a week. A memory burner, according to Larsh, was worth about four and a half average Surges in raw power. Ryla wasn¡¯t sure exactly how Larsh had calculated that, but she acted as if she¡¯d gotten a precise number, and it seemed about right.


    It was something the Talar leader always cited to them, reminding them just how much they were worth to her. Just how easily they could be replaced, if she wanted them gone.


    But I can¡¯t let myself be replaced. I¡¯m the only one willing to end this war.


    Larsh. It always came back to Larsh. Every time Ryla tried to break free of that string, it only lashed around her tighter. She¡¯d tried to avoid going to war at first, and Larsh had talked her into it. She¡¯d tried to avoid learning under Cyrla, and Larsh had forced her to anyway. She¡¯d tried to use her pay to free Arrus, and Larsh had forbidden her. She¡¯d approached dozens of assassins, and they¡¯d all told her it couldn¡¯t be done. Her own plans to overthrow the warlord didn¡¯t amount to much.


    Endowed, she hated that woman. Growling, she let her hatred out on the Surgewielders, downing two more with bursts of fiery plasma. Shame blossomed yet again as they plummeted.


    Thaus, I can¡¯t even control myself without Void.


    Larsh, and Void. She had to get free of both, somehow. Running away wouldn¡¯t work; she knew too much, Larsh had flatly threatened to kill her if she even tried. Ryla couldn¡¯t beat Larsh in a duel, even with surprise, and the assassins she had hired were all dead now.


    Cyrla and I¡¯s offer is still on the table.


    Two terrible choices. Which was worse?


    Her brother¡¯s face flashed in her mind, a vision of him lying dead on a battlefield. She shivered, then steeled herself, focusing and finishing the last of the Surgewielders off; now that enough of them had fallen, they fell to her as easily as infantrymen would to them. A blast of plasma there, a careful sword stroke here, and soon they were all dropping to the city floor below. She did not bother to recover the Surges. The infantry would see to that, and she had Arrus to protect.


    Her foes defeated, she hovered alone in the air for too long, considering, adrenaline still pounding through her veins, Ever still sharpening her mind. None of it helped. This decision was not something that could be simply puzzled out, nor was it one that should be made on impulse, no matter how much she wanted to lash out right now.


    She would talk to Cyrla, she finally decided. Just talk to her. The final choice could wait.


    If only because she wished she didn¡¯t have to choose at all.


    ***


    Perelor had to shield his eyes as the flying girl¡¯s figure grew suddenly brighter, a meteor ripping through the air toward the Surgewielders. Two of them fell immediately, bolts of fiery white plasma tearing into their chests before they could react. The memory burner ¡ª for it could not be a mere Surgewielder, not with that glow ¡ª twisted in the air, then wove through the Surgewielders as they moved to attack her, spinning to and fro with uncanny grace. Whoever this was, they were as skilled as Crelang had been. Perhaps more. Two of the Grahalan Surgewielders shot glances toward the carrier, but as more of their peers fell, they, too, swooped down to join the fight against their new opponent.


    Arrus relaxed as the ship veered away from the Surgewielders, though his eyes still followed the Talar memory burner intently. Perelor let out a relieved breath, though his chest quickly corded back into a knot as he felt the ship descend.


    We got lucky. That doesn¡¯t mean we¡¯ll get lucky again. He knew it was just superstition, but he wondered if Vertras, God of Fate, would ensure something particularly bad happened on the ground, as payment for interfering here.


    He turned to Arrus. ¡°What¡¯s our objective?¡± It didn¡¯t matter, really, they were only here to die, but perhaps it would calm his nerves if he knew.


    ¡°They didn¡¯t say,¡± Arrus replied, voice deathly quiet. ¡°The orders just said to ¡®fight until we tell you to hold¡¯.¡± He met Perelor¡¯s eyes, his own eyes wide, and suddenly Perelor remembered that, for all his bravado, Arrus was only seventeen. ¡°What¡¯s going on, Perelor?¡±


    Perelor hesitated, debating lying, then spoke. ¡°Cyrla¡¯s trying to kill us. Ithrey, specifically, but we¡¯re collateral damage.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know anything?¡± Arrus pressed.


    ¡°Not enough, at least. Just be careful, and keep that Surge of yours charged.¡± Okron, please don¡¯t let me lose Arrus.


    As if the universe had heard his plea and thought to taunt him, the ship immediately descended onto the ground below a city hoverlane, grinding against the asphalt as the engine slowly cut out. Arrus¡¯ pocket buzzed, and as he stared at it, his face turned white.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Perelor asked. He had to ask, even if he did not want to know.


    ¡°It¡¯s a timer,¡± Arrus whispered. ¡°An hour, Perelor. A full hour.¡±


    Perelor felt the blood drain from his cheeks. ¡°What?¡±


    Arrus closed his eyes, his face taut with concern. ¡°Do what you can,¡± he muttered to himself. ¡°Let the Endowed handle the rest.¡± It was a Talar prayer, and Perelor ignored it.


    ¡°An hour? Are you sure you read it right?¡±


    Arrus only responded by handing him the holoscreen. Sure enough, the only thing it displayed was a not-yet-started timer. The softly glowing one trailed by two zeroes was the most haunting thing Perelor had seen in days.


    An hour. Most battles lasted fifteen minutes; there would be no survivors to speak of otherwise. An hour. These men would all be dead within that time, he realized.


    Even Arrus.


    ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°No.¡± He extended his lasertip, gripping it furiously as he stepped to the hold doors, which hissed, preparing to open. He would not let his friend die. Not like this. The Talar might not have valor, but he did. He would save him. He¡­.


    The door snapped open, revealing a half dozen Grahalan troops, rifles already aimed at the carrier hold, and Perelor¡¯s courage melted like wax held up to a thruster.

 Chapter 21 - Voidling Attack

    They say I am a gift to mankind, their savior.


    Yet, if I am their savior, their gift, who is it that can save me?


    -Nythla Magalas, circa 1,700 Post Fall of Meridian


    Cyrla swallowed as the Voidling raked its rotten, skeletal hand across her neck. She had been assured it would not harm her, a promise made by Oblivion¡¯s own voice. Words still felt hollow, when staring into the eyes of a thing from legend.


    The creature was fully formed right now ¡ª at least as fully formed as this one could be ¡ª but she knew that, if it decided to, it could break itself into a swirling cloud of atoms, held together by glowing black strands of Corruption, able to be destroyed only by someone wielding the Powers. Voidlings were dangerous things. Beasts created by Oblivion himself, using the departed souls of his most devoted servants. Cyrla might end up as one of them, someday.


    It was at least two heads taller than her, and it towered nearly to the ceiling of the makeshift tent they stood in. Its eyes were two glowing red Void Surges, the rest of its body a dull black-and-grey, like oily tar. Its limbs were the appendages of a man starved, though Cyrla knew full well that Voidlings¡¯ muscles were as strong as atom burners¡¯. Stronger, sometimes.


    According to the songs and stories, Voidlings were all locked on Morghol, slain during the Imperial Age and bound with the Avatar of Oblivion where they could not reincarnate. Before, the songs had been correct.


    But fourteen years ago, Torvik Valeo had found and defeated one of the Formless seals on Oblivion¡¯s prison. And now, though they were rare and secretive, Voidlings walked the planets once more. Cyrla was one of the very, very few who knew that.


    Still, she had not expected to see one in person, not now. It made her nervous, even though she knew it shouldn¡¯t.


    The Voidling¡¯s fingers ¡ª which burned like a hot iron as they touched her, though they left no visible mark ¡ª finally lifted off her neck. You have potential, it hissed. Its voice was harsh and metallic. It echoed not through the air but directly into Cyrla¡¯s soul; no one but her could hear it unless the Voidling willed it otherwise. Oblivion was wise to choose you.


    The tone made Cyrla shiver, though a part of her beamed inside. Recognition. Finally.


    She straightened, forcing down her disgust. The creature was here to assist her; she had nothing to fear and everything to gain. ¡°I am glad you arrived without trouble. I need you to¡­¡±


    The Voidling chuckled, a sound like metal screeching against thick glass. ¡°I know why I am here. I will attack Krot, as you have been told, and drive him further toward breaking. And neither he nor Valeo will die, just as Oblivion commands.¡±


    Cyrla swallowed, though her fists tightened at the mention of Valeo. Here she¡¯d thought she could finally dispose of the woman, and Oblivion himself ordered her to spare her? The girl and her cursed brother had almost prevented Torvik from breaking that seal in the first place. And why send Krot to kill her at all, if Cyrla wasn¡¯t to finish where he had failed?


    There were layers here. Oblivion claimed he wanted Krot as a servant ¡ª something he had not told her before today, but she had suspected for a long time. Yet still, why spare Valeo? Yes, there were layers. Plans Cyrla could not pretend to understand.


    But God understands. You will have your victory; give it time. She let herself relax.


    ¡°Good,¡± she said, realizing the Voidling had been staring at her as she thought. ¡°You should go then. There is no reason to wait, I think. I¡­ look forward to seeing the results.¡± I¡¯ll just have to wait to find out what Oblivion is planning.


    The Voidling hissed. You do not give me orders. He has not given you that power, not yet. But it left anyway, dissolving into black mist that shrieked out of the tent and toward the waiting city.


    Cyrla did not watch it go, instead turning to face the metal-plate wall of the tent, tapping her foot impatiently against the tightly packed soil of the Grahalan surface.


    Layers. There were always layers to these things. Plans underneath plans. In time, the truth would become clear.


    Sometimes she just wished time would pass a little faster.


    ***


    Arrus threw his hand forward, burning Ever and summoning a shield as fast as he could ¡ª but it was not fast enough. A man to Perelor¡¯s side yelped as plasma slammed into his thigh, doubling over in pain. Another bolt struck Perelor in the chest, and he gagged as blood rose in his throat. As always, the wound quickly healed, his body shifting back to its original shape.


    No one else was hurt, as far as he could tell. Somehow, no one else died. He still froze, panic temporarily overtaking him, gunfire rattling steadily against Arrus¡¯ shield.


    If he didn¡¯t have that Surge, they¡¯d all be gone already. He¡¯ll eventually run out of charge.


    Torment, they¡¯re going to kill us all¡­


    He shook. Then, Ithrey yelled out a command.


    ¡°Forward!¡±


    The shout ripped him from his stupor. Fool. You¡¯ve done this before. ¡°Forward!¡± he cried. Hopefully, if he too gave the order, it wouldn¡¯t look like he was obeying the woman. So much for no mutiny.


    The Miradorans in front executed the command with expert skill, stepping forward so they were just next to Arrus¡¯ plasma shield, then shoving the tip ¡ª and only the tip ¡ª of their lasertips through the blue dome of energy, allowing them to fire back at the riflemen, while still maintaining their own protection. A classic, and simple, formation, but effective. In seconds, the Grahalans lay dead on the pavement, and without another casualty on the slaves¡¯ side. Perelor paused, for a moment more impressed than he was angry.


    That was surprisingly easy. I wonder if I could train the other slaves to do that¡­


    The moment passed as Ithrey shouted out another order. ¡°File out! Arrus, shift your shield into a dome surrounding the entire squad. Everyone, stay inside that shield. Always.¡±


    It was smart. Too smart. The Talar would punish them for using such a tactic; it ruined the footage. It wasn¡¯t against the Codes to be clever, but they would punish the slaves anyway. He knew it, for he¡¯d tried it before.


    But he could think of no rebuttal, no other way out, and as hastily as the men obeyed Ithrey¡¯s orders, he doubted he could¡¯ve stopped them from following her. Other Grahalans fired at them as they formed up, but Ithrey¡¯s Miradorans responded with icy, trained calm. They filed out so that they each stood behind a portion of Arrus¡¯ curved shield, then stuck out their lasertips and fired precise blasts to fell any Grahalans who harassed them. Ithrey stood at the center of that formation, as did the other slaves, who actually seemed to relax. One of them, per another of Ithrey¡¯s orders, was propping up the man who had been hit in the leg. Standing beside Arrus, Perelor could faintly hear the slaves¡¯ echoes. Could hear the words of their hopeful thoughts.


    Thaus. Thaus thaus thaus. The shield wouldn¡¯t last an hour, he realized. It couldn¡¯t; Arrus didn¡¯t have a strong enough Surge. Instinctively, he pulled in more Purity. He didn¡¯t need it, but he had developed a habit of summoning more whenever he was nervous.


    He turned, shooting a glare at Ithrey. Ithrey met him with her own defiant stare, but turned away before he did, calmly ordering a pair of gold-and-white-clad women to defend Arrus. The women hesitated, glancing toward Perelor. Growling, Perelor stalked toward Ithrey.


    ¡°I thought you said I was in command.¡±


    Ithrey raised a bemused eyebrow. ¡°That almost sounds like you¡¯re asking me permission, Captain.¡±


    Perelor sniffed. ¡°You know what I mean, woman. I won¡¯t have a mutiny midway through a battle.¡±


    ¡°And you won¡¯t,¡± Ithrey said, waving a dismissive hand. ¡°If you think what I¡¯m doing is wrong, you can contradict it; I have no interest in infighting, either. But tell me, Captain, how well do you know these men? For that matter, how well do you know tactics? Your men certainly seem confused by my orders.¡±


    Perelor hesitated. She set up a good formation, he noted. Maybe it will buy us some time. She seems to know what she¡¯s doing.


    And no one is dying¡­


    Could this change things? He¡¯d never thought to try formations with his slaves; they didn¡¯t last long enough to train them. Yet maybe, if he could get around that problem, he could save them¡­


    If she tries to escape, though, it all goes to ruin, he reminded himself. She¡¯s a Seeker of the Light. She has her own motives.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want a mutiny,¡± he repeated finally.


    ¡°You keep saying that,¡± Ithrey said, exasperation finally seeming to enter her voice. ¡°Yet so far I have done nothing of the sort. We both want to survive. I ask you to trust me.¡±


    He paused again, the crackle of plasma against the shield loud in his ears. He certainly couldn¡¯t trust the woman; he knew that much. But if he protested now, the squad would split. That would only cause chaos, and get his men killed ¡ª the very thing he was afraid a mutiny would do.


    No, he couldn¡¯t confront her now, not if he cared about keeping people alive, and not while Ithrey¡¯s strategies were working. No matter how nervous the idea of escape made him.


    He swallowed. ¡°Fine.¡± He nodded to the two Artensian slaves, who had been watching their conversation with wide eyes. ¡°Go guard Arrus. Her orders were good.¡±


    The slightest trace of a grin crossed Ithrey¡¯s face as the slaves walked away. ¡°So. You can be reasoned with.¡±


    Perelor ignored the comment. ¡°Arrus can¡¯t hold the shield for an entire hour. And that¡¯s if the Talar don¡¯t tire of this before then.¡±


    Ithrey¡¯s eyes twinkled. ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯ll be an issue, Captain. I took the liberty of cutting the ship¡¯s antenna, you see.¡±


    Perelor paled. ¡°You what?¡±


    ¡°I cut the antenna,¡± Ithrey said, shaking her head. ¡°You need to get your ears checked, Captain. With all the plasma, you can¡¯t seem to hear a word I say.¡±


    ¡°Do you know how upset they¡¯ll be if they find out?¡± Perelor hissed.


    ¡°I don¡¯t. But I suspect I have a good enough idea of what will happen.¡± She met his eyes, the grin fading to pursed lips. ¡°This will not be the first time I defy the Talar. I will not cause mayhem while we are on a battlefield, but things will change here, Captain. That I can assure you.¡±


    He opened his mouth to reply, but the ice in her stare forced his lips to close. He swept his eyes back over the battlefield. Gunfire still rang out all around them, but it was eerily still on this street; the few Grahalans who had still tried to oppose them after Ithrey had set up her formation had either fallen or fled. The shield¡¯s brightness had reduced visibly; Arrus must be trying to conserve his Ever while there were no enemies in sight.


    ¡°The shield,¡± he said finally. ¡°It¡¯ll break. And they might send melee fighters towards us. They won¡¯t let a pack of Talar sit in the middle of a street forever.¡±


    ¡°We shouldn¡¯t need forever,¡± Ithrey noted. ¡°Just an hour. But you are right.¡± She glanced out at the street, then pointed toward a nearby set of shops. ¡°We should take cover, in there. The Talar cannot give us orders, so they cannot protest if we do not move forward, yes?¡±


    Perelor honestly wasn¡¯t sure how well the Talar would respond to that logic, but he could see from Ithrey¡¯s expression that there would be no talking her out of it. He nodded. ¡°Good enough I guess.¡± He turned to shout the orders, then froze, then cursed as he saw something approaching on the street.


    ¡°Scatter!¡±


    It was too late. A bolt of plasma rushed down the empty hoverlanes, then, blazing as bright as the sun in the sky, it slammed into Arrus¡¯ Ever shield. The blue dome folded like powder to a sledgehammer. A wave of heat rushed over Perelor, and he yelped as he was thrown backward, skidding against the pavement. Blessedly, he maintained enough presence of mind to keep hold of his lasertip.


    He lay dazed, for just an instant, before he swore and rose to his feet, twisting his lasertip up toward the source of the bolt and firing rapidly. The smoke around him cleared as he shot, and he could see clearly what had happened. A pack of Grahalan soldiers had set up a massive shield buster cannon ¡ª usually reserved for tanks ¡ª on top of a nearby building. Perelor¡¯s attacks caught the cannon¡¯s operator in the head, and two more of the Grahalans fell before they had the sense to retreat. A last shot down the barrel of the enemy weapon struck its power cells, and it blew apart violently. Perelor averted his eyes as the explosion flashed, and wished he could shut his ears to the thunderous roar as ash fell from the sky. He felt a brief spike of relief as the sound faded, then felt panic stab his stomach as he looked back downward.


    Most of the slaves had only been thrown to the ground, and the Miradoran soldiers had risen as quickly as Perelor had. Most of them. The ones in the front had taken the brunt of the blow, and they were burned. Badly. Perelor would not have recognized Arrus¡¯ face were it not for the ripped Talar robes on him. He reached out to Perelor with skeletal hands, eyes wide, mouth too burned to move.


    Screaming, Perelor ran and knelt beside his friend, hoisting him into his arms. Desperately, he ripped off a part of his uniform. A tourniquet. He needed a tourniquet. That could save Arrus. It had to¡­Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    His hands fell limp as he felt his friend trembling in his arms. He wasn¡¯t bleeding, just burned. A tourniquet would do no good. There wasn¡¯t a medicine on the planet that would do any good.


    There was only one thing that could save him.


    Perelor hesitated, heart pounding, his own body trembling as violently as Arrus¡¯. He had to heal the boy. He couldn¡¯t lose him. Ithrey had shot the antenna, so there would be no footage to incriminate him.


    Except, if they found out, they¡¯d slit his throat. And the others¡¯ throats. It was akin to escape to them.


    Escape. That was what Ithrey wanted.


    Flames.


    Blood.


    Screams.


    Rubble.


    And that blade, calling to him as he twisted it toward his chest¡­.


    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± he croaked. ¡°I can¡¯t. I¡­¡±


    A hand pressed against Arrus¡¯ head. White light flowed from it, lighting Arrus¡¯ veins ablaze, twisting toward his neck. As it struck his neck, it bounded back outward, spreading into his skin, the burns melting away like stains before water. Arrus gasped as his cracked lips healed, his eyes nearly popping out of his skull. He shook for a moment longer, and then he relaxed, his breathing steadying. Blinking, he hoisted himself from Perelor¡¯s arms.


    Perelor¡¯s eyes snapped up to see Ithrey standing above them. She frowned at him, but when she spoke, it was not of his failure to heal Arrus.


    ¡°I was able to heal the critical wounds.¡± She cringed. ¡°Two of us died in the blast, but I don¡¯t think I could¡¯ve stopped that.¡± She turned to Arrus. ¡°Can you get that shield back up?¡±


    Arrus nodded, scrambling to find his Surgeblade, which had been thrown a few yards away. One of the Miradorans had his hand on the blade, though he handed the weapon to Arrus as the boy approached.


    Holding a Surge. Healing with a Surge. Treason. If those cameras did record, they¡¯re both dead.


    If I can¡¯t keep this secret safe, Arrus dies.


    He rose to his feet, anger slowly replacing the fear. Anger at Ithrey, for waltzing in and causing this mess. Anger at the Talar, for being the Voidlings they were.


    Anger at himself, for not knowing how to handle this.


    His thoughts were interrupted as Arrus burst aglow with Ever ¡ª less of it, this time, he noticed ¡ª and put the shield back up. Ithrey shouted, and the slaves, following Arrus, marched toward the shops she had motioned toward earlier. They didn¡¯t even glance at Perelor this time.


    It¡¯s all falling apart¡­


    Cursing, he turned and strode forward to find Ithrey. She had to know that what she¡¯d just done was illegal. She had to know what would happen if she were fool enough to try this escape. He would not lose Arrus.


    Is that what this is about? his father said in his mind. Or is it about your own fear?


    He swore at the voice, pushing it back. Echoes swirled in his mind, more than he¡¯d sensed in a long time, and he stumbled over one of the two fallen slaves as he tried to make his way to Ithrey. He could see Grahalan soldiers gathering farther down the street. The explosion must have attracted them. It was hard to make out their numbers from so far away, but there had to be several dozen.


    It¡¯s been what? Five minutes? And they might make us stay longer if they learn what Ithrey did. Torment, we¡¯re doomed¡­


    He found himself at the door to one of the shops, and, still fighting through the haze of echoes and thought, he clumsily pushed it open. He was the last one inside, and a Miradoran soldier slammed it behind him, then stepped back, two other Miradorans falling into line beside him, aiming their lasertips at the entryway. Other Miradorans lay crouched beside each window, ready to skewer anyone who tried to bust their way through.


    ¡°Hold position!¡± Ithrey yelled. She knelt behind the ragtag line of men, placing a comforting hand on a nearby slave, a girl who was shaking. One of the Artensians, whom they¡¯d sent to guard Arrus earlier. She had been healed, but the rips in her charred uniform told Perelor she¡¯d been near Arrus when the explosion had hit. He notably didn¡¯t see the other Artensian beside her.


    ¡°I don¡¯t intend to lose any more of us this battle.¡± Ithrey¡¯s voice rang out through the entire building, echoing almost unnaturally loudly, though she couldn¡¯t have any Ever to amplify it. ¡°If I get my way, I don¡¯t intend to lose a single man ever again. Things will change here.¡±


    The speech was met with silence, though Perelor did not think it was the silence of disagreement. Simply the silence of men who did not believe it was possible.


    Because it¡¯s not. She¡¯s just going to get them all killed faster. Escape never works. Never¡­


    He moved toward Ithrey, opening his mouth to protest. Yet, as he did, other words rang through the cavern, in a harsh, metallic voice that was not Perelor¡¯s own.


    Valeo. Daughter of Torvik. Traitor.


    Ithrey¡¯s eyes widened, and she immediately stumbled backward. ¡°Scatter! Scatter, now!¡±


    Perelor¡¯s mouth snapped closed, and he, too, stumbled back. That had sounded almost like¡­ but no, it couldn¡¯t be. Strangely, the other slaves only blinked in confusion as Ithrey shouted, only a few rising to move toward the door.


    I¡¯ve lost it. It¡¯s too much, and I¡¯ve snapped.


    As if the universe felt to declare him wrong, black mist suddenly poured into the room. Perelor¡¯s eyes, too, widened, though he did not shout. Only a single, quiet word escaped his lips.


    ¡°Voidling.¡±


    Before he could react any further, the black mist coalesced into a tendril in front of him, which then snapped forward, slamming into his stomach. He wheezed as the air was forced from his lungs, and he flew back, ribs snapping, then popping back into place, then snapping from the other side as he crashed into a cement wall.


    He winced, cursed, then stepped forward, chest mending again as he hobbled, then ran toward the exit, throwing it open. More mist poured in through the windows, and screams and shouts rang out as tendrils lashed out at random, with ferocious speed that threw and killed every victim they touched. An elderly Darian man struck the ceiling, falling limp as his spine snapped. The Artensian girl was thrown all the way to the shop¡¯s back, soaring over tables Perelor hadn¡¯t even noticed and crashing headfirst into a metal oven. Two Miradorans rammed into the wall just beside Perelor, sliding to the floor in crumpled heaps as they fell unconscious. At least, Perelor hoped they were unconscious.


    Growling, he aimed his lasertip and shot, but the tendrils were too small to hit. His shot flew past its target, nearly slamming into Arrus, then sizzling into the wall. In an odd twist of fortune, though, that seemed to snap Arrus to his senses. Shouting a war cry Perelor did not recognize, he let Ever run into his veins, then lashed out with a burst of heavenly power, burning most of the tendrils away. The flying bodies stopped.


    Yet the black mist did not stop pouring through the window, and now, it twisted toward Ithrey, forming into the shape of a person, skeletal black arms stretching toward her neck, two red Surges blazing out from a featureless face.


    Ithrey, to Perelor¡¯s surprise, seemed to know how to fight the creature. She did not sweep her lasertip toward it ¡ª Voidlings were made of mist, and only became solid when they wanted to, so slashing them with a blade did no good. Instead, she moved her Purity into her hand, then stretched her blazing fist into the mist.


    The Voidling screeched, its incorporeal body sizzling as Ithrey¡¯s glow faded, the Purity destroying whatever energy it was that powered the demon. It drifted backward, legs not yet formed, and Ithrey attacked with her lasertip, firing rapidly toward the mist. The plasma, like Arrus¡¯ earlier blast, made contact, and though it did not do as much as damage as the Purity had, the cloud of midnight gas still visibly diminished.


    ¡°Run!¡± Perelor yelled, throwing the door open even farther, then forcing courage into his veins and striding into the room. The slaves were still dazed, even the ones who had been soldiers had likely never faced one of these. Perelor himself had only fought a Voidling once, and that had been over a decade ago. It was mostly luck that had saved him that time. He had only the few bits of knowledge Crelang had randomly sprinkled into their memory burning training sessions. One thing he remembered though: you didn¡¯t fight a Voidling in close quarters. And you certainly didn¡¯t fight it if you didn¡¯t have a Surge. They were legends, Animated beasts from Torment that mankind had not fought for twelve centuries. Every one of them was supposed to be sealed up with the Crimson Blade, trapped on Morghol until the coming of the Endowed. He did not know how this creature had escaped its prison.


    He suspected why it was here, though. How does Cyrla have access to one of these? It had to be hers, but he didn¡¯t have time to think further, for as he shouted again for the slaves to run, the Voidling surged back toward Ithrey. She threw her hand forward again, but this time, the Voidling was not surprised, and it had access to far more power than a single Surge could handle. It snatched her by the neck, then threw her to the floor, hard enough Perelor could hear the crunch of her chest even over the din of battle. She gasped, and rolled, her remaining Purity healing her, but the Voidling formed an oily black leg, pinning her to the ground.


    Time stood still. The doorway was behind him, the Voidling in front. This creature had the power to kill even him, but if he ran, he could still make it out.


    Can you really do that, son?


    Would Eliel really forgive you if she knew you¡¯d left?


    ¡°For Honor!¡± he shouted. An Ethean war cry, one his father had hated, but one familiar to Perelor after training so long with Yaenke. Strange, he¡¯d almost forgotten about that. Old memories filled his mind, and he almost didn¡¯t notice his feet pounding against the tile floor until he leaped, soaring through the air and onto the Voidling¡¯s half-formed back.


    The creature¡¯s body was only partially solid, and it burst apart as Perelor hit, as if he were diving into a pool rather than jumping atop someone. Mist covered his vision, and he swatted it with his free hand, letting the Purity in his skin burn it away, though retaining enough of it he could heal himself. With his other hand he swung his lasertip, trying to find the two eye-like Void Surges within the chaos.


    That¡¯s the best way to take down a Voidling, Crelang had said. Go for the mist, and they¡¯ll always have just a little left over you didn¡¯t catch, and they¡¯ll come back. Hit both of the Surges, though, and they¡¯re dead. The Surges power their reincarnation.


    But this creature was smart. Just as he found the Void Surges, they pulled back, just out of his Reach, and he stumbled and cursed as his swing hit nothing. The wild attack threw him off balance. A second later, a midnight-colored tendril ¡ª thinner and smaller than the first, but still solid as metal ¡ª struck him on his left, sending him spinning across a nearby table.


    His vision swam, but in his peripheral he could see Arrus, firing bolts of plasma at the mist, and guarding the door as slaves ¡ª finally coming to their senses ¡ª scrambled back into the streets.


    There¡¯s Grahalans out there, Perelor realized. They¡¯ll die if they leave¡­


    But then, they would die anyway. Besides, he had the Voidling to deal with.


    His limbs ached as he stood up on the table, then yelped as another tendril swept them back out from under him. A third struck him in the chest, and he careened through the air again, farther this time, crashing through the glass of a window.


    Shards dug into his skin, opening gashes across every part of him. He felt each heartbeat as he tumbled onto the ground, felt the pulse of blood squeezing its way out of him. Desperately, he Reached for more Purity, healing the wounds as fast as he could. His legs had broken from the impact, and he had to wait as they knit themselves back together. It couldn¡¯t have taken longer than a couple of seconds, but it seemed an eternity.


    I can¡¯t do this.


    A heartbeat. Blood flowing down him.


    Too much is changing. It¡¯s all falling apart. Like¡­ like when Ethea fell.


    A heartbeat. More blood.


    Is there no mercy? Must I suffer again?


    Another heartbeat. No blood this time. His leg wound finished sealing. He stumbled to his feet just as Arrus flew out the door, punched in the gut by another tendril. Ithrey tumbled through another window a second later, rolling almost to the other side of the wide street before stopping. Her Purity was almost spent; Perelor could barely see her glow. His own Surge was dangerously low.


    No mercy. This is how it ends, isn¡¯t it? One last humiliation, before Torment¡­


    Black mist poured through the windows, forming into a body again. Perelor was the only Surgewielder still standing, and the Voidling¡¯s red eyes fixed on him.


    Perelor Krot. Cyrla warned me of you. It seems her warning was exaggerated.


    Trembling, and too tired, too beaten to reply, Perelor lowered his lasertip toward it, then cursed, realizing the weapon would do no good.


    There was only one thing that could¡­


    He hesitated, as he always did before Reaching, ever since his sister had been taken from him. Then, as the Voidling¡¯s fingers swatted his lasertip away and clasped his throat, he closed his eyes, and attempted, for the first time in years, to connect to the Everrealm.


    Immediately, the memories came. Mud and dirt spraying into the air. Crelang, summoning a shield to block the strikes from above as they ran toward the launchpad. Him, desperately swinging his sword to fight back the thousand snakes of Void extending from Larsh¡¯s hands.


    Eliel, her eyes wide, a lasertip held to her face as she was¡­ as she was¡­


    As she was torn from him.


    Flames.


    Blood.


    Screams.


    Rubble.


    And the blade he wished he could use to kill himself¡­


    ¡°No,¡± he gasped. The words didn¡¯t come out, with the fingers around his neck, but he tried anyway. ¡°No. That didn¡¯t happen. No!¡±


    His eyes flashed open. His powers failed. The Voidling crushed his neck, then released it. Desperately, Perelor healed it. The Voidling crushed it again. Again Perelor healed it. Again the Voidling crushed it. He was almost out of Purity¡­


    A fireball of blue crashed into the creature. Perelor saw only azure as he tumbled back to the ground, his neck healing one last time ¡ª and consuming the very last of his Purity. He heard an intense sizzle, a roar of flames, and then a shrill, metallic shriek.


    ¡°Get away!¡± someone yelled behind him. ¡°And tell your master I¡¯m coming for them.¡±


    His vision slowly cleared, the blue light still consuming most of it, but he could make out more details now. Coughing, he rose to his knees. His legs were too tired to do anything more.


    In front of him stood a young woman, probably in her late teens, wearing the crisp violet uniform of a Shalarhai noble. Her short hair was neatly tied back into a bun, and she gripped a long, titanium blade in her hand. Not a Surgeblade, but beautiful regardless.


    She was a memory burner. There was no other explanation for it; no Surge could produce the intensity of that glorious blue glow. There was no Voidling behind her, though one of the Void Surges lay on the ground near her ¡ª one, not two, Perelor noted. The Voidling might be crippled, but it wasn¡¯t dead. She inspected Perelor with angry eyes, gave him a curt nod, then walked toward Arrus.


    His breathing heavy, Perelor spared a glance for Arrus ¡ª and let his muscles relax a little when he saw the man was still alive. One of his arms was broken, but maybe Ithrey could heal that. She shouldn¡¯t, with a memory burner around, but she would anyway.


    Ithrey. He felt bile rise in his throat. He should never have spared that woman. She had caused all of this. It was irrational, and he knew it, but he believed it.


    He turned to find her wandering toward him, and he shouted as she approached.


    ¡°Stay away from me!¡±


    She stopped, dazed, face glazed over with shock. ¡°I¡­¡±


    ¡°Stay. Away.¡±


    She stepped back, raising her hands in surrender. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ sorry? What are you so¡­¡±


    ¡°I am commander of this squad,¡± Perelor snapped, rising to his feet. ¡°I give the orders. I protect them, not you. I don¡¯t need you meddling. I don¡¯t want your agenda getting in the way. And I certainly don¡¯t want you to get more of us killed! Do you understand?¡±


    She only blinked, stepping back further, her eyes wide. Perelor felt the anger seep away; there had only been enough of it to last a moment. Aching weariness replaced it, and he felt tears roll down his face.


    It had been too much. The changes, the Voidling, the Reaching. The Reaching especially. He hated that reminder of how he couldn¡¯t use Ever anymore ¡ª Ever, the thing that had given him the power to help the people he loved. Ever, the one joy he thought he¡¯d always have.


    He¡¯d thought he¡¯d always have his sister, too. He¡¯d been wrong. Whipping away from Ithrey, struggling to restrain it all, he ran, ducking around a corner until they couldn¡¯t see him, screaming for them not to follow, until, finally, he slumped against the wall of a building, tears flowing freely as gunfire rang out all around.

 Chapter 22 - Alaran

    I told them I saw myself standing over Oblivion¡¯s corpse. I spoke of a green horizon, blazing to life and turning Torment to paradise.


    I lied. All I see is a throne of pure fire, and me, kneeling before it. I cannot decide if my lies are a mercy, or yet another sign of my coming failure.


    -Tyrel Devaroth, circa 2,300 Post Fall of Meridian


    Xanala awoke, but her mind didn¡¯t. That was the only way she could explain it. A fog rested over her thoughts, though even that was not a perfect analogy; it was not merely blocking the flow of her mind, it was actively strangling it, as if a soul burner had infused the spirits of the dead into the fog, and now the air lashed against her neck, trying to snap it. Impulses rang like drums in the night, coming from all directions, never strong enough to actually make her move, but enough to keep her distracted.


    The chaos of it all was so intense it took her almost an hour after awakening to realize that she was inside a metal room, strapped down to a chair. Slowly, she gained control of her eyes, forcing them to sweep around the room rather than fix on the blue lightbulb above her.


    The room was empty. A door waited behind her, made of thick metal and sealed from the inside. Other than that, there was nothing but her, the chairs, and clean white walls.


    I¡¯m in Raerok, she realized. After all that, they captured me anyway.


    I gave myself to Oblivion, and he lied.


    She screamed, or at least tried to. Through the mental haze, it came out as more of a grunt. Then, closing her eyes and steeling herself, she Reached for Ever.


    She found nothing.


    Panic rose in her chest. She pushed harder, but still there was just¡­ nothing.


    Except¡­


    A voice, muffled and distant. She couldn¡¯t tell what it was saying, but she recognized the timbre of it.


    Oblivion was still in her mind.


    Shivering, she Reached for Purity. Again, nothing. She hesitated. Then, shaking, she Reached for Void.


    A sliver of something, this time. The voice, growing louder, though it was still barely more than a whisper.


    He will lie to you, Xanala. He wants you for your powers, to help him fulfill his foolish little prophecy. Give yourself to me again, and you will have freedom.


    He will lie¡­


    The voice stopped abruptly as the door to Xanala¡¯s cell snapped open. A moment later, a man stepped inside. He wore a red suit with silver trim, cleanly pressed, a general¡¯s lapel on his left breast. His beard was short and well-trimmed, and a Surgeblade rested at his side, the hilt embedded with a glowing blue jewel. Xanala¡¯s eyes drifted involuntarily toward that jewel. Strangely, though she could not feel her powers, she could feel the Surge, a pulsing rhythm in her mind. If she could just draw on it¡­


    He will lie, Oblivion whispered. He has no power to save you, Xanala. He will lie¡­


    She hesitated, and the man spoke before she could decide what to do next.


    ¡°Xanala. You¡¯re awake.¡± He waved a hand, and the door shut behind him. Then he circled around to face her directly, clasping his hands behind his back. He leaned in close, inspecting her face, then nodded.


    ¡°Your eyes look like they¡¯ve been through Torment, so the drugging seems to have worked. I would apologize for that, but I don¡¯t feel I have much to apologize for after you tried to kill me.¡±


    Xanala blinked. Tried to¡­ kill him? She had no recollection of this man.


    Unless he was referring to the battle in the Undercity. That terrible moment, when she¡¯d lost control.


    I¡¯m a murderer now. I let my weakness own me, and lost control.


    She closed her eyes. ¡°I am sorry,¡± she whispered. ¡°I¡­¡± She cut off, not knowing what else to say. If this man had been on the dronecopters, then he¡¯d been trying to kill her. Did he really deserve her apology?


    Still, she could remember the thoughts of those dying men, clearly now, without Oblivion¡¯s influence on her mind. Their terror condemned her.


    ¡°Your regret is acknowledged,¡± the man said. ¡°Though it will not solve any of your problems. You¡¯re lucky you have the scar, honestly. Anyone under Oblivion¡¯s influence this strongly is a danger I¡¯d usually ensure the galaxy doesn¡¯t have to deal with.¡±


    Xanala winced. ¡°I was weak. I lost control. I¡¯m sorry. Please don¡¯t kill me. I know I¡¯m a burner, but surely the Confederacy can find some use for me. I can summon Surges, or¡­ something.¡± She wilted, realizing how pathetic her plea sounded.


    The man frowned. ¡°Interesting,¡± he muttered. Then he raised his voice again. ¡°You¡¯re not in Confederacy territory, my friend. You have nothing to fear there. I¡¯m a memory burner myself.¡±


    Xanala hesitated, mind still slowed from the drug, though she was getting better at fighting through that. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ not on Xeredon?¡±


    The man snorted. ¡°No, thankfully. We might be under siege, but I¡¯d still rather be here than in that hive of char-cursed cowards.¡±


    ¡°Where am I then? Who are you?¡±


    ¡°You are on Grahala. My name is Alaran Valeo. Before you ask anything more, though, I have some questions for you. Namely, I¡¯d like to know how you ended up under the control of a god I happen to rather dislike.¡±


    ***


    Xanala hid nothing from Alaran. She tried, but she couldn¡¯t. He proved early in their conversation that he was, as he said, a memory burner, and called her out every time she tried to avoid telling something. Without her powers, there was no way to conceal her thoughts, so she had no choice but to spill it all. The Testing, her father¡¯s demotion, the betrayal, the fight, the giving in. Everything.


    Alaran continued to press her to reveal why she¡¯d tried to kill him. When she insisted she didn¡¯t remember anything of the sort, he claimed he believed her, but pressed on anyway, recalling details from his side of the story in an attempt to jog her memory. Nothing came of it. Where he remembered her attacking in the night, ablaze with Void, she remembered nothing. He seemed so sure it had happened, though Xanala still doubted. Yes, Oblivion had taken more control than she had expected. But there was still a chance this man was lying. She didn¡¯t know what he¡¯d have to gain from it, but whether or not he was being honest, he certainly had some ulterior motive. His eyes kept glancing hungrily toward her scar as they talked; her arm had been rolled up to reveal it while she was strapped down.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°Strange,¡± Alaran said finally, just after finishing asking a host of questions about her father. He frowned. ¡°I almost sympathize with you. Never thought I¡¯d be able to find common ground with a Shadi, but here we are.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a Shadi,¡± Xanala said softly. ¡°Whatever that is, I¡¯m not it.¡± It seemed the right thing to say, or, at least, the thing Alaran wanted to hear.


    Alaran snorted. ¡°You don¡¯t trust me. Well, that was apparent enough, even without your echoes. I cannot say I trust you either. Though you are right on one thing, I suppose. You aren¡¯t a Shadi; I misspoke. You are, potentially, something more dangerous. A pure servant of Oblivion.¡±


    Xanala felt heat rise in her stomach, and when she spoke, it wasn¡¯t just to please Alaran this time. ¡°No. I don¡¯t serve him. I gave in one time, when he caught me off guard. But he lied. He didn¡¯t free me, he chained me. And I will never make that mistake again.¡±


    ¡°Your conscious mind may not,¡± Alaran agreed, ¡°but I fear that, when you say he chained you, you are more right than you think.


    ¡°Oblivion has seared his way into something called your Identity, Xanala. Long story short, he has full control over you, and at least partial control over your connections to the Powers. That, I think, is why you do not remember trying to kill me. The part of you that is not controlled by him, the part of you that is in control now, was not active during your attempt on my life. You were nothing more than a machine then, controlled completely by the Void.¡±


    Xanala tensed. ¡°I¡­ you mean he can just¡­¡± She stared down at her muscles, beginning to tremble. ¡°No. No. I¡¯m free. I got away. I got away!¡±


    Alaran pursed his lips. ¡°You have left the heat of the battle only to enter the fires of Torment, I fear.¡± He shook his head. ¡°You should have known better than to give in Oblivion. I¡­ well, it is done. And there is still hope, I think. I hope that there is hope.¡±


    I¡¯m not possessed right now, Xanala thought. He has to be wrong. He has to be. She looked up at Alaran.


    ¡°You¡¯re lying.¡±


    Alaran raised an eyebrow. ¡°I¡¯m not¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re lying!¡±


    He was. He had to be. Just like her father. Just like every searing person who had ever pretended to care. She Reached again.


    This time she felt something. Distant, but there, a light shining in a void of darkness. She willed herself toward it.


    The darkness twisted around the light, snuffing it out. A voice rumbled in her mind, soft and oh so terribly inviting.


    He has suppressed your abilities. You will need me¡­


    She almost gave in to the voice, again. She would have, if given enough time, but for just a moment, she hesitated. As she did, a bright flash of blue erupted before her, and Xanala slammed backward against her restraints, an invisible force pushing her down. As her eyes adjusted to the burst of light, she made out Alaran, glowing like a Beacon of old, a sword of pure, glowing azure crystal in his hand. He leveled it at Xanala.


    ¡°You will not Reach,¡± he said firmly. ¡°If you try to access the Powers, I will kill you, scar or not.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t control me,¡± Xanala mumbled. With him towering over her, she could not bring herself to do more than mumble.


    ¡°No. And I do not wish to, no matter what lies the Enemy may whisper. But I will not risk creating an unchecked servant of Oblivion by sparing you.¡± He relaxed. ¡°The only reason he isn¡¯t controlling you right now is me, Xanala. I risked my life to create a ward around your mind, even as you tried to slit my throat, so you could have a chance of regaining your sanity. Do not make me regret that decision.¡±


    Xanala still felt the fire of anger rushing through her veins, somehow far stronger than she had ever felt it, but she restrained herself. She knew how to be angry without being brash. She knew how to hate the world, but not expose herself, instead plotting for years and years for a coup against it¡­.


    A coup that would never come.


    The thought turned anger to grief, and she felt her muscles relax in defeat. No coup. No new life, no freedom. It was all a lie. It always had been.


    Yes, Xanala knew how to restrain anger. She had been angry with her father her whole life, but because she loved him, she had ignored it. She had hated him, but had been his pup, licking at his feet and begging for water.


    No longer, she decided. I¡¯m in this for me now. No one else.


    I survive, no matter the cost.


    ¡°I apologize. I do not wish to intimidate you. There is simply too much at stake for me to be vague.¡± He let out a shaky breath. ¡°But as I said, I believe there is still hope.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want your hope,¡± Xanala said. ¡°I want to be free.¡±


    A sad smile crossed Alaran¡¯s face, and the crystal blade dissipated into blue mist. ¡°That is true for all of us, I believe. We forget sometimes that hope is the precursor to freedom.¡± He paused, face contemplative, then continued. ¡°I can¡¯t cast Oblivion out from you completely, not alone, but that must be our goal. Do you agree?¡±


    He is trying to use you, Oblivion said. Look at the way he stares at your scar¡­


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be the Endowed,¡± Xanala said. ¡°I just don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t,¡± Alaran said. ¡°It is a terrible burden. But you are, regardless of your preferences.¡±


    ¡°Just because I have the scar doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m the Endowed.¡±


    ¡°No, not necessarily. But you can wield all Three Powers. Oblivion speaks in your mind. He¡¯s targeted you specifically, and it¡¯s likely he¡¯s been manipulating your father, too. The Shadi grow closer to freeing him, as the prophecies say they will when the Endowed comes. So maybe you are not the Endowed. But I believe the chances are slim.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not.¡±


    ¡°Maybe. But if you are, you will face much harder than this, young friend. The Tower is clear on that much, and it is never wrong.¡±


    Xanala felt tears rising in her eyes, accompanied by a thick layer of despair from Oblivion within her. ¡°I just wanted to be done.¡± She found her voice breaking. ¡°I thought I could stop worrying, for once. And then¡­¡±


    You¡¯re weak. You always have been!


    ¡°And then your father betrayed you,¡± Alaran said. His voice was soft, gentle. The way her father¡¯s should have been, but wasn¡¯t. For a moment, she almost thought she could trust him.


    Only for a moment.


    ¡°I know what that feels like,¡± he continued. ¡°Too well. All too well.¡± He met her eyes. ¡°I can help you, if you like. I can teach you how to resist Oblivion, and how to cope with what has happened to you. How to be free. But I cannot do it if you do not let me help you. So, what do you say?¡±


    Xanala held his gaze, staring into his eyes. One part of her trying to find the deception she knew had to be there. Another part of her praying that maybe, just maybe, this man was the first person she¡¯d ever met who wasn¡¯t a liar. Oblivion, for once, was silent, though he pressed hard on her emotions, flooding her with irrational fear that made her hands tighten within her restraints.


    ¡°What if I don¡¯t?¡± she asked. What if I can¡¯t?


    Alaran¡¯s face fell. ¡°I¡­ do not know.¡± His voice grew distant, as if he were speaking only to himself. ¡°I cannot let Oblivion have another tool, yet he already has such an upper hand, it almost doesn¡¯t matter¡­¡± He shook his head, straightening. ¡°The Tower does not lie. I must be strong. I will give you time, Xanala Erdor, to decide. You will be accompanied by guards, and I will be close, but for one day I can afford to release you from your bands. At sundown tomorrow, I will have more answers for you.¡± He bowed to her. ¡°It has been good to meet you ¡ª the real you, for once. I hope I can help you find the freedom you desire.¡±


    He didn¡¯t answer my question, Xanala noted. That means he probably will kill me if I don¡¯t tell him yes.


    He left, though he glanced back as he did, eyes full of concern as the door shut behind him. The terrible fear from Oblivion subsided, though it still throbbed in her chest. Xanala rested her head against her restraints, closing her eyes. Twitching her finger, wishing she could run away.


    Knowing that she couldn¡¯t.

 Chapter 23 - Choices To Be Made

    I have seen my fate. I have felt it. I know why I will do what I will do.


    But oh God Above, why must I do it?


    -Tyrel Devaroth, circa 2,300 Post Fall of Meridian


    Ryla watched as the strange Ethean slave ¡ª Perelor, she assumed ¡ª ran, ducking into a narrow alleyway. She shook her head. Coward. She¡¯d saved him and his men two times today, and all he could do was cry?


    Turning, she swept her eyes over the street, making sure no snipers waited for her. She was steadily burning Ever, creating a field around her that would push against any unexpected plasma attack, but it never hurt to be careful.


    Fortunately, there was no one; she¡¯d taken care of the nearby Grahalan force earlier. In fact, most of the enemy resistance in this area had been quashed. Once the Surgewielders had fallen to Ryla, and Vyrus¡¯ men had recovered their weapons, the Grahalans hadn¡¯t stood a chance. This should have been an easy battle for Arrus.


    Yet, there had been the Voidling. And Arrus, though alive, was badly injured. She made her way over to him, hoisting him to sit beside the wall of a nearby building. He winced as she moved him, but no groan or murmur escaped his lips, despite clear fractures in an arm and both his legs. Her cousin was a far braver person than he gave himself credit for.


    ¡°Ryla,¡± he gasped as she began inspecting the wounds. ¡°Good timing.¡±


    ¡°Good eyes,¡± Ryla corrected. ¡°I¡¯ve been watching you since I got done dealing with the Surgewielders.¡± She met Arrus¡¯ eyes, forcing a playful smile onto her lips. ¡°Hiding in a building, huh?¡±


    ¡°New girl¡¯s idea,¡± Arrus chuckled. ¡°Backfired awful quick when that¡­ thing came, though.¡± He frowned. ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    Sear him, asking her if she was alright, when he was the one with the broken leg. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she lied. In truth, her mind was still racing, clawing toward any way out of Larsh¡¯s ultimatum.


    But, right now, her cousin needed her. One of the few family members who had ever cared. She stood.


    ¡°Where¡¯s your Captain?¡± Supposedly, the man had a healing Surge, though she didn¡¯t know his name.


    Arrus frowned. ¡°Oh. Where is Perelor?¡±


    At that moment, another slave approached, a red-haired Herreon woman in black-and-orange Miradoran robes. She was unscathed, though the faint glow of Purity on her skin told Ryla that she likely had not been moments before. She gestured to Arrus.


    ¡°May I?¡±


    Ryla stepped aside, letting out a relieved breath as the woman knelt beside Arrus and healed him. Well, mostly. She managed to get the fractures, but the cuts and bruises remained, her Purity spent before she could fix the more minor details. She rose to her feet at the same time as Arrus, then stepped away, muttering to herself. Ryla caught something about a plan, but nothing else. The woman¡¯s eyes were wide and she was trembling; Ryla couldn¡¯t help but wonder if the battle had taken her sanity along with her captain¡¯s. Also, how did she have a healing Surge? If she remembered correctly, only Arrus and Perelor were allowed Surges here.


    No matter. She was just here for her cousin. The rest¡­ well, there was nothing she could do. Yet.


    If you ally with Cyrla, you could get Arrus out of this hole faster¡­


    She ignored the thought, turning to Arrus. ¡°Hunker down. You¡¯ve done enough today.¡±


    Arrus winced, trying to rise. ¡°Shal Cyrla said¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take care of Cyrla.¡± The words came out as a snap, and Ryla forced herself to relax. ¡°Sorry. That wasn¡¯t because of you, it¡¯s just¡­ been a long day.¡±


    Arrus chuckled dryly. ¡°That it has.¡± He reached out, giving her a hug. ¡°I¡¯m going to help the others, and find Perelor. Thank you.¡±


    Ryla squeezed him back, then let go, but her eyes followed him as he wandered off towards the mangled corpses of those fallen to the Voidling.


    He was a good man. She wished he wasn¡¯t so insistent on staying here, rather than swearing to her as a slave to House Larsh. But then, his persistence was what made him a good man.


    When Larsh is overthrown, she noted, you could dissolve these squadrons with a wave of your hand. Arrus would never have to bleed a drop again.


    That thought, and the thought of her brother, drove her forward. She turned, lit up with more Ever, then shot into the sky.


    It was time to meet with Cyrla.


    ***


    Flames.


    Blood.


    Screams.


    Rubble.


    And the blade¡­


    Perelor¡¯s hand twitched toward the dagger on his belt. The dagger he¡¯d never once given up, even when Talar guards had tried to yank it from his beaten hands. Even when Larsh had ordered him to stop using it, he had defied her. It was the one time he¡¯d ever gotten her to cave.


    Yes, even when he so desperately wished he could throw that dagger as far away from him as he could, he kept it on his belt. Never more than an arm¡¯s length away, in case he needed it.


    He needed it now. His hand kept twitching toward it as he trembled, his back against a cement wall, his eyes closed. He prayed no one had followed him. Prayed no one could see the tears streaming down his face. If no one was watching, he could use the dagger, and those tears would cease. The pit in his stomach would turn numb.


    Flames.


    Blood.


    Screams.


    Rubble¡­


    Memories writhed in his mind. Dina, his friend, blown to bits because, in his haste, he hadn¡¯t summoned a large enough shield. Arrus¡¯ mother, sliding to the ground in much the same way as the blade that had just slid across her throat.


    His father, staring up with charred eye sockets. All dead, because Perelor was too weak.


    It was too much; he did not care if Ithrey herself was watching. He ripped the blade free, and began to cut.


    ***


    Ithrey had seen carnage many times, and she had seen it long before the invasion on Mirador had claimed so many of her friends and so much of her peace. Yet there was something different about the wreckage caused by a Voidling.


    It looked much the same. As she stepped into the shop, she found broken chairs, crushed tables, and, strewn among them, equally crushed and broken people. Still, shaking and shocked, she let her eyes dart about the rubble, searching for any hints of movement from the fallen.


    There were none.


    If Alaran were here, they would have lived..


    Her shoulders slumped. She looked behind her, at the towering buildings that flanked her on either side. She felt so small sometimes. Today more than ever. All her planning, all her knowledge, and it had barely been enough to keep her alive. No, it hadn¡¯t kept her alive. The Talar memory burner had done that.


    So unbearably small. Could she actually help her brother? In the face of the wreckage, it certainly didn¡¯t seem so.


    Just find your way to Alaran, she reminded herself. He¡¯ll handle it from there. There was no time to worry. Only time to plan.


    She turned away from the ravaged restaurant, folding her arms behind her back and pacing back and forth across the street. She tried to keep a careful eye on their surroundings ¡ª who knew when an ambush could strike ¡ª but thankfully, it seemed the battle had moved to other corners of the city. Slowly, her mind wandered.


    She couldn¡¯t decide if she¡¯d been too brazen when she¡¯d disrupted the Talar comms. She didn¡¯t like Perelor calling her out, but the man had a valid point; if she pushed Cyrla too hard, she¡¯d end with her neck in a noose. Still, she saw no other way to keep her men alive ¡ª and that did matter, whatever Krot said.


    Perelor. She felt indignant anger rise in her throat as she thought of him. Shouting at her as if she¡¯d committed some unforgivable sin for succeeding at something he was too afraid to attempt. They would¡¯ve lived, if not for the Voidling. All of them. That was far more than he could say of his own work.


    She¡¯d need to deal with him. The man couldn¡¯t have much sanity left; that outburst of his proved it. Would she have to kill him? She didn¡¯t relish the idea, but the man was effectively a Talar agent.


    No. I¡¯m not that desperate. I could try appealing to Honor. He is Ethean¡­ doesn¡¯t behave like it, but he is.


    ¡°Ithrey!¡±


    She turned, bracing herself for more harsh words from Perelor, but to her surprise, she saw the young Talar boy, the one who wielded the Ever Surge, rushing toward her. Arrus. He was not wearing the blade, and he still had a nasty bruise on his forehead, but he seemed well enough that Ithrey dismissed the idea of healing him further, just in case Perelor¡¯s ranting had some truth to it. Leaving the smaller wounds might make the lack of larger ones less suspicious. His eyebrows were creased, and his hands shook, but she could see a glint in his expression. A curiosity that his superior so distinctly lacked.


    Perelor was concerned about this man, Ithrey noted. They seemed familiar with each other. If I can convince him, maybe the captain will follow.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Arrus said. His hand shook, and his cheeks kept twitching randomly, though his eyes were sharply focused on Ithrey. He extended out his hand, swallowing. ¡°Name¡¯s Arrus Yral. I don¡¯t think we got a proper introduction.¡±


    Ithrey took the hand, twisting it firmly ¡ª a Talar greeting. ¡°That we did not. Name¡¯s Ithrey Valeo. High General of Mirador.¡± She winced. ¡°Well, I was.¡±


    Arrus seemed unimpressed by the title, letting go of her hand, his expression unchanging. Odd. ¡°Listen,¡± he said. ¡°I want to apologize for Perelor¡¯s behavior. He¡¯s¡­ well, he¡¯s not the most stable, for one. But he¡¯s not usually like that.¡± He smiled wryly. ¡°Even if someone¡¯s trying to take over.¡±


    Ithrey snorted. ¡°I¡¯m not trying to take control. I simply want to make a more efficient¡­¡±


    Arrus raised a hand. ¡°We don¡¯t need to pretend. It¡¯s happened a couple times before. Honestly, I¡¯m less surprised you¡¯re trying this and more surprised Perelor cares.¡± He met her eyes. ¡°Though that brings me to my real question,¡± he continued, voice growing softer. ¡°What happened? He was ordered to kill you.¡±


    Ithrey raised an eyebrow. ¡°Would you have preferred he followed through?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not saying that,¡± Arrus said hastily. ¡°But¡­ well, people have tried mutiny before, but none of them have had a healing Surge. And Perelor didn¡¯t react to any of them like he is now, either.¡± He twitched uncomfortably. ¡°So who are you?¡±


    Much more forward than Perelor, Ithrey thought. And much more naive. The boy was actually waiting expectantly, as if she¡¯d just tell it all simply because he¡¯d asked.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    She hesitated. What do I tell him? Not everything. But he seems earnest. Maybe¡­


    ¡°I seek the Endowed.¡± She regretted the words the moment they slipped out of her mouth; she should have planned when to reveal that, not just spat it out. But, thankfully, Arrus¡¯ eyes widened, and he perked up.


    ¡°So you¡¯re after Perelor¡¯s sister then?¡±


    Ithrey frowned. ¡°I¡­ who?¡±


    ¡°Oh, right, he probably hasn¡¯t told you. Eliel Krot, she¡¯s Perelor¡¯s sister. She¡¯s the Endowed. At least that¡¯s what he always says. He¡¯s looking for her, do you¡­¡±


    The boy was speaking faster than Ithrey could process, clearly caught up in his excitement, but Ithrey placed a hand on his shoulder, and he halted.


    ¡°Eliel who? I don¡¯t know any Eliel.¡±


    ¡°His sister,¡± Arrus repeated. ¡°She declared herself the Endowed.¡± His face fell. ¡°It was a while ago, and Perelor hasn¡¯t seen her for a few years, but it has to be her. Do you know where she is?¡±


    His sister declared herself the Endowed? There¡¯s more to this man than I thought. ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± Ithrey said flatly. ¡°Probably, at least. Slow down, and tell me more.¡±


    He shouldn¡¯t have told her anything; the boy barely knew her name. He told her everything regardless. How Perelor¡¯s sister had declared herself, how it had resulted in Larsh attacking Ethea, and how both of the Krot siblings had been enslaved and eventually separated.


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t like to talk about that night,¡± Arrus finished. ¡°But he¡¯s been looking for her since. Stealing datatapes, and such.¡± He blanched as he realized what he¡¯d just said. ¡°But, er, don¡¯t tell anyone I said that¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± Ithrey said idly, mind racing. ¡°I, for one, won¡¯t be reporting anyone to the Talar.¡±


    Is there a way to use this?


    And could his sister actually be the Endowed?


    She suspected the answer to the second question was no. According to Arrus, Perelor¡¯s sister was older than the man himself was, and Perelor couldn¡¯t be younger than twenty-five. Alaran had spoke of the Endowed as a young girl. The rest of his description had been vague, so it was possible they were the same person, but not likely.


    Yet, regardless, the answer to the first question was a resounding yes.


    ¡°I think,¡± she said to Arrus, ¡°that I need to talk to Captain Krot.¡± A plan was brewing in her mind. One she dreaded.


    But one she feared was necessary to implement.


    ***


    Ryla¡¯s eyes drifted toward the fighting on the far side of the city, well away from her, but tempting nonetheless. She wished she could lose herself in the contest, rather than do what she now had to. Red lines of light kept flickering around her, too many to ignore, and she shivered.


    Allying with a Void burner, so I can get away from using Void. What has the galaxy come to?


    What have I come to?


    A mess, she knew. She¡¯d have to make compromises to fix both the galaxy and herself. It was something she¡¯d always known, even if she hadn¡¯t wanted to admit it.


    She turned her gaze away from the fighting, and back toward the Talar encampments on the other side of the city. Burning Ever, she raced toward them, the wind whipping against her face. The Talar ships headed toward the fighting steered well clear of her, and within moments, she was falling toward the ground, burning more Ever to gradually slow her descent, until her feet sank softly into the loose ground.


    It did not take her long to find Cyrla; the woman kept a giant flag with her House runes flying over her hut. She noticed most of the nearby tents were empty; it seemed the other slave squadrons were also recording.


    Do I really want this?


    She hesitated, then steeled herself. If she went through with this, she¡¯d just have to kill Cyrla, too; it wouldn¡¯t be hard, after she had control of the rest of the nation. If she went through with it.


    She arrived at Cyrla¡¯s makeshift hut, hesitated again, then, scowling, knocked. There was a hasty clatter inside, and then the door cracked open. Cyrla blinked in surprise. Her expression quickly morphed to contempt, then to an open, inviting smile, all fast enough Ryla barely caught it.


    Filthy politicians. Dealing with Cyrla would be a nightmare.


    ¡°Shal Magala! I did not expect you.¡± She stepped out of the hut, slamming the door shut behind her. ¡°What bring you here?¡±


    She smiled again, and, her gut sinking, Ryla realized the woman knew exactly why Ryla was here. Well, best to get right to it, then. She cleared her throat.


    ¡°I¡¯m here to discuss your¡­ offer.¡±


    Cyrla raised an eyebrow. ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not saying I¡¯ll take it,¡± Ryla said. ¡°I just want to talk. That¡¯s it.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± Cyrla said, her smile not falling one bit. ¡°Well, we can talk then. What is it you wish to know?¡±


    ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    ¡°How do you plan to get rid of Larsh? How exactly do you think you can pull that off?¡±


    I¡¯ve been trying for years, she added silently. And nothing has worked. Nothing will work.


    Nothing, at least, that I can do on my own.


    ¡°That,¡± Cyrla said, ¡°is not information I can give you unless you join us.¡±


    ¡°Us. So there¡¯s more than just you.¡± She already knew about Traegus, but it occurred to her at that moment there could be even more than the two of them.


    ¡°A few more, yes.¡±


    Ryla studied the other woman¡¯s face. ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°That is another thing I can¡¯t tell you.¡± Cyrla shook her head, still smiling, but clearly annoyed. ¡°You really should just commit, my friend. There is very little else I can tell you. What I have told you is risky enough.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not committing yet,¡± Ryla growled. ¡°I told you that.¡±


    ¡°You did.¡± Cyrla snorted. ¡°But you¡¯ve decided already. I see it in your eyes.¡± She leaned in close, closer than Ryla would have usually felt comfortable with, studying Ryla. ¡°She asked you to start studying Void, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    Ryla paled. ¡°I¡­ how?¡± she hissed.


    ¡°You wear your emotions more flippantly than you realize,¡± Cyrla said simply. That stupid grin still sat plastered on her face. ¡°I don¡¯t even need my powers to read you.¡± She turned away. ¡°When you are ready to admit defeat, tell me. I, of all people, understand why one would want to avoid wielding the Third Power.¡± She opened the door, slid inside, then shut it, all before Ryla could respond.


    Ryla stood gawking at the door for a long moment, then huffed. That hadn¡¯t helped anything. How was she supposed to back a mutiny if she didn¡¯t even know what the plan was?


    It was always a risk, she reminded herself. This is just a little more of a chance.


    Was. She was thinking as if she¡¯d already made the decision, she realized. That filth Cyrla was actually right about her. Okron, she hated the woman. Waltzing about wielding Void was bad enough, but she had to go about wearing that insufferable smile, always reminding everyone of her power¡­


    She¡¯s my only way out of this, though.


    Growling, she turned away, mind still racing. To overthrow Larsh, or obey her and risk insanity?


    Okron, why couldn¡¯t she just decide? Usually she was excellent at being impulsive. Yet today, with both options terrible as they were, she was freezing up.


    There was one other place that might help her, though. She hated it. But it always gave her a sense of clarity. She closed her eyes, refreshing her supply of Ever with the thoughts of nearby soldiers, then rose back into the sky to find her personal cruiser.


    ***


    The tiny reserve of Purity in Perelor¡¯s Surge ran out, and he dropped the blade, burning the last of it to seal the wound on his arm. At least, part of it. Dozens of smaller cuts still dripped blood onto his uniform. He hadn¡¯t bothered to try and keep the cloth clean; it was already soaked from the fight with the Voidling.


    He leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. He¡¯d stopped sobbing, finally. That was good. He¡¯d already made a fool of himself, but at least they hadn¡¯t caught him crying. If he waited long enough for his Surge to recharge, he could heal his wounds, apologize to Ithrey, and pretend this never happened.


    It won¡¯t work, though. That Voidling is still out there. That much he was sure of. The creature would be weakened, but not dead. And even a weakened Voidling would kill him easily, now that he couldn¡¯t memory burn.


    Not that he didn¡¯t deserve death, pitiful wretch he was.


    Hands still trembling, he groaned, hauling himself to his feet, steadying himself with one palm against the wall until his legs fell still enough he could stand. He crouched, picked up the dagger on the floor, dropped it, then stilled his hands enough he got the weapon back into its sheath. A bit of his Purity had replenished, and he used to seal the gashes that were bleeding the worst. His head still swam from the blood he¡¯d already lost, but at least the problem wouldn¡¯t get much worse now. He could find some dirt, or some other source of carbon, and use his Surge to make more blood later.


    He sucked in a deep breath, then started walking toward the others. Then stopped abruptly as Ithrey rounded the corner.


    He didn¡¯t recognize her at first, in her ruffled black-and-orange uniform, and instinctively his hand snapped to his side, ripping the dagger back out of its sheath, the blade still dripping with his own blood. He held it out in a trembling hand, then, realizing who it was, he cursed and stuffed it back on his belt. A moment later, Arrus stepped out behind Ithrey, wringing his hands behind his back. Something the boy often did when he was nervous.


    ¡°You,¡± Perelor grunted. ¡°What do you want now?¡± Part of him knew he should apologize, but he was startled enough he didn¡¯t care.


    ¡°Ithrey has a proposition for you,¡± Arrus said.


    ¡°For the both of you,¡± Ithrey corrected. ¡°Though Arrus has already accepted.¡± She met Perelor¡¯s eyes. ¡°I want you to help me ¡ª help all of us ¡ª escape.¡±


    Perelor growled. ¡°I told you, woman¡­¡±


    Ithrey raised a hand, interrupting him, eyes ablaze. ¡°I¡¯m not doing this for my own sake. And I¡¯m not doing it for you, either. I¡¯m doing it because I have been tasked with saving the Endowed. She¡¯s trapped here, on Grahala, with my brother.¡±


    Perelor had already opened his mouth to shout another angry retort, but as Ithrey¡¯s words set in, his anger died on his lips. ¡°The Endowed¡­ did you say a she?¡±


    It can¡¯t be. I¡¯ve waited too long. It¡¯s never going to happen, don¡¯t get your hopes up¡­


    ¡°My brother describes her as a young girl,¡± Ithrey said. ¡°I don¡¯t know how young he meant, in truth, but he said it was a girl. With the scar.¡±


    ¡°It might be your sister,¡± Arrus said. ¡°It really might be, Perelor!¡±


    Perelor tensed, heart pounding. ¡°I¡­ are you sure?¡±


    ¡°I am.¡±


    Perelor seized Ithrey¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Your brother, you said. Do you trust him? Is my sister safe with him?¡±


    Ithrey shook his hand aside. ¡°I trust my brother more than anyone I¡¯ve ever known. I¡¯d trust him to keep her safe more than even myself.¡± Her voice softened. ¡°But I must warn you, this girl may not be your sister. I was not give don¡¯t have a very thorough description¡­¡±


    Perelor ignored her, eyes whipping to Arrus. ¡°Is she lying?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± Arrus said. ¡°I mean, I can¡¯t read echoes, but¡­ well, she seems earnest. I really think it¡¯s her, Perelor. I can¡¯t think of anyone else it could be, at least. You said Eliel had the scar, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Perelor said softly. ¡°She did. She did have the scar.¡±


    He stepped back, excitement mixing with shock mixing with fear. They were telling the truth. They had to be. Arrus wouldn¡¯t fake him out, not with something like this, that much Perelor knew. And Ithrey¡­ well, having to save the Endowed was a burden Perelor could sympathize with. It would certainly explain her intensity.


    He had a chance. No more looking, no more uncertainty. He had a real chance. He¡¯d prayed for this day for five years.


    Except¡­


    Flames.


    Blood.


    Screams.


    Rubble.


    And that blade, calling him, whispering terrible things¡­.


    ¡°You said we needed to escape?¡± he whispered.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Ithrey replied.


    ¡°And the Talar would chase us,¡± he muttered.


    ¡°Probably.¡±


    Excitement. Shock. Fear. Fear, most of all.


    Okron, he was so very broken. Would he really be able to help? Or would he just get in the way, as he had that terrible night, five years ago, when he¡¯d tried to escape the first time?


    ¡°What do you say?¡± Arrus asked. His eyes were alight, alive. More so than they¡¯d been in years. He had hope again.


    Hope like Perelor had once had, all those years ago.


    ¡°I¡­¡±


    Flames.


    Blood.


    Screams.


    Rubble.


    Could he really risk failure? Could he really risk his sister dying, all because he¡¯d made a mistake? Like he always did?


    He turned away, cringing.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he said.


    Arrus frowned. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± He shook. ¡°Please leave. I¡­ I just need a moment. To myself. Please.¡±


    Ithrey nodded, walking away, and Perelor did not miss the disappointed shake of her head. Arrus stared at him, crestfallen, for a long moment, but eventually he, too, slinked away. Leaving Perelor alone.


    Alone, to his thoughts. Such a dangerous place to be.


    He looked to the heavens. There was only smoke there, but he knew that beyond that smoke, there were stars. And beyond the stars, his father.


    ¡°When did I go wrong?¡± he asked. ¡°Did I die all at once? Or was it little by little, chunks of me breaking off until there was only this left?


    ¡°Why can¡¯t I be who I want to be?¡±


    There was only silence in reply.

 Chapter 24 - Red Horizon

    This time our failure must be taken as final. The prophecy is not what we thought it was.


    We need access to the True Eye. Whatever the cost.


    -Aiedra Okron, circa 3 Pre-Imprisonment


    The Grahalan sunset was beautiful, Xanala had to admit. The red sun blazed against the black clouds as it spread across the horizon, like a drop of glowing blood splattering against the ground. The wheat fields turned a dirty gold in the dim light, pushed back by the wind that blew against Xanala¡¯s face as she leaned against a balcony, staring outward past the outskirts of the Grahalan capital city and out at the distant edge of vision. It felt strange, not to see any mountains there, blocking her view. It felt even stranger that she could stand here so openly, with sleeves rolled up to her elbow, her whole body visible to anyone who looked up at the tower she stood on.


    She was not really in the open, of course, Grahalan guards in red and silver flanked her on either side ¡ª guards Alaran had flatly told about her powers. Guards who could turn her in at a moment¡¯s notice, or just slit her throat themselves. She had no power to resist; her burning was stifled, just as Alaran had said it would be.


    It seemed she could never truly be free. And that was why she stood on the balcony. Pondering. Planning.


    ¡°The Talar have this planet under siege, you said?¡± she asked the guard nearest her. She did not meet his eyes.


    ¡°Yes, my lady.¡±


    ¡°Do you think you¡¯ll win?¡±


    A long pause. ¡°I hope so,¡± the guard finally said.


    So you won¡¯t. If I stay, I die. That was problem one with Alaran¡¯s threat ¡ª for it was a threat, disguised as an offer. Problem two¡­


    There has to be a catch if I follow him, she thought. There has to be.


    She already knew part of that catch. Alaran might be offering to train her, but he was, at his own admission, a Seeker of the Light. She still wasn¡¯t sure exactly what that meant ¡ª Alaran had been vague at best ¡ª but she knew enough to deduce that if she followed this path, and Alaran got his way, she would come face to face with Oblivion.


    And yet, she¡¯d already fought the dark god, in a way. She¡¯d lost. Horribly. But she had fought him. She could feel him even now, murmuring in the back of her mind, only a murmur, but there.


    Is there any way out of the prophecy? The Tower was always right. She¡¯d known it logically her whole life ¡ª every child on Xeredon was told about the Tower ¡ª but she¡¯d never internalized until she¡¯d found herself standing here, realizing that, as hard as she¡¯d tried to avoid facing her fate, she¡¯d arrived at it all the same.


    If I do follow Alaran, he¡¯ll eventually want me to do the Testing.


    To face my father.


    She felt her chest constrict with rage, and simultaneously she felt her stomach sink at the thought of having to kill him. She still loved him. And she still hated him. Running from his physical presence had done nothing for that.


    She forced herself to focus. The siege. That was what mattered, not Oblivion. She began fleshing out the idea forming in the back of her head, the one that might actually get her out of here alive.


    ¡°Young miss?¡±


    Xanala shuddered as she felt a hand touch her shoulder, and instinctively she Reached for Ever. Nothing came, of course, save for a deep humming within her chest, and the sound of wailing in her ears. Side effects of Oblivion¡¯s taint, according to Alaran. Cursing, she pulled back her hand into a fist, then whipped around¡­


    Then relaxed. It was just one of the guards. He caught her fist even as she stopped swinging it; he was a burly man, Xanala wouldn¡¯t stand a chance against him even if she tried to fight back. He eyed her warily; Alaran had also told the guards that Xanala was not to be trusted. Not in full, at least, he¡¯d said. Not yet.


    ¡°You were standing there a long time,¡± the guard noted. ¡°I could hardly even see you breathing. Your eyes just kept staring¡­ I couldn¡¯t tell if you were blinking. Are you alright?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Xanala snapped. She yanked her hand away from the guard. The guard grunted. Xanala winced as she turned away. She was going to have to learn to be far more diplomatic if she wanted to stay free.


    That was her goal, she decided. Freedom. It had always been her goal; she¡¯d just been fool enough to think that her father could give it to her before. And now¡­


    Well, now trusting anyone seemed like a bad idea.


    Just because someone can¡¯t be trusted doesn¡¯t mean you can¡¯t predict them, though. Another of her father¡¯s sayings. She hated thinking like he did. But, in this, he was right.


    Alaran could help her get rid of Oblivion¡¯s taint; that seemed to be all he cared about. She wasn¡¯t sure how to get away from him after that, but once she had her powers, it would become easier. That was the logical first step.


    Do you really think he won¡¯t use you? Oblivion whispered. He is just like your father. A man looking to further his own goals, with a powerful tool placed in front of him.


    It will be even worse, when it happens again.


    She should¡¯ve been able to ignore him. Yet, with him so firmly in the back of her mind, and with that delicate touch on her emotions, so brilliantly subtle, she felt herself shiver. What could this man do? If he could hold back Oblivion¡¯s chains, what was there to stop him from chaining Xanala himself?


    I can stop him, Oblivion whispered. All you have to do is undo his ward.


    She wasn¡¯t sure if that was true. She couldn¡¯t even be confident that Alaran was telling the truth, and that he had put a ward in place. She knew nothing. What did one do when one knew nothing? If you knew something, you could at least take the next logical step; that was what her father always did. But when you had no information at all¡­


    The wind whipped against her face. In the distance, darkness crept forward as the red sun sank into the ground. Xanala¡¯s thoughts stilled for a moment as she stared at the sunset. It was truly strange, how amazing it looked, even as the cold crept up her skin.


    A part of her wanted to act, right here, right now. To lash out. She¡¯d spent her whole life waiting.


    Yet, she needed to wait. Any path she took now led to death or worse. And the only way to buy more time was to give in to Alaran¡¯s demands.


    She closed her eyes. Breathed, breathed out. Then, opening them, she turned and strode away from the balcony, back into the tower. The guards followed her, frowning, but silent. Xanala stayed firmly ahead of them, not daring to look back, not daring to question herself, until she arrived at the door to Alaran¡¯s chambers ¡ª or, at least, where he¡¯d told her they would be. Before she could hesitate, she rapped her knuckles against the wood, hard.


    There was a momentary pause. Then the door swung open.


    Glowing with blue Ever, Alaran waited behind a desk, holoscreen projecting a map of Grahala in front of him. There were red splotches on the planet¡¯s surface where the Talar had conquered. Almost half of the image was crimson already, and Alaran stared at it with circles under his eyes and a blank expression on his face.


    Yet another reason to do what I must. She straightened, head held high.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to train with you,¡± she said, raising her voice as much as she dared. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be the Endowed. And I certainly don¡¯t want anything to do with this war.¡±


    Alaran frowned, rising from his chair, but Xanala wasn¡¯t finished.


    ¡°But the alternatives are worse. So I will train with you. I won¡¯t like it.¡± She met Alaran¡¯s eyes, pouring as much defiance into her expression as she knew how. ¡°And I won¡¯t trust you. If you try to make me do anything I don¡¯t want to, I¡¯ll do what I must to survive. But I will train to get Oblivion out of my mind. If only because I have to.¡±


    She fell silent, trying not to tremble, trying not to shrivel up and hide as Alaran stared her down. Would he be angry? Her father would be furious, if she¡¯d spoken to him like that. What was she thinking, she wasn¡¯t in a position to negotiate! She should¡¯ve run, should¡¯ve hidden¡­


    To her surprise, a grin broke out across Alaran¡¯s face.


    ¡°Well then,¡± he said, ¡°we have a place to start. When do you want to begin?¡±


    Xanala hesitated. ¡°Now,¡± she said finally. If she had to wait to reclaim her powers, she at least wanted to wait as little as possible.


    Alaran¡¯s grin widened, and he shut off the holoscreen, stepping around the desk. ¡°Then now it is.¡±


    Xanala followed him as he stepped out of the room and walked down a nearby flight of stairs, finally letting herself think through the final bits of her plan. It was a simple one.


    Get Alaran to trust her. Get him relaxed enough she could slip out of his fingers. Then, she would flee to Talar. They were going to win anyway. Besides, she¡¯d promised herself she¡¯d survive.


    No matter the cost.


    ***


    Ryla stepped into the hold of her cruiser, sighed, then shut the door behind her. She unbuckled her blade from her hip, setting it against the wall, then sunk into one of the leather couches within the room ¡ª this ship was not only decorated, it was gravity controlled. A luxury only people like Larsh could afford.


    She let herself sink into the couch, trying to relax. Her racing mind did not calm, however, and sleep evaded her as surely as if she were trying to chase the horizon. Finally, she heard a stir, and turned to see the door opening again to admit Naidi.


    She was caked in ash and dust, but she already had a wet rag and was wiping it off her face as she saw Ryla. She grinned.


    ¡°Oh good, we¡¯re leaving. I really didn¡¯t want to spend any more time in that blasted, dusty place.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Ryla shrugged. ¡°Orders are orders.¡±


    ¡°Still, I hate it.¡± Naidi shut the door behind her, then began stripping off her carbon fiber battle armor, revealing a much more ornate orange outfit beneath. Ryla rolled her eyes, but smiled. Naidi waited in the background for the entire battle, and then it turned out she¡¯d been secretly playing dress-up the whole time. Typical of her, really. It was both incredibly annoying and incredibly endearing.


    ¡°You and your fashion.¡±


    ¡°Hey, I didn¡¯t grow up with any money. You were rich in your childhood. You can¡¯t complain.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Ryla sighed. ¡°I suppose I can¡¯t.¡±


    Oh, if only my childhood was as pleasant as you think it was¡­


    The ship took off a few moments later, though Ryla could barely feel it through the gravity suppression. She could hardly feel when it jumped between worlds, either. Ryla¡¯s ship was one of the few of its kind to have survived the Fall of Meridian. As such, it used technology no modern Surgetech could replicate. The gravity suppression was one of those pieces of tech, as was its wormdrive, which allowed it to skip to a wormhole wherever it was. Perfect for spying. Larsh had often sent Ryla on missions to jump to a planet, posing as a merchant ship mid flight. Ryla would read some important officials with her memory sense, and then jump back.


    How often she¡¯s used me. Kairus is right; I need to make that end.


    She leaned back again, falling silent. Naidi sat down beside her, clearing her throat, with a distinctly uncomfortable frown on her face. Ryla raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Did you figure it out?¡±


    Ryla snorted. ¡°Figure what out?¡±


    ¡°The decision.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not trying to decide anything.¡± Thaus, she¡¯s not supposed to know anything.


    ¡°I¡¯m not dumb. I know you. You fight when you¡¯re stressed. It¡¯s a weird coping mechanism, but that¡¯s what it is. What¡¯re you worried about?¡±


    Ryla hesitated, then sighed. ¡°Larsh wants me to use Void.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s asking again?¡±


    ¡°Yup.¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t she promise not to?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Larsh. Keeping promises isn¡¯t exactly her forte.¡±


    ¡°Wow.¡± Naidi paused, then awkwardly cleared her throat again. ¡°What¡¯re you going to do?¡±


    Ryla was silent. She should have come up with a lie, but she couldn¡¯t think straight enough. Besides, she felt too strong a hate for Larsh to pretend she wasn¡¯t glad to have the woman gone.


    You¡¯re thinking like you¡¯ve already made the choice again.


    ¡°You¡¯re not going to join Cyrla, are you?¡± Naidi hissed. ¡°Ryla, she¡¯s a Void burner!¡±


    ¡°Not so loud,¡± Ryla whispered. ¡°This place is bugged.¡±


    Naidi cringed, then leaned forward, lowering her voice. ¡°Listen, Ryla, I know you hate Larsh, but¡­¡±


    That whip, coming down on her uncle¡¯s back¡­ ¡°Hate is too weak a word,¡± Ryla muttered.


    ¡°Still,¡± Naidi continued, ¡°you can¡¯t overthrow her. Heavens, that¡¯s exactly what she did that caused so much chaos! And you know Cyrla would be even worse.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll kill Cyrla too.¡±


    Naidi raised her own eyebrow at that. ¡°And take the throne for yourself?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Ryla said. When Naidi frowned, she rolled her eyes. ¡°It¡¯s not as if I can do any worse than the current leaders. Besides, this is all if I join her. I haven¡¯t decided, so don¡¯t worry yet.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s way too late for me not to worry,¡± Naidi said. She took a deep breath, then sat back. ¡°Please don¡¯t. You¡¯re the only friend I have here. The last thing I want is for you to get hurt.¡±


    ¡°Too late for that,¡± Ryla said softly. ¡°Way, way too late. I¡¯ll make what decision I have to, Naidi. But I appreciate your advice.¡±


    Naidi opened her mouth to protest further, then closed it, shaking her head. ¡°Well, I¡¯m not dumb enough to argue with you. I just hope you know what you¡¯re doing.¡±


    Do any of us, really? Ryla thought. But she accepted the silence that followed until they slid to a stop at their destination ¡ª Myridith, the largest city in the Talar Empire. As usual, it was raining outside, and Naidi quickly said her goodbyes to Ryla as she rushed off toward a hovertram filled with guards who would escort her back to the nearest military base. Normally, Ryla would¡¯ve been with her.


    Today, though, she allowed the rain to soak her skin, let go of the First Power, and began the long trek toward the place where her uncle had died.


    It was night here, and she passed only a few others as she made her way through the puddle-covered streets. She was still in her uniform, and once a hovercar stopped to offer her a ride, but she declined.


    It took nearly two hours of walking before she arrived at her destination. She realized during that time that her two days were almost up ¡ª she¡¯d spent nearly the whole time awake, running on Adrellian booster shots and anxiety. Both sources were failing, and by the time she awoke, Larsh would be waiting for her.


    The Void would be waiting, too.


    She stopped as she came to the place she¡¯d been looking for. An empty square. In its center, a cement block rose just above the ground, a segmented metal whip waiting on a metal rack atop it.


    She was not attempting to use her soul sense ¡ª she never used it on purpose ¡ª but she felt as if she could hear her uncle moaning from Torment. Red lines of light writhed around her. Slowly, she sat down on the tile ground, folding her legs beneath her.


    It had all happened so quickly, that day. Her mother screaming as guards tried to pull her away. Her uncle, shouting as he interfered.


    And then they¡¯d come here, where her uncle had taken her mother¡¯s punishment. Where he¡¯d died.


    Ryla¡¯s mother was as good as dead now, too. Her uncle¡¯s sacrifice had saved the woman from the Talar, but not from her Soulcurse.


    I need help, she thought. She didn¡¯t know if her words were directed toward her uncle, the Endowed, the Goddesses, or all of them. She didn¡¯t care enough to decide. I don¡¯t know what to do.


    She sat there for a long time. For once, her mind was completely still. There were no people around to shout or scream. No gunshots in the distance. Even the echoes were easy to ignore. There was just the soft patter of the rain against the ground, and her. She looked up at the dark clouds, raising a hand to shield her eyes against the falling water. Skyscrapers stretched toward those clouds on all sides, glittering with thousands of tiny lights. Each light, she knew, was a home. A person.


    There were so many, all different. Yet their fates might all hinge on her decision today. With her anger fading and exhaustion setting in, she felt so terribly small.


    ¡°I thought I might find you here.¡±


    Ryla didn¡¯t have to turn to know who was speaking. She tensed.


    ¡°You tracked me. I thought you said I was free until tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°I said you could do what you wished, not that I wouldn¡¯t watch you.¡± As if that settled the matter, Larsh walked over, sitting down beside Ryla and staring at the cement block. At the whip. As if she were some close friend, trying to comfort Ryla.


    Filth. He was my only friend, not you. Filth!


    She said nothing, though, and kept a trace of Ever running through her skin. Now more than ever she did not want Larsh reading her thoughts.


    ¡°I know this must be difficult for you,¡± Larsh continued. ¡°Know that I would not require this of you if I did not have to.¡±


    ¡°Then why do you have to?¡± Ryla muttered. She didn¡¯t mean for the words to come out. They did anyway.


    ¡°The Destroyer comes,¡± Larsh whispered. Then, she rose. ¡°I am sorry. I thought it would be better if I came here, but I see I was wrong. I will see you in the morning.¡± She hesitated before adding, ¡°I don¡¯t intend to let what is happening to your mother happen to you. There are ways to control Void properly.¡±


    ¡°Leave,¡± Ryla said. She kept her eyes on the sky. Why, of all times, did she feel the need to pretend now? It wasn¡¯t as if she actually cared.


    Sure enough, Larsh slinked away a moment later. Leaving Ryla alone again, save for that awful whip.


    As she disappeared, a decision finally came. If Larsh actually believed there was a way to control Void, then she was already deep within the clutches of Oblivion¡¯s corruption. And anyone Oblivion touched deserved to die.


    So, she decided, she would kill Larsh. Then Cyrla. Then she would turn the Talar army on anyone else who dirtied themselves with the Third Power. Whatever the cost, she would not let another family crumble like hers had.


    Anger, hatred, fear surging, she stood up, retrieved her holoscreen from her pocket and called Cyrla. Her uncle might not approve, but he was dead.


    There was only one way to truly avenge him.


    ***


    Time passed. Hours, minutes, Perelor didn¡¯t care. Time was all the same since losing Eliel.


    Torment, his life had fallen apart so quickly after that day. Or maybe it had fallen apart before then, and the removal of that last support had simply hastened an already inevitable fall from grace. All he knew now was that once he¡¯d cared, and that now he couldn¡¯t even if he tried.


    To try. To try was to fail. To fail was a sin.


    He sat down, resting his head in his hands. Trembling.


    I thought all I needed was a chance to save her. That the moment she returned, everything would fall back into place. And yet¡­


    And yet, he had a chance now, and he wasn¡¯t taking it. Because to try was to fail, and this failure would be the greatest of all sins.


    Was that why he had spared Ithrey? Because it was easier to let her live than accepting the truth that he couldn¡¯t face his sister anymore, even if he found her?


    Why couldn¡¯t he just be the man he once was? Why did the scars hurt so bad, even after the wounds themselves had long since healed?


    He slid his fingers apart, looking up at the sky. It was growing dark again; here at the pole of the planet it did that fast. No stars had appeared in the blackness, but he knew they were there.


    ¡°I wish I had more time,¡± he told them. He swallowed. ¡°But really, I wish I was with you already. I wish I didn¡¯t have to fight to be with you. I wish none of this had ever happened. I wish we were back on Ethea, and that Larsh had never invaded, and father had never died, and¡­¡±


    And what would he have done, if none of this had ever happened? Fought pretend duels, until he died and went to Torment anyway?


    ¡°You¡¯re supposed to beat Oblivion,¡± he whispered. ¡°End all suffering. I just don¡¯t know if anything can end mine.¡± He let a tear drip down his face. ¡°It hurts. It hurts just to wake up sometimes. Why does it have to hurt so bad?¡±


    The tear turned into multiple, and sobs racked him again. This time, though, he simply let them come. He didn¡¯t have the energy to resist them. He just sat there, crying, for minutes on end.


    Then, as quickly as they had begun, the tears stopped. And, strangely, the knots in his stomach seemed to untwist as they did. Not all the way, his heart still pounded, and he still shook from blood loss, but somehow things felt a little more manageable. A little more clear.


    Pain or not, he realized, fear or not, there was only one way forward.


    Groaning, he stood up. Stared at the stars, for a few moments longer. Then, fixing his eyes forward, he started back toward the other slaves.


    The battle had moved far from here by now, and so the surviving members of the squadron had set up camp here, a small ethium cook fire in its center, roll up cots sprawled all around it. The bodies of the fallen lay in a pile a few blocks down.


    There were so many dead. Not just here, but all across the galaxy. And, he realized, he had a chance to help them now. If he saved Eliel, she would save the galaxy.


    He could not afford to believe otherwise.


    He found Ithrey and Arrus sitting on their cots, legs folded beneath them. Ithrey was talking to him, but Arrus had already seen Perelor. Perelor sucked in a deep breath, trying to stifle his worry.


    Flames.


    Blood.


    Screams.


    Rubble.


    And only one way forward.


    He stepped up to Ithrey, who had now noticed him too. She paused mid-sentence, raising an eyebrow. Perelor cleared his throat, then spoke.


    ¡°If you¡¯re after the Endowed, I¡¯m yours.¡±

 Chapter 25 - Like Myridon

    I do not want this burden.


    But for them, I will take it.


    -Arath Dralei, circa 2,896 Post Fall of Meridian


    A grin sprouted on Arrus¡¯ face immediately after Perelor spoke. Ithrey, though, leaned forward, lips pursed.


    ¡°And how serious are you about this, Captain?¡±


    ¡°Very.¡±


    ¡°Would you travel to Torment itself? For this may require your life. Your life, and more.¡±


    I¡¯ve already given my life to her, Perelor thought. But he just gave Ithrey a curt nod. At some point, she¡¯d simply have to believe that he meant what he said.


    And, though she stared at him for several seconds with that critical gaze of hers, she did eventually nod back to him. ¡°Good enough. Given the circumstances, I will work with whatever I am given.¡± She gestured for him to sit beside Arrus. Perelor bristled ¡ª Okron, he¡¯d gotten more used to giving orders than he¡¯d thought ¡ª but knelt on the cot by his friend.


    ¡°I was just telling Arrus,¡± Ithrey said, ¡°that we need a plan. I¡¯ve been too focused on surviving to make one, but I can¡¯t stall any longer.¡±


    Perelor frowned. ¡°You don¡¯t have a searing plan?¡±


    ¡°Not yet,¡± Ithrey said. ¡°But I will soon. What I need most from you is information. I¡¯ve been here only a few hours, but you¡¯ve been here years. How do we escape? What are the obstacles? The security here doesn¡¯t seem particularly tight.¡±


    Perelor shivered, instinctively looking about to see if any guards had noticed. There were some nearby, though they all seemed preoccupied.


    You¡¯re going to have to get over that fear. Escape is necessary, if you¡¯re going to find her. It was something he¡¯d known for a long time, but he still felt his heart race. The last time had gone so horribly wrong¡­


    ¡°There¡¯s kind of a lot of them,¡± Arrus said, interrupting Perelor¡¯s thoughts. ¡°The security doesn¡¯t seem tight, but that¡¯s because they like us wandering around.


    ¡°It reminds the soldiers where they¡¯ll go if they disobey,¡± Perelor said bitterly. ¡°Larsh told me about it. Even when the cameras aren¡¯t running, we¡¯re meant as a display.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. But the moment you try to escape, the noose tightens. I¡¯ve seen it happen.¡± Arrus frowned. ¡°Even if we got to one of the carriers¡­ I mean, I don¡¯t know of any way we could get through the wormhole.¡±


    Ithrey hesitated. ¡°The wormhole is secondary,¡± she said finally. ¡°First we need to reach my brother, on the planet¡¯s north pole. Perhaps¡­ perhaps get a message to him. Once we¡¯ve found him, he¡¯ll help us get the rest of the way. I¡¯m sure of it.¡±


    Perelor frowned. ¡°If he knows a way out, why hasn¡¯t he taken it already?¡±


    Ithrey opened her mouth to respond, then shut it. ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t know. Maybe he doesn¡¯t know a way out.¡± She frowned. Was she trembling? ¡°But I know we¡¯ll be in a far better position if we can get to him. We might not need to escape at all, actually. If we can get a signal out to him, he can rescue us.¡±


    ¡°He can take down the entire Talar army?¡± Perelor asked, raising an eyebrow.


    ¡°He¡¯s a memory burner,¡± Ithrey said. She continued on as if that explained everything. ¡°Those cameras we¡¯re given, can they send a signal?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re encoded,¡± Arrus interjected, frowning. ¡°I can¡¯t send a signal anywhere but the Talar comms center. Everything runs through that. It¡¯s heavily guarded, and I can¡¯t even access the database there without a security key.¡± He folded his arms. ¡°I wonder, though, if I disassembled a camera¡­¡±


    ¡°They¡¯d know,¡± Perelor said. ¡°We can¡¯t hide a half-broken camera.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Ithrey agreed. ¡°Not easily, at least.¡± She seemed significantly less annoyed now. Still tense, but focused. ¡°Could we somehow get into the comms room?¡±


    Perelor glanced toward Arrus. ¡°You¡¯re the expert on that.¡±


    Arrus shrugged. ¡°Maybe? It¡¯s heavily guarded, that¡¯s for sure. We¡¯d need to deal with those guards somehow. If you could get me close, I might be able to access the comms, then send out a signal. But the moment I do that, they¡¯ll know. I¡¯d have to fry the entire system after using it to cover our tracks, and even that will only buy us a little time while their comms are down.¡± His expression grew solemn. ¡°If we failed, we¡¯d die. And I can¡¯t even guarantee it would work.¡±


    Ithrey paused for a moment, her eyes flickering about nervously.


    ¡°We¡¯d need better than that,¡± she said finally. ¡°I can¡¯t risk failing. Too much depends on it. If we can for certain get the signal out, we should try it; Alaran can save us. But I need to be certain that we can succeed before I do anything like that.¡± She paused, eyes darting about, then turned to Perelor. ¡°The guards. Where are the weaknesses?¡±


    ¡°Weaknesses? Well, you¡¯re going to be searing disappointed if you think the Talar are just going to let us walk out,¡± Perelor said. The words came out just a little too angry. Get used to the idea of escape. ¡°The guards are far better equipped than we are. There¡¯s at least three Surgewielders on duty at all times, especially around me and Arrus. And two dozen other soldiers, all with rifles and armor. They¡¯ve put trackers in your blood, too, they would¡¯ve done that when you got your Surge. If we get through all of that, there¡¯s still Cyrla to deal with.¡± He frowned. ¡°I can¡¯t see any way we could fight through all of that. Not¡­ well, not unless we got the rest of the camp to fight with us.¡±


    Flames.


    Blood.


    Screams.


    Rubble.


    ¡°Shut up,¡± he muttered.


    Ithrey blinked. ¡°What was that?¡±


    ¡°Nothing. Anyway, I don¡¯t see any way to slip out unnoticed. Certainly no guaranteed way.¡±


    Ithrey leaned back, biting her lip, tapping her finger against her knee. ¡°This is too much,¡± she said, low enough Perelor was sure he wasn¡¯t supposed to hear. ¡°I can¡¯t do this. I need help. Alaran needs help¡­¡± Her eyes grew distant for a moment, but then she shook her head. ¡°The guards at the tower. How many are there?¡±


    ¡°At least a dozen,¡± Arrus said. ¡°Not to mention an entire army around them if they find out what we¡¯re doing.¡±


    ¡°We can distract a dozen,¡± Ithrey muttered. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t be easy, but I think I could cause enough of a disturbance for that. Once the signal goes through, they¡¯ll find out quickly, but as long as we can hide until Alaran arrives¡­¡± She met Arrus¡¯ eyes. ¡°Is there any way you can guarantee that signal goes through? The galaxy may well depend on it.¡±


    Arrus¡¯ brow creased for a moment. Then, suddenly, his eyes widened. ¡°Ryla,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°Ryla. The memory burner girl. She¡¯s my cousin.¡±


    Perelor whirled to face Arrus. ¡°Your cousin?¡±


    ¡°Long story.¡± He paused. ¡°I¡­ doubt she¡¯d be willing to help us directly, honestly.¡± He frowned, though that frown quickly turned to an impish grin. ¡°Her credentials will work on the comms tower, though. I¡¯m sure of that. All I need is to get her passcode out of her.¡±


    ¡°How hard would that be?¡± Ithrey asked.


    Arrus snorted. ¡°Easy. Ryla is gullible.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re going to trust a Talar noble to help us?¡± Perelor asked. ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s a good idea.¡±


    ¡°None of this is a good idea,¡± Ithrey noted. ¡°It¡¯s just our only chance.¡± Her frown deepened.


    ¡°She¡¯d only indirectly help us,¡± Arrus pressed. ¡°She won¡¯t even know she is, probably. She trusts me way too much.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s still part of Larsh¡¯s memory burner cohort,¡± Perelor said. ¡°Arrus, if Larsh reads her and finds out I¡¯m planning something ¡ª anything ¡ª we¡¯re all dead. Larsh is the only reason Cyrla can¡¯t just execute us here and now.¡±


    ¡°I know. I¡¯ll be careful. Trust me.¡±


    Trust me, Crelang had said. We just need a good enough plan.


    Perelor swallowed. ¡°Be careful. Please.¡±


    ¡°I will.¡±


    Ithrey cleared her throat. ¡°So you¡¯re saying the contacting Alaran is more viable now?¡±


    ¡°I think so. I¡¯ll need a few days to get that passkey. But after that, we can certainly try it.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll need to do more than try,¡± Ithrey said. ¡°We¡¯ll need to plan, and then succeed. But a delay gives me time to scout out the camp. It should be fine.¡± She straightened. ¡°We¡¯ll do that, then.¡±


    Perelor folded his arms. ¡°And the Voidling? It¡¯s not gone, you know. The memory burner ¡ª Ryla ¡ª only took out one of its two Surges.¡±


    A hush fell over the camp. ¡°I don¡¯t know if there¡¯s any way we can deal with that,¡± Arrus finally said.


    ¡°It could kill us all,¡± Perelor said. ¡°Cyrla can¡¯t kill us directly, but she can have the Voidling do it. The moment it¡¯s back to full strength, we¡¯re dead.¡±A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    ¡°That¡¯ll take a while,¡± Ithrey said. ¡°Weeks, probably.¡±


    How do you know that? Perelor thought. But she seemed sure, and honestly, a part of him didn¡¯t want to know.


    ¡°Still,¡± he said. ¡°What do we do if it tries to kill us? Or if Cyrla tries to? Torment, if Larsh tries to?¡±


    Silence, again. Then Ithrey spoke, voice unnervingly cold.


    ¡°We die.¡±


    ¡°Can you accept that?¡± Perelor asked. ¡°This plan is all we have, but it¡¯s not a foolproof one.¡±


    Ithrey shivered, eyes drifting to the ground. ¡°We won¡¯t take any unnecessary risks,¡± she said.


    ¡°There will still be risks,¡± Perelor said. ¡°Risks that could end with all of us laying limp in pools of blood. Risks that would mean the end of not just us, but hope itself.¡±


    ¡°Perelor,¡± Arrus interrupted. ¡°We don¡¯t have to discuss all the gritty¡­¡±


    Perelor raised a hand. ¡°I need her to understand,¡± he said. ¡°I need you both to understand. I¡¯ve tried this before. It failed. It failed so spectacularly that a part of me still wishes I¡¯d killed myself rather than face the consequences. So, Valeo, do you understand the cost if this doesn¡¯t work?¡±


    Ithrey hesitated, her eyes lingering on the ground a moment longer. Then she met Perelor¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°Yes. I¡¯ll do what I have to.¡±


    Perelor studied her for a moment, then turned to Arrus. ¡°And you?¡±


    Arrus shrugged. ¡°What choice do we have?¡± He chuckled dryly.


    ¡°None,¡± Perelor said. ¡°The worlds hang on this. My sister hangs on this. Which is why we all have to agree.¡± He sighed, relaxing. ¡°I don¡¯t know of any better plan. This seems foolhardy, but anything we try will be, and this at least has a chance.¡± Probably.


    ¡°It¡¯s settled then,¡± Ithrey said. She stood, stretching. ¡°I¡¯m going to go talk to the other men. I¡¯m not familiar with all of them, but I think there are some whom we can trust.¡±


    Perelor twitched uncomfortably. ¡°People sell out easily here. How confident are you they won¡¯t rat us out?¡±


    ¡°They are Miradorans. We will be fine.¡±


    ¡°People break here,¡± Perelor said. ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    ¡°Sure enough,¡± Ithrey said coolly. ¡°And that should be enough for you, Captain. You said you would follow me to Torment itself, did you not? Well, then you need to trust me with this.¡±


    Perelor tensed, but forced himself to nod. ¡°Alright. Fine.¡± He looked away. ¡°It¡¯s been a long day. I¡¯m going to sleep.¡± He doubted he actually would, but he wanted this conversation to be over.


    Ithrey nodded, though Perelor could see her staring at him as he turned away, eyes ever analytical. Eventually she nodded. ¡°Good enough,¡± he thought he heard her mutter. ¡°It will have to be good enough.¡± She gave a quick wave to Arrus, then walked away.


    ¡°Searing woman,¡± Perelor said when she was away.


    Arrus frowned. ¡°I think she¡¯s alright.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the problem,¡± Perelor said. ¡°I want to hate her, but I can¡¯t. She¡¯s an ally. She¡¯s just an annoying one.¡± He shook his head. ¡°So much chaos¡­ I¡¯m wondering if I should¡¯ve just killed her at the start.¡±


    Arrus winced, falling silent. Perelor closed his eyes, weariness setting in even more than it had after the fight with the Voidling. He hadn¡¯t slept for what? Forty-eight hours? And he¡¯d been fighting most of that time.


    Despite his physical exhaustion, his mind still raced. Why hadn¡¯t he killed Ithrey? He hadn¡¯t known she would have information about his sister. He didn¡¯t even like the woman.


    Yet those tears on her face¡­ she acted strong now, but he¡¯d seen her, on the verge of death. When the facade had all come falling down.


    She¡¯d looked just like his sister had. Young and afraid.


    ¡°Do you think we can do this?¡±


    Perelor turned back to Arrus. He¡¯d lain down on his cot, and he was staring up at the smoky sky, tapping a finger against his chest. He paused.


    ¡°Hopefully,¡± he replied.


    ¡°I mean, I hope we can, too. But do you think we¡¯ll actually succeed?¡±


    There was a long silence. ¡°Yes,¡± Perelor said finally. It was a lie, but he said it. ¡°I mean, she¡¯s prophesied to save humankind, right? So it makes sense that we¡¯ll win. Fate is on our side.¡±


    As if that¡¯s ever made a difference before. Yet for Arrus, he could lie.


    Arrus hesitated, then snorted. ¡°You¡¯re lying,¡± he said.


    ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± Perelor said. He felt himself pale though, and Arrus frowned.


    ¡°You really are terrible at that,¡± he sighed. He paused. ¡°It¡¯s like Myridon, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°Myridon. That story I always tell, about the Talar trapped on the Erak¡¯sai planet? He didn¡¯t have a chance; there¡¯s no way one fighter plane can take down an army.¡± His frown turned upward into a smile. ¡°But he fought anyway. Died anyway. Because it was right, whether or not it was the logical thing to do.¡±


    ¡°I suppose.¡± Perelor sighed. ¡°This mostly just feels like our only choice. I mean, we¡¯ll be slaughtered in a mutiny. We can¡¯t mess with the cameras.¡± He shrugged. ¡°There¡¯s a reason I haven¡¯t tried this before. But, if my sister really is out there¡­¡±


    He could almost see her, in that moment. Trapped in the siege. Freezing up, like she always did.


    No, this plan didn¡¯t have a good chance of working. The guards could apprehend them. The signal could fail. Ithrey¡¯s brother might not come with enough troops to bust them out.


    ¡°It¡¯s the right thing,¡± he said finally. ¡°I have to try. I¡¯ve spent so long just waiting for the perfect moment to rise again¡­¡± he sighed. ¡°But it¡¯s never going to come, is it?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Arrus whispered. ¡°I don¡¯t think it is.¡±


    ¡°But we can go on anyway,¡± Perelor said. ¡°We have to. And maybe, just maybe, things will go right for once.¡±


    ¡°I hope so,¡± Arrus said.


    There was a long pause between them. A knowing pause. A pause during which the magnitude of Perelor¡¯s choice finally began to dawn on him. This path would end in pain. Probably death.


    Yet, didn¡¯t all paths end in death?


    Arrus yawned. ¡°I¡¯m going to try to get some sleep, I think. Goodnight.¡±


    ¡°Goodnight,¡± Perelor said softly.


    Arrus rolled over, and Perelor began settling into his own cot. A few moments later, though, Arrus turned back over.


    ¡°Thank you for caring,¡± he said, voice soft. ¡°I know you try not to care, and with the others you do a pretty good job of it. But thank you for caring about me, at least. It¡¯s made more of a difference than you could know.¡±


    ¡°If anything I should thank you,¡± Perelor said. ¡°I don¡¯t know where I¡¯d be without you.¡±


    That, too, was a lie. He knew exactly where he¡¯d be: Torment. He closed his eyes. ¡°We should sleep.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Arrus rolled back over. Perelor, though, reopened his eyes. Stared at the smoke, blocking out the stars.


    ¡°I wish I could believe you weren¡¯t doing this to hurt me,¡± he whispered. ¡°Every other chance I¡¯ve been given has gone wrong.¡± He let out a shaky breath he didn¡¯t realize he¡¯d been holding. ¡°But I will try. One more time. Only one more, but I will try.¡±


    Keep your sister safe, son.


    One last try.


    He closed his eyes. Despite everything, sleep came.


    ***


    ¡°Where do you think it came from?¡±


    The question came from the soldier sitting beside Ithrey, a man with a scraggly beard and haunted eyes. Terenat, was his name. He was a good man; Ithrey had known him back when she was merely captain of the Miradoran Palace Guard.


    Silence swept over the others. There were only a few left, and though Ithrey knew those missing would be replaced the next day, she was still disturbed by how few remained. If she asked any of these men to help her, would they even be alive by the time Arrus got that code?


    For that matter, how many could she let die before she couldn¡¯t take it any longer? She wouldn¡¯t let Larsh know anything about Aiedra¡¯s plans, but there was always suicide, if it meant more of her men would live.


    The Endowed, she reminded herself. That¡¯s more important than how you feel. Besides, it¡¯s Larsh¡¯s fault they¡¯re dying, not yours.


    She¡¯d be dead soon enough anyway, if all went according to plan.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± one of the others said finally. A man with close-cut brown hair, holding a thin, crumpled picture of his wife. Irivan. Ithrey didn¡¯t know how he¡¯d smuggled the picture in, nobody else she¡¯d seen had any of their possessions. He turned to meet Ithrey¡¯s eyes. ¡°I¡¯m not sure it matters. The real question is how we get out of here. What¡¯s your plan, General?¡±


    Ithrey hesitated. Are you sure? Perelor¡¯s voice echoed in her ears. ¡°I don¡¯t have one yet,¡± she lied.


    Irivan waved a hand. ¡°It doesn¡¯t have to be all done, General. But we just saw you talking with the Captain. We know you¡¯re planning something.¡±


    ¡°The Captain and I were only discussing command structure,¡± Ithrey said. ¡°He has agreed that, though he will remain a figurehead to the Talar, I am in command.¡±


    Irivan frowned. ¡°That¡¯s good, I guess. We need to escape, though.¡± He swept his eyes over the soldiers. ¡°We all agree on that much, right?¡±


    Ithrey hesitated. If these men tried a mutiny, it could ruin everything she had just outlined. She cleared her throat.


    ¡°We are not going to try anything just yet. I need more data on these camps before I can make an informed decision on our course of action. Understood?¡±


    The men nodded, though Irivan seemed hesitant. Maybe I¡¯ll have to talk to him later, Ithrey thought.


    Except, she hardly knew the man. She¡¯d fought with him a few times, but not enough to trust him with something like this. In fact, as she looked over her men, she realized that was true for all of them.


    She knew their names. Knew their faces. But she did not know them. She restrained a sigh.


    The life of a Seeker is a lonely one.


    She rose from her seat, bidding the men goodnight. She probably should¡¯ve stayed longer, but today had been unimaginably tiring, even with the added strength her Purity gave her.


    Idly she reached back, fingering the jewel now embedded into the back of her neck. She¡¯d wielded Purity Surges before, but never had one surgically implanted. It felt strange, uncomfortable. But then, so did slavery.


    Her mind raced, trying to patch the holes in their plan. It was possible it would work. But only possible.


    She needed better than possible. She needed guarantees.


    Behind her, the men were talking about their families, back home. Calmly pretending as if they were fine. Acting as if they hadn¡¯t just walked into a death trap. Yet they would die all the same. Okron, she was beginning to understand Perelor¡¯s worry.


    She sat down on her designated cot, trembling. She stared down at her feet, trying not to see the insectoid helms of the Talar guards, gleaming in the light of the cook fires. In the distance, though, she could hear plasma fire. Never-ending shrieks. Just like on Mirador, during the invasion. How long since she¡¯d had a moment of quiet?


    Too long. She placed her head in her hands, rubbing her face, pulling herself together. Now, of all times, she could not afford to be weak.


    For she had made a choice, during that meeting. A terrible choice, but one that was necessary.


    She couldn¡¯t help Alaran herself. Nor could Alaran actually bust her out of here; he was powerful, but he didn¡¯t have the forces to take on the entire army.


    Yet, before Larsh killed her, Ithrey could perform one final service. With Arrus¡¯, and perhaps Perelor¡¯s, help, she would fight her way to the camp comms tower. She would send a message there, but not to Alaran. Instead, she would broadcast to the entire galaxy his plight, in the hope that someone would come to his aid.


    She had lied to the others, of course. With Arrus¡¯ naivety and Perelor¡¯s fixation on his sister, it had been easier than she¡¯d thought. They would die because of her lies, by the time this was through. That gnawed at her.


    But, it was necessary. If this girl truly was the Endowed, their sacrifice would mean more than they would ever know.


    ¡°The life of a Seeker is a lonely one,¡± she whispered. An old saying, from Aiedra. A cold saying, but true.


    She laid on her back, and closed her eyes, but did not sleep. She didn¡¯t even try to sleep. The suffering of exhaustion seemed the only penance she could give for what she was about to do.

 Chapter 26 - Oblivions Touch

    I killed a man today. Burned him to a crisp before the eyes of his subjects, all because he spoke a word out of turn. Aiedra assures me this was just.


    I hate her for being right.


    -Arath Dralei, circa 2,898 Post Fall of Meridian


    Xanala tried to keep her eyes from drifting as she followed Alaran through the halls of the Grahalan military headquarters and out onto a gravel-covered training ground. She could not afford to let Alaran think she would try anything. She couldn¡¯t even afford to be tempted to try anything. Her thoughts had to be as far from her plan as possible, or Alaran would catch her with his memory sense. He might catch her anyway, but she had to try.


    The guards, two men in red and silver who were both laying with their backs to the wall, snapped their eyes open and scrambled to their feet as Alaran approached, saluting.


    ¡°Sir,¡± one said. ¡°Sorry sir. Didn¡¯t mean to¡­¡±


    Alaran waved a hand, smiling. ¡°No harm done.¡± His voice grew quiet. ¡°We¡¯re all tired these days. Just don¡¯t sleep while you¡¯re on duty at the cannons. You may leave.¡±


    ¡°Understood, sir.¡± The man who had spoken gave another salute, then walked away, gesturing for his companion to follow. When they were both gone, Alaran turned to Xanala, hands clasped behind his back.


    ¡°You¡¯re afraid of me. I don¡¯t have soul sense, but I can tell that much.¡±


    Xanala snorted. ¡°I¡¯m not afraid.¡±


    Alaran smiled again. ¡°You¡¯re a terrible liar, my friend. It¡¯s a good quality to have.¡± He reached for his side, unbuckling a blade that waited there. Then he tossed it to Xanala. It clattered to the floor as she yelped, stepping back instead of catching it. Alaran¡¯s grin widened.


    ¡°Case in point, you just thought I tried to attack you.¡± He waved to it. ¡°I didn¡¯t. And it¡¯s yours. I figure the Endowed should have a way to defend themselves.¡±


    Hesitantly, Xanala knelt to the floor, picking up the blade. It was still in its sheath, and she drew it out slowly, raising an eyebrow as she saw a blue Ever Surge waiting in the weapon¡¯s hilt.


    ¡°I thought you said I couldn¡¯t use the Powers?¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t, not directly. But you might be able to use the power from a Surge. It¡¯s not as connected to your Identity.¡±


    ¡°My¡­ Identity? You said that before. I don¡¯t know what it means.¡±


    ¡°Everyone has three life forces, one connecting to each of the Three Powers. They intertwine somehow, though researchers aren¡¯t entirely sure how it all works.


    ¡°The short of it is that Oblivion has woven a thread of power into that web ¡ª into the very essence of what makes you yourself. That affects your burning abilities by default; your Identity is strong in all Three Powers, and that¡¯s what allows you to use them in the first place. But, depending on how deep the damage is, you might still be able to use the Powers from another source. Thus, the sword.¡± He nodded to it again. ¡°Try it.¡±


    Xanala shakily tapped her hand against the Surge, connecting to it. She felt the usual buzz against her skin as the Surge tethered itself to her. And, as it did, she heard Oblivion¡¯s voice.


    I wouldn¡¯t do that, if I were you.


    Her finger jerked away from the jewel, and she almost dropped the blade. Alaran frowned.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Xanala snapped. She winced, lowering her voice. I need to keep Alaran happy, at least for now. ¡°Are you sure this won¡¯t open me up to¡­ to him?¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t,¡± Alaran assured her. ¡°You might not be able to use the Surge, but it won¡¯t make the problem any worse than it already is.¡±


    Can you really trust him? Oblivion hissed. That Surge is his own. Open yourself to it, and he¡¯ll have power over you.


    She paused again. That was a blatant lie. She¡¯d dealt with enough burners to know that, though Surges were linked to those who had summoned them, they didn¡¯t allow mind control.


    Also, she noted, he summoned the thing. On his own. From what she¡¯d heard, that required intense discipline ¡ª there was a reason the stewards of Raerok had to torture burners to get them to do it. Alaran was clearly a dangerous man.


    Which was why she should obey him. So, she closed her eyes, ignored Oblivion¡¯s ranting, and Reached for the Ever in the Surge.


    Blessedly, it came. Energy lit up in her veins, not nearly as much as she was used to, yet it still felt like gorging on warm food after a long fast. She sighed in relief as her skin blazed with blue light.


    ¡°Feels good, doesn¡¯t it?¡± Alaran¡¯s grin was back. Okron, she was beginning to hate the way the man smiled. ¡°That¡¯s a good sign. Oblivion hasn¡¯t gotten too far. We might be able to expel him here and now.¡±


    Xanala blinked. ¡°Now?¡±


    ¡°Not for certain. But it¡¯s possible. Depends on how much energy he was able to slip in between the strands of your Identity.¡± He paused. ¡°But to try, I will have to use my own strands of Ever. It¡¯s¡­ well, I can¡¯t say I¡¯ve ever had it done to me, but it¡¯s supposedly quite invasive.¡±


    I told you, Oblivion whispered. He will seize control.


    Xanala swallowed, gripping the sword a little tighter. She couldn¡¯t afford to let Alaran know what she was planning, and this procedure¡­ well, if it involved Ever it would likely expose her thoughts. She tensed. If she could pull in enough Ever from the Surge, maybe she could stop herself from being revealed. She raised a cautious hand¡­


    Abruptly, her supply of Ever cut off. Alaran raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a fool. That Surge is mine, and if you use it to attack me, I will cut off your access.¡± He sighed. ¡°But I see you¡¯re not ready for a full expulsion yet. That¡¯s understandable.¡±


    ¡°Oblivion says you¡¯ll take control,¡± Xanala blurted. ¡°Is that true?¡±


    Alaran laughed. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Not even to fulfill the prophecy?¡±


    Alaran actually paused for a moment, face blank, as if he hadn¡¯t considered the possibility before. ¡°I¡­ no.¡± He shook his head. ¡°It would be tempting, I will admit, but no. That wouldn¡¯t work anyway.¡±


    ¡°But you would, wouldn¡¯t you? If it did work?¡±


    Another pause. Then, his shoulders slumped. ¡°Yes. Yes I would. I¡¯d let go the moment Oblivion was defeated, but if I had the power to stop him, any sacrifice would be worth it.¡± He met Xanala¡¯s eyes. ¡°I¡¯ve given my life to that cause. I will give my life to that cause. I told you I would not lie to you, and so I won¡¯t: I intend to make you the hero of the prophecy. Not because I relish it, but because it is the only hope humankind has.¡±


    There was an intensity to his voice. A level tone of pure conviction. Xanala shivered as she studied his eyes. Behind that blue glow and his lips drawn thin, she saw blood, tears, anguish, and raw, untamed determination. Perhaps even more than she¡¯d seen in her father.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want any part of that.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°I just want to be free.¡±


    ¡°So do all of us. That is why we must fight.¡± Alaran relaxed, that stupid smile crossing his face again. Xanala saw through it now, though. ¡°Have I told you about my sister?¡±


    ¡°Why does it matter?¡±


    Alaran shrugged. ¡°You remind me of her. At least, the way she used to be.¡±


    ¡°Ah. Let me guess; she¡¯s part of your cause.¡±


    ¡°She is.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re going to manipulate me, you¡¯ll need to do better than that.¡±


    ¡°If I were manipulating you, yes, I would.¡± Alaran met her eyes again, and suddenly that smile was gone. ¡°Our father abused her for years. Physical, sexual, whenever he felt like it. I tried to stop him, but I couldn¡¯t ¡ª he was a Void burner, I wasn¡¯t. Finally, he tried to kill her. I snapped, and ended up connecting to the First Power. I had to burn him to ashes right in front of her. She was ten. It took me months to get her to speak again.


    ¡°You¡¯re not the only one who¡¯s been betrayed, Xanala. Don¡¯t live your whole life alone because of something one person did. No matter what Oblivion thinks, we¡¯re not all the same.¡±


    He turned away. ¡°I think we¡¯ve done enough today. All we can, at least. You can keep the Surgeblade; I can draw from it whenever I need. You can leave, if you wish.¡±


    Xanala hesitated, then hastily turned away. Why had Alaran felt the need to tell her that? As if knowing about another betrayal would make her any more trusting, when in reality it was just more evidence that Alaran himself would backstab her.


    Yet, why did a part of her feel relieved?


    She shook her head, striding away. Now that she had a Surge, maybe she could perform some experiments of her own. If she could expel Oblivion herself, that would solve a host of problems; she wasn¡¯t sure how Larsh would react if she showed up with such a handicap.


    Probably not well. Yet, they were still her only way off of this planet alive.


    ¡°Xanala?¡±


    Sighing, she turned back to see Alaran, staring upward at the smoke-filled sky. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t let Oblivion win,¡± he breathed. For once, his voice had no spring to it. ¡°Please. If not for me, if not for humanity, then for yourself.¡±


    He fell silent again. Xanala actually stared at him for a long moment, gazing at him as he gazed at the sunset. Then, muttering to herself, she turned away. She had work to do.


    There would be a crack somewhere, she was sure of it. A flaw in Alaran¡¯s defenses. She would find it.


    Then she would finally be free.


    ***


    The day after making her decision, Ryla awoke again from a nightmare she could not remember. That was becoming more common, she realized. But, calming herself, she rose and slipped a Talar uniform from out of her wardrobe, then climbed into it.


    It was bright outside; the rain from the night before seemed to have finally cleared. The sky was a warm blue, the clouds pure white. For a moment, the weather almost made Ryla feel calm.


    Then she remembered what she faced today. As she did, a red line of light writhed in front of her face. It was gone a moment later, but her hands still trembled as she did up the last buttons of her uniform. She checked herself in a nearby mirror ¡ª Larsh was very picky when it came to Ryla¡¯s appearance ¡ª then straightened out the last few wrinkles, then marched upstairs.


    She let out a relieved breath as she arrived in the kitchen; her mother wasn¡¯t there, and the mess of splintered wood from their scuffle before had been cleaned up. Her father sat in his chair, disheveled and unshaved, eyes distant, a goblet sitting empty in front of him.


    ¡°Ryla,¡± he said, voice slurred. ¡°You¡¯re up.¡±


    ¡°Yes, father.¡±


    ¡°Are you staying today?¡±


    ¡°No, father.¡±The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Ah.¡± He said nothing further; he just stared forward with vacant eyes. Ryla ignored him. He had chips in his blood that would alert the servants if his alcohol levels grew too high. Ryla knew because she had been the one to insist on installing them.


    Ryla walked over and began preparing a meal of her own with some vitamin powder ¡ª nothing fancy; she never had time for anything fancy. ¡°How are things, father?¡±


    She got no reply. A few moments later, though, her father grunted and rose from his seat, walking through the door and out of the kitchen. He left both the empty goblet and a plate stained with food on the table.


    He better not expect me to clean up after him, Ryla thought sourly. She sat down with own food, then began shoveling it into her mouth.


    She didn¡¯t get far before the door slid open again, this time revealing her mother. Ryla closed her eyes mid bite.


    Thaus. How does she always know where to find me?


    ¡°Daughter. You look tired.¡±


    That¡¯s because I am, Ryla thought. She didn¡¯t look up from her food, nor did she respond.


    Her mother sighed. ¡°The Soulcurse is hardly even present today, child. You¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    You always say that, Ryla thought. But she forced herself to glance at her mother. She was wearing a purple dress today, and the scars from their scuffle earlier had been healed. Wonder how much that cost. House Magala had no Purity Surges of their own, and other nobles often charged exorbitant amounts for use of their Surges. Not that price ever stopped Nythla Magala.


    She does look better, though, Ryla noted. No red eyes. She hesitated, then spoke. ¡°I had a long night last night.¡±


    Nythla raised an eyebrow. ¡°Larsh tells me you¡¯ve been on leave for the last twenty-four hours.¡±


    ¡°I fought before that,¡± Ryla said defensively.


    ¡°Still. You should¡¯ve come here earlier. We have things to discuss.¡±


    ¡°Like?¡±


    Ryla¡¯s mother smiled. ¡°Like how Larsh is planning to train you in Void?¡± Ryla paled, and Nythla sighed. ¡°Yes, I know about that. It¡¯s not as much of a problem as you think it is, though.¡±


    ¡°Of course you think that,¡± Ryla snapped.


    Nythla glared at Ryla, but continued. ¡°Regardless, I want to speak to you about that list of challenges I sent you.¡±


    Ryla paused, fork halfway to her mouth with another hunk of bread. She gave Nythla a glare of her own. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a memory burner, Ryla. You could beat half of the nobility out of their titles without breaking a sweat.¡±


    ¡°Larsh doesn¡¯t want me to.¡±


    ¡°But she hasn¡¯t forbidden you, either. Our House needs a leg up. We can¡¯t simply wait for you to be declared heir.¡±


    Ryla shook her head, stuffing the last of her food into her mouth, then rose. She swallowed a moment later, then spoke. ¡°That¡¯s your problem, not mine. Torment, it¡¯s father¡¯s problem, really. I¡¯ll provide what money I can, but I¡¯m not dueling just so you can spend more.¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t about spending,¡± Nythla hissed. ¡°It¡¯s about security. Your brother was almost drafted!¡±


    Ryla hesitated. ¡°Kairus made his choice.¡±


    ¡°He almost didn¡¯t have one, though. Do you think your father would survive if he were drafted? Torment, he wouldn¡¯t even survive if just his servants were drafted!¡±


    ¡°And that¡¯s his problem!¡± Ryla snapped.


    She knew she¡¯d gone too far, and it seemed her mother did, too, for she stepped forward. Her eyes did not hold any red light, but they certainly held plenty of anger. ¡°Do not disrespect your father. Do you hear me?¡±


    Ryla hesitated, then sighed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re sorry, then do as I ask.¡±


    ¡°And that¡¯s where we disagree.¡± Ryla pushed past her mother. ¡°This discussion is over. I need to get to the training ring anyway.¡±


    ¡°Ryla, don¡¯t you turn your back on¡­¡±


    Ryla whirled, Reaching for thoughts, burning them, then burning the resultant Ever to freeze her mother in place, an invisible wall of force pushing in on her from all sides.


    ¡°I¡¯m in control here,¡± she said, voice deathly quiet. ¡°Not you.¡±


    Nythla met Ryla¡¯s gaze. She was silent for a long time. ¡°For now,¡± she said finally. ¡°For now.¡±


    Ryla huffed, then let her mother go, and stormed out the door. Thankfully, the cursed woman did not follow.


    ***


    The training ring Larsh had requested was a strange one. Most dueling arenas were wide and open, filled with pillars and obstacles.


    This was little more than a metal floor, with occasional bumps and texturing to simulate the floor of a city. At first, Ryla questioned if she¡¯d come to the right place, but just before she was about to leave, Larsh arrived.


    Any sign of the remorse the Talar leader had shown the night before was gone. Her face was hard, her lips pursed, her eyes accented with heavy makeup. She was wearing full armor, a custom forged suit, purple with gray trim, and, to Ryla¡¯s annoyance, accents of red. The Cunning One¡¯s colors. Purple and gray had always been the Talar colors, but Larsh had added in red upon taking the throne. A not-so-subtle reminder of her power as a burner.


    And a mockery of a once-proud tradition, one that made Ryla seethe inside. She kept her face straight, though, and maintained a constant buzz of Ever in her skin. She could not afford for Larsh to read her thoughts.


    Larsh swept her eyes over Ryla, nodding curtly. ¡°You came. Good. It would have been¡­ messy, had you refused.¡± She frowned. ¡°You¡¯re wearing a lightweight suit. I thought I trained you out of that.¡±


    Ryla shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s more comfortable.¡±


    ¡°And it¡¯s less effective. From now on, you will wear a full suit.¡±


    Ryla opened her mouth to protest, then shut it. ¡°Fine.¡±


    Larsh smirked. ¡°Obedience. It¡¯s about time I got some of that out of you.¡±


    Ryla bristled, but followed as Larsh stepped out onto the training ring, drawing her sword from a sheath on her hip, then gesturing for Ryla to do the same. Ryla did, unsheathing a Surgeblade that had been delivered to her quarters on Myridith a few hours earlier. The jewel in its center glowed with red light. Even though she had not yet drawn the Void in, she could hear voices whispering within it. Soft, but piercing, screams. She shivered.


    ¡°You hear them, don¡¯t you,¡± Larsh said. Not a question. Just a statement of a fact.


    ¡°No,¡± Ryla lied.


    Larsh smiled grimly. ¡°Yet you knew exactly what I was talking about.¡±


    Ryla shivered again. ¡°I hate them.¡±


    ¡°Good. The ones who don¡¯t are the ones who lose themselves.¡± She straightened. ¡°We will begin soon. I hope you have spent the time I gave you to prepare. But before that, I want you to run through some exercises with Ever. I have not checked your progress recently.¡±


    Ryla nodded. If I fumbled this, would it get me out of using Void? She met Larsh¡¯s eyes, though, and the woman¡¯s stony expression indicated otherwise. Bile rose in her throat.


    It¡¯s just temporary, she reminded herself. And you haven¡¯t even started yet. Don¡¯t be a coward.


    ¡°Basic exercises,¡± Larsh said, ¡°fourth movement. Now.¡±


    Ryla closed her eyes in response, Reaching and pulling in Ever. This particular movement called for fast Reaching ¡ª less than a second ¡ª and she barely got her eyes back open in time to throw her hand forward, lighting the air with a burst of heat, then step back, summoning a shield of plasma in front of her, as if blocking an attack from an enemy burner. She danced through the rest of the sequence with ease; she¡¯d done this movement hundreds, if not thousands, of times.


    Larsh gave only a small grunt of satisfaction when Ryla was done. ¡°Good enough. You need to work harder on Reaching, though. In a battle between burners, the first to call on the Powers is often the victor, regardless of skill. But good enough.¡±


    Of course I need to work harder, Ryla thought. She tensed, realizing what came next. Larsh¡¯s face, too, grew grim.


    ¡°You are connected to the Third Power, Ryla,¡± she said gently. ¡°This would have happened eventually. At least this way, I can keep you from losing yourself in the process ¡ª the way your mother did.¡±


    ¡°Coming from you,¡± Ryla hissed, ¡°that¡¯s little comfort.¡± She didn¡¯t mean for the words to slip out, but they did.


    Larsh showed no reaction to them. She just continued on. ¡°Reaching for Void will be like Reaching for Ever, at least to begin with. Once you have successfully begun touching the Third Power, though, you must be ready. You must have your emotions clear. The more you can keep yourself rational, the less Oblivion¡¯s taint will affect you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not doing this.¡± Ryla¡¯s heart beat fast. Those red eyes, those hands on her throat, that wild grin on her mother¡¯s face¡­ ¡°I can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°I will tolerate disobedience from you no further, Ryla,¡± Larsh said. ¡°Reach.¡± Her voice grew softer. ¡°You will be fine. It¡¯s just once.¡±


    It¡¯s just once¡­ Her mother said that so often. I¡¯ll leave it behind, I just need it one more time¡­ just once more¡­


    Her mother never did need it. Yet, Ryla couldn¡¯t refuse. She hoped that true necessity would make a difference. Closing her eyes, trembling, she Reached. Not for Ever, but for Void.


    At first, it was just as Larsh had said. The usual thrum at the beginning came from her chest, rather than her forehead, but she felt energy moving closer, a heat that permeated more than just her skin.


    Then, it changed.


    The first thing she noticed was the sour taste in her mouth. It spread from there, becoming a twisting in her gut, a throbbing in her throat, a tremble in her limbs. Emotions danced freely in her chest ¡ª other people¡¯s emotions. She felt the raw despair of a woman who had lost her child. She gasped at the ecstasy of a man nearby sucking in smoke from a pipe. And, within it all, she felt her own raw, barely-contained hatred for Larsh.


    It was similar to memory burning; yet, instead of seeing and hearing, she felt. There was no logic to it. Just passion. It was overwhelming beyond anything she¡¯d ever experienced.


    That wasn¡¯t all, though. For as she Reached she saw the spirits.


    She¡¯d known this part would come. Cyrla and the other Void burners Larsh employed had all mentioned peering into Torment as they connected to the Third Power. Yet no casual words could prepare her for this.


    People ¡ª made of a red light rather than flesh, but still people ¡ª writhed in front of her. Their mouths were open in screams of pure pain, their hands clenched to their skulls. Sweat beaded on their foreheads, and blood gushed from gashes that opened and sealed seemingly at random. Flesh burned, only to be restored, only to burn again.


    And the screams. She could not hear them, not directly, but she felt them. As if her chest had somehow become the instrument of her hearing. Their despair threatened to consume her. She fell to her knees, gasping, yet, somehow, despite her best efforts, she could not let go of the Power. It clung to her, refusing to leave.


    I have you now, a voice rumbled, deep and rich. Your future is mine.


    She looked up, desperately trying to push away the Power. To fail, rather than let it seep into her veins. Shouldn¡¯t this be easy? It was always easy to let go of Ever. Panic rose in her chest, mixing with a thousand other emotions.


    Abruptly a spirit reached for her, hands trembling. She yelped, shrinking backward¡­


    And, finally, the Third Power was gone.


    She was already on her knees, but even that was too much as exhaustion overtook her. She sank to the floor, trying to resist tears ¡ª tears of anger, tears of fear, tears of all emotions wrapped up in one. She tried to steady her breathing. It didn¡¯t work. Had that face¡­ had it been her uncle, expression contorted in pain? But no, that was lunacy. The Void had been twisting her mind. She closed her eyes as Larsh fell to her knees beside her.


    ¡°It affected you strongly,¡± she heard Larsh murmur. ¡°A negative reaction is normal, but this¡­ and the aura that surrounded you¡­ strange. Very strange. But, you did well, all things considered.¡± She laid a hand on Ryla¡¯s shoulder.


    Ryla shook it away immediately. ¡°Get away from me,¡± she hissed.


    ¡°Ryla, it would have happened eventually¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me! I would¡¯ve never touched it! Never!¡± She knew she was going too far, but she didn¡¯t care. Adrenaline surging through her, she forced herself to roll over, closing her eyes and Reaching as she did. Though her soul was tired, her mind was not, and the thoughts flew easily through her mind, as if her anger were grease to the machine of memory burning. She sprung to her feet, renewed and ablaze with Ever. Before she could stop herself, she flung her hand forward, heating the air in front of it into plasma, then shoving that plasma toward Larsh, who still knelt on the floor.


    Larsh¡¯s eyes widened, but she reacted as if she had not been surprised at all. A red tendril of light lashed outward, slamming into Ryla¡¯s plasma bolt. It exploded just in front of Ryla, and heat washed over her, opening up blisters across her face. She yelped, stepping back, then yelped again as a second tendril swept at her legs, knocking her feet out from under her. Her head spun as it struck the hard ground. She lay there for a long moment before she growled, attempting to rise to her feet. As she did, something pressed her back to the floor, hard ¡ª Larsh¡¯s foot.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t try anything further if I were you.¡± The Talar leader¡¯s voice was deathly quiet. Though her limbs still blazed with adrenaline, Ryla immediately fell still. She heard a shriek as Larsh drew her sword, then felt a sharp point come to rest against her neck.


    ¡°I expected more of you than this,¡± Larsh snapped. ¡°I can tell Void-induced actions from simply irrational ones, and that was certainly the latter. Childish, Ryla. Childish.¡±


    ¡°You left me no choice.¡±


    ¡°No choice? I gave you days to prepare. Touching Void will not kill you, but your disobedience might.¡± She pressed the tip of the blade in harder. Ryla winced as she felt it nick her skin, a drop of blood beading from the cut, then dribbling down to the floor.


    ¡°Consider that a warning. A last warning. I will not throw away an asset like you, but there will be¡­ measures, should this behavior continue.¡± The venom in her voice made Ryla shiver despite herself. A moment later, the foot lifted. ¡°Leave. Our lesson here is done. But you will be back when I summon you, and we will continue precisely where we left off. Understood?¡±


    Ryla stood, rubbing her neck, and opened her mouth to protest. Then she saw Larsh¡¯s expression, lips pursed, eyes still aglow with crimson light. Red tendrils twisted around her, not yet headed for Ryla, but there were dozens of them. Far more than Ryla had seen anyone else summon. She wilted.


    ¡°Fine.¡±


    ¡°It is not just fine. It is necessary.¡± She shook her head. ¡°We need to be better than this, Ryla. We cannot squabble. The Destroyer comes¡­¡± She trailed off, and her eyes grew distant for a moment. Then they snapped back into focus. ¡°You are dismissed.¡±


    Ryla stood, pausing, debating if she should strike again. Larsh raised an eyebrow. ¡°You are dismissed, child.¡±


    Ryla grunted, then turned and walked away. At least it¡¯s over. She shivered. Until the next session¡­ The image of her uncle¡¯s face kept flashing through her mind, no matter what she did. She was sure it had been a trick of her mind, but apparently it was one her mind was willing to continue.


    Her uncle would hate her for what she had done. For what she would yet do. But he¡¯d also hate her for having touched the Third Power. No matter how you put it, there was hate on all sides.


    And only one way out.

 Chapter 27 - Okron Be Our Witness

    14 Years Ago¡­


    It was only one evening, but to Perelor it felt half an eternity, his muscles sore, his breathing shallow and quick. He knew he should have long since risen. He knew the only way to find out what change lay ahead of him was to go and ask. Yet, as much as a part of him desired to know, desired above all else to try to fix it all, another part was afraid of the knowledge. And so, the two parts melded, and he sat there, afraid, unknowing, yet completely idle.


    He finally let his hands slip away from his ears; the noise still bothered him, but his heartbeat was slowing. Anxiety could only be sustained so long, it seemed, before weariness took its place. So he heard the footsteps behind him, and tensed as he did, but he could not bring himself to turn around.


    ¡°You alright, kid?¡± The voice was a heavily accented drawl. Dromidius¡¯ voice. Perelor turned, to find not just Dromidius but Yaenke as well. Dromidius had his hands in the pockets of his robes, and actually looked a little nervous. Yaenke had his arms folded in that usual stern fashion of his, though concern and pity creased his face as he gazed at Perelor.


    ¡°We¡¯ve been looking for you for forever,¡± Yaenke said. ¡°You should not have left so suddenly. Your father was so worried he almost left the ceremony, and that would have been disastrous. Your sister has already proven she is no diplomat.¡±


    ¡°We understand how it feels, though,¡± Dromidius cut in. ¡°Torment, I remember when I was first¡­¡± he blinked suddenly, and Perelor realized Yaenke was glaring at him. ¡°Well, I shouldn¡¯t talk about that. Still, we get it. We really do.¡±


    Perelor said nothing. Get it? How could they possibly understand this sinking feeling in his stomach? He turned away, the anxiety rising again. He did not want to talk to them. They were the last people he wanted to talk to. He wanted¡­. wanted¡­.


    He wanted his father to be here.


    Slowly, he turned back. ¡°Where¡¯s my dad?¡±


    ¡°He is busy,¡± Yaenke said. ¡°That is why he sent us.¡±


    ¡°You were sent. I chose.¡± Dromidius sighed. ¡°Sorry. E¡¯vin here has no tact.¡± He met the other man¡¯s eyes. ¡°Care to leave me alone with him for a moment?¡±


    Yaenke bristled at the suggestion, but nodded. ¡°Fine.¡± He leaned in close, and Perelor knew somehow he was not meant to hear the next thing the man said. ¡°But do not do anything outside the plan. No matter how small.¡±


    He stalked away, arms still folded, his expression hawkish, the bun atop the back of his head seeming to stick up too proudly into the air. Dromidius watched him go, then shook his head, snorting.


    ¡°What a prude.¡± A mischievous grin crossed his face. ¡°What do you think we can get away with now he¡¯s gone?¡±


    The grin quickly faded as Perelor retreated backward. ¡°Where¡¯s my dad?¡± he muttered again. He felt on the verge of tears. That made him feel pathetic, which in turn made the tears come even closer to spilling. Okron, he was fourteen. He shouldn¡¯t be crying, let alone hiding in a corner.


    Yet, here he was.


    ¡°Yaenke¡¯s right on that,¡± Dromidius said. ¡°He is busy, least for now. But¡­¡±


    ¡°I want to see him,¡± Perelor insisted. ¡°Even if I can¡¯t talk to him. Please?¡±


    Dromidius hesitated, then nodded. ¡°Alright. We can talk on the way.¡±


    I still don¡¯t want to, Perelor thought. But, breathing in sharply, he rose to his feet, then followed Dromidius as the old soldier began striding through the streets toward a hovercar stop.


    The streets were mostly empty by now; though light still streamed from that sunset ever frozen in the sky, most had now retired to beds in shaded rooms. Those who still strode on the walkways were bleary-eyed, most looking at nothing as they went on their way, though an unusual amount walked with holoscreens in hand, distracted, barely avoiding tripping and falling. Perelor caught a look at what one of them was watching: a projection of his father, arguing with a blue-clad government official.


    ¡°Have I ever told you about the first time I killed a man?¡±


    Dromidius¡¯ voice was uncharacteristically solemn, the drawl gone completely. His eyes grew distant for a moment, especially as Perelor shrunk away, taken aback by the question. Then Dromidius suddenly shook his head, snapping back into focus.


    ¡°You remind me a little of what I felt like that day. Your expression, at least. That¡¯s why I ask.¡±


    ¡°I would never kill anyone,¡± Perelor hissed.


    Dromidius only smiled sadly. ¡°I said that once, too. Then I became a soldier.¡±


    ¡°Father says war is wasteful.¡±


    ¡°It is. I¡¯m not arguing against that. But we¡¯re mortals, we¡¯re excellent at being wasteful. And sometimes¡­ well, you can¡¯t possibly tell me you haven¡¯t felt it, in the arena, swinging that sword of yours.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s just because it¡¯s fun to compete,¡± Perelor said, folding his arms. He was not a killer. Why were they even having this conversation? He needed to get to father. To figure out how to process¡­ well, everything.


    ¡°No, it¡¯s not,¡± Dromidius said. ¡°Everyone says that¡¯s what it is, and maybe that¡¯s true for lesser men. But it¡¯s not the competition for us. It¡¯s the knowledge. The burden that comes from the truth that, if you miss that parry, if you can¡¯t finish your opponent with a clever riposte, if you¡¯re just one millisecond too slow or one inch off, you die. Your friends die. Contest over. Your life over. You can¡¯t tell me you haven¡¯t felt that, kid. You don¡¯t get as good at swordplay as you are without feeling that.¡±


    Perelor shivered. Not because Dromidius was wrong. Because he was right. To most kids, the arena really was just a game. But for Perelor¡­.


    His father talked little about how Perelor¡¯s mother had died, but Perelor knew. No one had ever told him outright, but he knew. Rion had been too slow. And though it wasn¡¯t his fault, he¡¯d paid a price for his mistake as surely as his wife had. People sometimes asked Perelor if he missed his mother. He didn¡¯t; he¡¯d been two when she¡¯d died. But he still felt her loss, every time his father locked himself in his room and unnerving silence overtook their apartment.


    ¡°It took me several tries,¡± Dromidius continued. ¡°The first time, I mean. I had him beat easy. Got him disarmed, kicked him to the floor. Told him to surrender.


    ¡°He didn¡¯t. Just drew in more Void and attacked again. I beat him again. I think I knew I had to kill him then. Didn¡¯t want to, though. Not at all. I beat him six times, if I remember right, before I finally ran him through. Cried all night after that. Everyone kept telling me to wash the blood from my clothes, but I didn¡¯t want to. Thought they deserved to be ruined. I did clean them eventually, though.¡±


    He turned, forcefully meeting Perelor¡¯s eyes even as he tried to avoid the old soldier¡¯s gaze. ¡°It gets easier, kid. That¡¯s what I¡¯m trying to say. It¡¯s hard, searing hard, at first. But it gets easier. The guilt, and the killing. The real trick is remembering balance, as it all starts feeling natural.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a killer,¡± Perelor repeated. ¡°I¡¯m not a warrior, either.¡± Yet¡­ if Eliel was the Endowed¡­


    ¡°You¡¯re not. But you will be. There¡¯s no way out of it, after what your sister just did.¡± Dromidius¡¯ voice was soft, full of high-pitched pity. Perelor growled. He hardly even knew Dromidius, why was the man lecturing him all of a sudden?


    ¡°I told you I didn¡¯t want to talk. Can we just go find my father?¡±


    Dromidius smiled ruefully. ¡°I¡¯ve learned when people say they don¡¯t want to talk, that¡¯s when they need it the most. But I¡¯ve preached enough. We can find your father, though I make no promises he won¡¯t be busy.¡±


    They walked in silence, arriving at the hovercar stop a few minutes later. A few seconds after that Captain Yaenke descended from above, holding his Surgeblade in his hand. He didn¡¯t seem to think it was a big deal, his expression contemplative, but people in the surrounding streets stopped to gawk. Most had seen Surgeblades before, but seeing Ever used in careful, controlled situations and seeing someone use it to casually fly were two very different experiences. Dromidius rolled his eyes.


    ¡°You¡¯re always too casual with that thing.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just a blade,¡± Yaenke muttered. ¡°The people here will see more, by the time this is all done. Much, much more I fear.¡±


    Dromidius pursed his lips, and Perelor idly wondered what their cryptic conversation meant. For that matter, Dromidius had just insinuated that the first man he¡¯d killed had been a Voidburner. A common soldier might kill one by chance, but disarming him? Strange talk.


    But it was a strange day, and he was growing tired. Still, he kept his limbs moving as they hopped into a large hovercar, designed to fit several dozen people, one of the public transit models. It was empty except for them, and Yaenke tossed the woman driving it a winged silver mark as he stepped inside.


    ¡°That¡¯s for not letting anyone else in,¡± he said as she gave him a puzzled look. ¡°And for keeping your ears shut.¡± He settled down beside Dromidius, though his gaze fixed on Perelor and never moved away as the doors to the hovercar slid closed, and they took off. Dromidius shifted uncomfortably beside him.


    ¡°Do we really need to¡­¡± he started to say, but Yaenke raised a hand, and Dromidius fell silent.


    ¡°So,¡± Yaenke said. ¡°Your sister is the Endowed. Or so your father claims. Do you believe that claim?¡±


    Perelor bristled. ¡°I¡­ my father never lies, but I¡­ well¡­¡± his thoughts swam. Too much. Too much was happening. He felt a sudden nausea, and he gripped the handles of his seat tighter, though he did not think the sensation had come from being in the air.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    ¡°You¡¯re too direct,¡± Dromidius muttered. ¡°He¡¯s still processing all this, now isn¡¯t the time¡­¡±


    ¡°This is exactly the time,¡± Yaenke snapped. ¡°I need to know how he is under pressure.¡± He leaned forward. ¡°So, boy. Do you believe your father¡¯s claims? Give me a straight answer this time. People will not listen to you if you stutter, no matter how sincere you are.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Perelor said, his own voice growing irritated. ¡°Can you leave me alone? I want to be left alone!¡± The last part came out as a shout, and he winced. He was losing control. He needed to see his father, and then he needed to sleep.


    Yaenke just snorted in reply. ¡°Trust me, we know you want your privacy. That¡¯s why we¡¯re here. We¡¯re trying to prepare you, because you won¡¯t be getting it anymore.¡±


    Dromidius cleared his throat. ¡°What Yaenke is trying to say is, your father has just stepped into the political spotlight. He¡¯s been there before, yes, but this is far more significant. It¡¯s not just Ethea that will be looking at him now, and those who watch him will be looking far harder. You know those kids at school? The ones like Sekhen, who hate you?¡±


    Perelor swallowed. ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s going to get worse. A lot worse, I¡¯m sorry to say.¡±


    ¡°I guarantee you an ambassador has already been sent,¡± Yaenke interjected. ¡°They will interview everyone, as they decide whether or not to condemn your sister. He seemed a little calmer now, and for the first time, Perelor noticed that the man wasn¡¯t just looking at Perelor with the usual anger ¡ª he actually seemed afraid, his hand shaking just slightly, his eyes constantly flickering down toward Perelor¡¯s hand. Apparently, today¡¯s announcement had shaken him as much as Perelor himself.


    ¡°To condemn her?¡± Perelor asked, suddenly realizing what Yaenke had just said. ¡°What does that mean?¡± He suspected it couldn¡¯t mean anything good.


    He was right. ¡°If a Prospect for the Prophecy has a legitimate claim,¡± Dromidius said, ¡°the Confederacy will usually leave them alone, as long as they submit to the Testing eventually. But if the Confederacy thinks they have no chance, they¡¯ll order the Prospect executed. Claiming the right of Prophecy is¡­ well, it¡¯s serious business.¡±


    ¡°They don¡¯t do it fairly, either,¡± Yaenke said bitterly. ¡°Not the way it¡¯s supposed to be done. Half the time they condemn someone, it¡¯s just because they¡¯re scared it¡¯ll disrupt their plans.¡±


    Dromidius winced. ¡°He¡¯s not wrong, sad to say. Not wrong at all.¡± He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and idly began puffing on it.


    Perelor¡¯s heart pounded. ¡°So¡­ they could kill Eliel?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Yaenke said. ¡°And anyone they think is involved in her plans.¡± He gave Perelor a meaningful glance. ¡°And they will ask questions, boy. Many questions. You will not be alone for a few weeks at least. A very stressful few weeks.¡±


    Perelor shivered, but to his surprise, he felt mostly numb to the news. Just another thing falling apart. ¡°I really need to talk to my father.¡±


    ¡°You will,¡± Dromidius said. ¡°He just might be busy. He wanted us to take care of you, while he¡¯s busy taking care of Eliel. He¡­ wanted us to tell you that though this is hard on you, it will be even harder on her.¡±


    Eliel. Perelor felt a warm wash of shame as he thought of his sister. He¡¯d hardly even considered how this would be for her. She got anxious enough over simple tests at school. She was the kindest person he knew ¡ª and the most vulnerable. The one thing he did know for certain, he realized, was that she would have no idea what she was doing.


    And they might kill her if they don¡¯t think she¡¯s a real Prospect. He felt the shame increase. He should be trying to help her, not sitting in an alley in a pool of his own self pity.


    Yet, there was still that fear. That nauseating dizziness as everything spun and changed.


    ¡°I need to talk to my father,¡± he repeated. He just needed a few minutes, anyway. His father always knew exactly what to say.


    As if on cue, the hovercar landed. The driver, looking pale, stood up, waving them out, trembling. Evidently she had heard their conversation. She slammed the door shut and sped off as soon as they were out.


    ¡°How much coin did you give her?¡± Dromidius asked dryly. ¡°Cause if I were a betting man, I¡¯d say we have maybe a few hours before word gets out you were talking with the Endowed¡¯s brother.¡±


    ¡°I gave her as much as I dared,¡± Yaenke replied. He frowned. ¡°I thought you gambled?¡±


    ¡°I did. Got bored of it.¡± Dromidius sucked in a deep breath from his Adrellian gas tube, then folded it and stuffed it into his pocket. ¡°Blasted things are smaller than they used to be,¡± he muttered.


    Perelor tried his best to ignore their conversation, sweeping his eyes over the garden of the Grand Shrine. The crowds were gone, replaced by stoic soldiers in Palace Guard uniforms. They gave Yaenke ¡ª their commanding officer ¡ª curt nods as the trio walked by, though Perelor did not miss the disgusted glances they shot Dromidius behind the other man¡¯s back. He didn¡¯t miss the sleek, chrome ships on the landing pads nearest the Shrine, either. Emblazoned on them was a large, ornate glyph, a burning star with three intersecting rings inscribed within. A symbol of the Three Powers, and the Church ¡ª and twisting, flowery marks in the center of the rings on the glyph told Perelor that this vehicle belonged to the highest ranking Church official in the nation.


    ¡°Cherria,¡± he hissed under his breath. He vaguely remembered someone saying before the chaos that she was at another person¡¯s ceremony. Deliberately snubbing them, he guessed, even after they¡¯d tried to extend a peaceful hand by doing the Naming at her Shrine. Not unsurprising, not for her. Perelor could hardly imagine her fury at what had just transpired.


    He didn¡¯t have to imagine, though. For as they stepped inside the Shrine, flanked by two guards Yaenke had ordered to follow them, they immediately heard shouting.


    ¡°Okron? You, quoting Okron? I haven¡¯t seen you in a cathedral for decades! You have no right to invoke her name.¡±


    Rion just snorted. ¡°Are you actually willing to have a conversation, priestess? You seem to have come only to scream, and I have had more than enough of that today.¡±


    They stood near the Naming altar, Priestess Cherria with her arms folded, a posse of other priests behind her. Rion leaned one hand against the altar, fingers tapping against its surface pensively. Eliel cowered behind him, hands folded behind her back, eyes wide.


    ¡°Well, that would be because there is more than enough to scream about,¡± Cherria continued. She was a short, plump woman, hardly intimidating physically. Perelor could¡¯ve fought her swordless when he was ten years old. Yet there was something in the way she gazed at Rion, not just angry but also hungry, waiting for him to make a misstep. The two other priests behind her bore no weapons, either, yet the way they held themselves was almost like that of soldiers waiting for an ambush.


    Cherria has a chance to get rid of us now, Perelor realized, the nausea growing, the room swimming. She would take that chance. She was more orthodox than anyone Perelor knew; she made Sekhen look casual in his beliefs. And she¡¯d always hated the Krots most of all, the foolish politicians who refused to acknowledge their ancestor¡¯s crimes.


    Though his father must have realized this long ago ¡ª Perelor was far worse than his father at reading people ¡ª he only cocked an eyebrow at Cherria¡¯s outrage, his face otherwise stony calm. ¡°I didn¡¯t say there wasn¡¯t. The Endowed has been found, Priestess. There will be much to debate, I fear, in the coming days, and far too little time to do it properly. Which is why I ask that you leave, if you have nothing more productive to say. I have matters to attend to.¡±


    ¡°Are you dismissing me?¡± Cherria snapped. ¡°In my own Shrine?¡±


    ¡°Merely dismissing myself,¡± Rion said coolly, stepping away from the altar. ¡°I think we can both agree this conversation has gone nowhere.¡± He walked away, and Cherria turned, sneering.


    ¡°Running away from your betters? Heretic.¡±


    ¡°At least I¡¯m not a coward,¡± Perelor heard Rion mutter. Cherria stiffened, waving to the other priests behind her. They, too, straightened.


    ¡°Rion Krot,¡± Cherria said. ¡°We are placing you under official Church discipline. Our orders come from the Trett herself. From now on, your entire family will be noted as heretics in our records, and Confederacy soldiers will accompany them.¡± Her voice grew deadly soft. ¡°Unless you recount this nonsense?¡±


    Rion turned, and Perelor actually shivered; he had never seen such raw anger in his father¡¯s eyes. ¡°You test my patience,¡± he said. ¡°I did not enjoy my time as a warrior, but give me enough of a reason and I can remember it.¡±


    ¡°Then you do not back down?¡±


    ¡°Never.¡±


    Cherria raised her voice. ¡°Then Okron be our witness that the Church denounces you. May the Three Blades have mercy on your soul.¡±


    Rion met her with defiant eyes. ¡°And Okron be my witness,¡± he said, raising his own voice. ¡°That the Three Blades will condemn you all.¡± He whipped around, gesturing for Perelor and the others to follow. ¡°Come, all of you. We¡¯ve all spent enough time in the presence of fools today.¡±


    Perelor swallowed, but followed, as did Yaenke. Dromidius hung back, gently touching Eliel¡¯s shoulder; she was shaking ¡ª likely on the verge of a Soulcursed episode. She responded to Dromidius¡¯ touch, though, and together they all trailed behind Rion out of the room. Perelor did not miss the two green-clad Confederacy soldiers who stalked behind them as they walked out into the gardens.


    Finally, Rion stopped, turning back, the anger gone, weariness replacing it. For the first time Perelor noticed the bags under Rion¡¯s eyes, and the way those eyes darted about nervously.


    ¡°I think I went too far,¡± he heard his father mutter. ¡°Too aggressive. The Confederacy will require boldness, but I still think I went too far.¡± He shook his head.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m getting distracted; this has been a long day.¡± He nodded to Dromidius and Eliel. ¡°My daughter is tired, too, I think. If you could escort her back to the apartment?¡±


    Dromidius saluted with a hand to his chest. ¡°My pleasure, Rion.¡± Eliel gently let Dromidius lead her away.


    Almost immediately, Yaenke turned to Rion. ¡°This did not go as well as you planned.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m aware.¡±


    ¡°Are you truly?¡±


    ¡°As aware as I can be. Stop worrying, Yaenke. Believe me when I say I¡¯m doing enough of that for all of us.¡±


    Yaenke nodded slowly, his eyes drifting to Perelor suddenly. He stiffened. ¡°Well, I hope that is true. Because there is plenty to worry about. I must leave now. But don¡¯t tell the boy too much.¡±


    He strode off, a dangerous glint in his eyes that made Perelor shiver. Perelor¡¯s father stood still for a long moment, shoulders slumped. Then, finally, he turned to Perelor, frowning.


    ¡°I should have told you,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Yaenke pressured me not to, but that¡¯s no excuse.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Perelor lied. ¡°But Dad¡­ what¡¯s going to happen?¡±


    There was a long pause, and Perelor felt his heart pound. He knows what to do. He has to.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Rion said eventually. ¡°I barely know what I¡¯m doing, son. All I know is that I have to keep going. The galaxy depends on it.¡±


    There was a gravity to his voice. ¡°She really is the Endowed,¡± Perelor whispered.


    ¡°As far as I can tell,¡± Rion said. ¡°If I¡¯m wrong¡­ well, I can¡¯t afford to think about that. I have to assume I¡¯m right.¡± He met Perelor¡¯s eyes. ¡°You¡¯ve been training with E¡¯vin in the sword, yes?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but¡­¡±


    ¡°I have a request for you, then. A selfish request. Your sister is¡­ not the best with her powers, not yet. If something were to come for her¡­¡± Rion shivered. ¡°I want you to promise me you¡¯ll keep your sword with you from now on. Just in case your sister gets into trouble.¡±


    Perelor paled. ¡°You think someone¡¯s going to try to kill her?¡±


    ¡°Yes, frankly, I do. It¡¯s only a matter of when now.¡± He gave Perelor a sad smile. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to thrust you into this. I really am. But can you promise me?¡±


    Perelor swallowed. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know, Dad. Honestly, I don¡¯t know what to make of this.¡±


    ¡°I know. Can you promise me anyway?¡±


    Perelor hesitated. ¡°I can try,¡± he said finally.


    ¡°That¡¯s good enough.¡± Rion rubbed his face with his hand. ¡°There is so much to do¡­ I had hoped the Confederacy would take to this with less fuss. I shouldn¡¯t have expected Cherria to cooperate, though.¡± He shook his head. ¡°But you needn¡¯t worry yourself with that, and I need to sleep. Let¡¯s go home.¡±


    He turned and began walking away, gesturing for Perelor to follow. Perelor did, numb. Not just from the revelations about Eliel, but also from another revelation.


    For once, his father didn¡¯t know what to do. That, more than anything, terrified him.

 Chapter 28 - Defiance

    I will find a way. I must find a way.


    That is my pride and my burden.


    -Arath Dralei, circa 2,899 Post Fall of Meridian


    Cyrla paced around the confines of her makeshift command tent, muttering to herself. Oblivion had been nearly silent since the Voidling had returned, save for one message, over and over, exactly once every hour.


    Krot must live. For now. As must Valeo. You will assure this.


    What did it mean? Oblivion was God, so it must mean something.


    ¡°You worry too much,¡± a voice hissed. ¡°It is not becoming of a servant so high in the ranks of the fold.¡±


    ¡°As if you have room to talk,¡± Cyrla snapped. ¡°You almost had Krot turned, and you lost to that pathetic girl.¡±


    ¡°That pathetic girl you¡¯ve chosen to work with?¡± the Voidling mused. Torment, Cyrla hated the way it could make its hissing voice sound so sing-song. It stared at her with a smile on its face, too; the creature was trapped in a weakened form after its encounter with Ryla. It spent most of its time appearing as a human, saving its strength.


    Somehow that only made it more unnerving.


    Cyrla waved a hand. ¡°An alliance of necessity. Once I¡¯ve overthrown Larsh, she will become mine, or die.¡± She suspected the latter, though the former was more possible than she¡¯d thought. Ryla had been strangely cooperative these last few days.


    Ryla was of no concern, though; the path to defeating Larsh was as clear as it had ever been. But Ithrey Valeo, a Seeker of the Light, here¡­


    ¡°I have to kill the girl,¡± she muttered to herself. ¡°I can¡¯t upset Larsh directly, not yet, but somehow I have to stage an accident.¡± The raid hadn¡¯t worked ¡ª and had already gotten her a tongue lashing from Larsh. The Voidling hadn¡¯t worked either, and certainly wouldn¡¯t now that it was so weakened. Still, there must be a way.


    ¡°Oblivion forbade that.¡±


    ¡°He forbade me to kill her directly.¡± That, too, came out as a growl. Thaus, she was losing her composure. She let out a breath, then continued. ¡°I doubt he wants her alive, in the end. I simply need to find out how he wants her killed.¡±


    The Voidling sighed. ¡°So disobedient. You should do as our master says. Keep the raids going, and watch for his hand.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps.¡± Cyrla continued to pace for a moment, then sighed, stopping. ¡°There is another today. Hopefully that will rid me of my problems.¡±


    ¡°Hope is not a virtue of Oblivion. Do not hope, only obey.¡±


    Cyrla turned to face the Voidling again. Even in this partially human form, its eyes were solid red balls of light, boring into her. ¡°Yes,¡± she said softly. ¡°You are right. There is no hope. Not for me, not for us.


    ¡°And, Oblivion willing, not for Ithrey Valeo, either.¡±


    She straightened, then strode out of the tent ¡ª she did not want to spend any more time around the Voidling and its lectures. She may not be able to kill Valeo, but she certainly wouldn¡¯t let the woman go unwatched, either.


    The cameras, she realized.


    She smiled.


    ***


    ¡°I truly thought you would¡¯ve broken by now. It is rare that I am wrong about such things.¡±


    Larsh¡¯s words barely registered to Ithrey, who lay strapped to a hard titanium table, trembling as needles extended from a robotic arm and dug into her skin, sharp, cold, agonizing. Blood beaded atop her flesh. Her shaking, caused by her pain, made the suffering even worse, as the blades vibrated through her flesh.


    ¡°The recordings have done nothing,¡± Larsh said. ¡°One would think you were not friends with your men to begin with.¡± In her peripheral, Ithrey saw her leaning against the wall, arms folded. Her expression was grim, cold, distant.


    ¡°The life¡­ of a Seeker¡­ is a lonely one,¡± Ithrey said through gritted teeth.


    Larsh snorted. ¡°Lonely¡­ and painful.¡± She frowned. ¡°This is the price we both pay to oppose Oblivion. The loss of our innocence. The loss of companionship.¡± She sighed. ¡°We could¡¯ve been friends, I think, under different circumstances. Perhaps we still could be.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t serve you,¡± Ithrey hissed. She could feel the needles growing warmer. The worst part was almost here.


    ¡°But then, perhaps not,¡± Larsh said. She waved a hand, and blue flashed as the needles injected their payload.


    The agony intensified, now amplified by chemicals racing through Ithrey¡¯s veins. She howled; there was no containing her pain, not now. She bucked against her restraints, muscles spasming, the needles tearing her as they did. Desperately she tried to reach for Purity, but found it too slippery to hold: Larsh had drugged her earlier.


    The Talar leader stepped toward her, placing a hand on her head. ¡°It will end if you tell me what you know,¡± she said. ¡°Nod, and I will stop the flow.¡±


    Ithrey closed her eyes, trying to think through the agony. Trying to breathe through the screams. Was there any way out of this? Some lie she could fabricate about Aiedra¡¯s whereabouts?


    ¡°I will know if you lie,¡± Larsh whispered. ¡°I promise you that if you do, I will only make this worse.¡±


    No, no lies then. For a moment, she teetered on the edge of giving in.


    Then she remembered her brother. He would never fall prey to this. He was strong.


    She could be too.


    Larsh let out a long, exasperated breath, and the needles finally retreated. Phantom pain lingered, but Ithrey stopped screaming, falling relaxed within her restraints. Those restraints pulled away as Larsh stepped back.


    ¡°Another failure, then. You are strong, child. More so than you realize.¡± She shook her head, turning away. ¡°It is a shame we must fight each other so.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s your choice,¡± Ithrey wheezed. ¡°Not mine. The Seekers welcomed you before.¡±


    ¡°They did,¡± Larsh said. ¡°But my path had diverged from theirs long before I first met Aiedra.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to do any of this to fight Oblivion,¡± Ithrey said. She didn¡¯t actually think she could convince this woman, but she had to try, if only for her own sake. ¡°He¡¯s manipulating you. Using you to cause the very chaos he wants.¡±


    Larsh paused for a moment, her back to Ithrey, a silent, shadowed silhouette. Then she snorted.


    ¡°If only it were that simple, girl. If only.¡± She paused, then continued. ¡°My patience will not last much longer with you. You are not the only Seeker in my grip, and I have no desire to keep an enemy empowered as you are. Let that be a warning to you.¡±


    She left. Guards entered the room a moment later, hoisting Ithrey to her feet, then shoving her out of the torture tent and back out into camp. She made the trek back to the slave cots alone.


    Let that be a warning to you. Ithrey snorted as she recalled the words.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be dead soon enough, Larsh,¡± she whispered. ¡°That much I assure you of.¡± She reached into the pocket of her robe, fingering a square of metal there. A recording disk. She¡¯d stolen it earlier. It had been surprisingly easy; there were camera parts everywhere around the slaves, due to the sheer amount of them that had to be replaced.


    She¡¯d recorded her message to the galaxy on the disk. Once Arrus contacted his cousin, she¡¯d be ready.


    A pit opened in her stomach as she realized something. Larsh truly thought what she was doing was necessary, terrible as it was. So did Ithrey.


    Perhaps the Talar leader wasn¡¯t as different from her as she¡¯d assumed. She wasn¡¯t sure how to feel about that. But then, feelings didn¡¯t matter, not compared to the Endowed. So, gritting her teeth, she continued onward.


    Just like Aiedra had taught her.


    ***


    Flames.


    Blood.


    Screams.


    Rubble.


    And that sword, so tempting, just waiting to be thrust through his chest. He reached for it¡­


    Perelor slammed his hand into the sand, burning Purity. Again. Again the sand crawled up his arm, fusing itself to his skin, all the way up to his elbow. It worked almost perfectly this time, only small bits flaking to the ground, rather than the large chunks he¡¯d had problems with earlier. It seemed visualizing his arm was just as important as Ithrey had said.


    Right again. At least she¡¯d listened to him when he¡¯d explained, once more, why healing the men in the squadron was such a bad idea. He didn¡¯t have to worry about his entire unit being executed anymore.


    Unless she does it anyway. But he needed to trust his allies. He hated that feeling of losing control, but he had no choice. Comrades relied on each other to have their back.


    He let go of Purity, and the sand flaked off immediately, dropping to the dusty ground below. Stretching, Perelor turned his gaze up to the sky. The fleet was gathering above him. It was nearly time, then.


    Right now, the slaves stood in a wheat field that stretched as far as the eye could see, but they wouldn¡¯t be there for long; there was another recording scheduled today. That was why he was here. He knew nothing about electronics, and he had no contacts that could help them. But he did know how to stay alive, and Ithrey¡¯s unconventional tactics during the last battle had gotten him thinking.


    ¡°You¡¯re getting better at that.¡±


    Perelor turned to see Ithrey, returned from wherever she¡¯d been, in a crisp new Miradoran uniform. She was tapping her foot rhythmically against the dirt. She fidgeted a lot, Perelor had noticed, despite her otherwise serene composure.


    ¡°I hope so,¡± Perelor grunted. ¡°This won¡¯t work if I¡¯m not.¡±


    Ithrey shrugged. ¡°You have your healing, either way. It will be fine.¡± She sounded far more sure than Perelor felt.


    If she or Arrus dies, it¡¯s over. I can¡¯t make that plan work by myself. I have to keep them alive.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± he said. He slammed his hand into the sand, closing his eyes, envisioning the grainy substance flowing into him and across his entire forearm. He felt it stick to him, and when he opened his eyes, he saw that it covered him completely; not even a little of it had flaked off.


    Finally. He grinned.


    ¡°Getting better indeed.¡± Ithrey gave him a weak smile.


    Perelor stood, letting go of Purity and shaking off the sand. He didn¡¯t have the Purity for more practice, he realized, the recording was too soon, and he wanted his reserves as full as possible. ¡°How long did they say?¡±


    ¡°Anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours.¡± Ithrey scowled. ¡°They seemed like they were deliberately being vague.¡±


    ¡°They probably are. I told you, Cyrla wants you dead.¡± He¡¯d relayed everything to her, over the last few days, at least, everything he needed to tell. She knew more about his sister, and about how Cyrla had tried to cross Larsh in order to get her killed.


    In turn, she¡¯d told him things, too. More than he¡¯d thought she would, though less than he needed to fully understand what was going on. It seemed she belonged to a secret order called the Seekers of the Light ¡ª just as Cyrla had said. Their goal was to find the Endowed, as well as to keep the Void¡¯s avatar imprisoned until the prophesied hero could be found.


    They were noble objectives. Though Perelor couldn¡¯t help but wonder where these people had been when his sister had needed them, fourteen years ago. Ithrey had been too young ¡ª she was two years Perelor¡¯s junior at twenty-six ¡ª but it sounded like the order had still existed at the time. Why hadn¡¯t they helped Perelor¡¯s father, when he had been trying to marshal the nations together? He¡¯d asked Ithrey this, but she hadn¡¯t been able to give any answers. He¡¯d asked her why Cyrla wanted her dead, too, and she¡¯d deliberately avoided answering that.


    So many mysteries. It seemed, with Ithrey¡¯s arrival, an entire new world had opened up, and he had no idea how to navigate it.


    But I do know how to survive. And so, he straightened his uniform, brand new as of today, and strode back toward the bulk of the slave camp.


    Physically, he knew it looked exactly as it had a few days ago; only the location had changed, the cheap foam cots and small cookfires were all exactly the same. Yet it seemed smaller to him somehow. The hollow expressions of the slaves bothered him more, and he cringed as he saw the wounds still open across many of their limbs and torsos. He knew he¡¯d been right to tell Ithrey not to heal all of them ¡ª he could not risk the Talar executing the entire squadron ¡ª yet it was terrible all the same.


    His eyes drifted to the guards, whose helms also seemed fixed on him. Cyrla¡¯s new guards; she¡¯d had the old ones replaced. These were worse, already they¡¯d had two of his men beaten, one almost to death, for minor steps out of line. One had even tried to take away Perelor¡¯s lasertip. Perelor had made certain the man knew why he shouldn¡¯t try that.


    I can¡¯t keep them at bay forever, though. If Cyrla turns the entire army against us, what then? He might be free to walk a few miles away, but there were still trackers in his blood, and thousands of soldiers surrounding the area. If he really wanted to get away, he realized, he¡¯d not only need to get rid of the trackers, but he¡¯d also need a ship that could slip through the wormhole unnoticed. Those things were both nearly impossible in their own right. He was beginning to understand, on a new level, just how foolish Crelang¡¯s escape plan had been, all those years ago.


    And here he was, ready to attempt it again. Terrified, and feeling incredibly foolish, but ready.


    He stopped as he saw his squadron ¡ª or, really, Ithrey¡¯s squadron. There were only a few now who weren¡¯t Miradorans, and they barely seemed to notice him. Arrus, though, perked up, stepping away from the cookfire and toward Perelor, who motioned for them to move away. Perelor waited until they were out of earshot of anyone else, then spoke.


    ¡°Any luck with that¡­ noble of yours?¡± Okron, he still hated the idea.


    ¡°She hasn¡¯t responded either way.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re being ignored by your own cousin?¡±


    ¡°Not on purpose, I don¡¯t think,¡± Arrus protested. ¡°She¡¯s always been quick to respond before.¡±


    Perelor just shook his head. ¡°How long before we tell Ithrey the plan won¡¯t work?¡±


    ¡°She will respond.¡±


    Perelor searched the other man¡¯s expression, then sighed. ¡°I just hope you¡¯re as right as you think you are.¡± He paused. ¡°Have orders come in?¡±


    ¡°Just a few moments ago. We have fifteen more minutes before launch.¡±


    Finally. Cyrla had announced the raid early that morning, and it was already mid-afternoon. As if she were trying to make Perelor more anxious.


    Actually, that¡¯s probably exactly what she¡¯s trying to do. Cyrla hadn¡¯t talked to him since the Voidling attack, but he knew it had been her. He still wasn¡¯t sure how to deal with the fact that she had access to a searing Voidling.


    ¡°Do we know anything else?¡± Perelor asked.


    ¡°Nope.¡± Arrus tensed. ¡°Do you think¡­¡± he shivered. ¡°Do you think Cyrla¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Perelor said. Arrus shivered again.


    ¡°That is not what I wanted to hear.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the truth,¡± Perelor said. ¡°But I have a plan.¡±


    Arrus snorted. ¡°Great. I don¡¯t need to worry at all, then.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you need to worry. just not about Cyrla. Keep your Surge charged and your mind ready, and I¡¯ll deal with her.¡±Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    ¡°If you say so.¡± Arrus turned back toward the other men, frowning. Perelor suspected he knew why. Ithrey had specifically told them not to tell the Miradorans about their quest.


    I only told you because I had to, she¡¯d said. They know to obey me, but I don¡¯t want any risk of Cyrla finding out about the Endowed. It was deceit that Perelor understood the reasoning for, but that he hated nonetheless.


    ¡°They need to know that Voidling might come back,¡± Perelor muttered. ¡°If we¡¯re going to take it down, we¡¯re going to have to be coordinated.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like thinking about that thing,¡± Arrus sighed, ¡°but you¡¯re right. How do we tell them?¡±


    ¡°We get straight to the point,¡± Perelor said. He strode forward, clearing his throat, then shouting.


    ¡°My squad! At attention.¡±


    There was no response, save for uncomfortable shuffling. Some of the non-Miradorans looked at him with eyes wide, evidently unsure what his command even meant. The Miradorans, though, collectively ignored him.¡±


    ¡°At attention,¡± Perelor said, ¡°means eyes on me. And it means all of you. So, at attention!¡±


    Begrudgingly, the Miradorans moved this time, shifting their gazes to fix on him. They slouched, and they all looked exasperated, but they looked. Good enough for now, Perelor thought.


    Oddly, he found he didn¡¯t know exactly what to do next. He¡¯d been a squad captain for five years, yet, he realized, he had spent most of that time doing the very basics, serving more as a force to push his men forward than as an actual leader. Now that he had to actually give his men orders, he had to pause to think.


    ¡°The Voidling isn¡¯t dead,¡± he said finally. Best, like he¡¯d said to Arrus, to be straightforward. ¡°The memory burner girl got rid of one of its Surges, but it could be back with the other at any moment. We need to be prepared for that.¡±


    There was another pause. Then one of the Miradorans snorted.


    ¡°You think we can beat that thing? Go to Torment. Wasn¡¯t it you who said we were all going to die anyway?¡± The person who had spoken, a heavy-set man with several scars on his face, turned away. ¡°Besides, if the General wanted us ready for that, she¡¯d have said so.¡±


    One by one, the other Miradorans turned away, then the other slaves after them. Perelor opened his mouth to protest, then cursed and shut it. Okron, he was no leader. Besides, what could these men do against a Voidling? They¡¯d all be slaughtered. He turned away, shaking his head. Fool. One hint about his sister, and he was denying reality as surely as he had as a child.


    ¡°They¡¯re not going to just follow you, I think,¡± Arrus said beside him. ¡°We¡¯ll have to get Ithrey to talk to them.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Perelor said. Yet, he¡¯d seen those eyes in men before. Hundreds of different men. He¡¯d seen them in himself, too, saw them, even now.


    The eyes of utter defeat. No, Ithrey wouldn¡¯t be able to solve that. Perelor wouldn¡¯t be able to, either. Not as he was now. But maybe¡­


    Alarm bells rang, and Perelor cursed again. Now, of all searing times? He reached behind his shoulder, unbuckling his lasertip from his back as slaves and soldiers began dashing about around him.


    Ready or not, it was time to put on a show.


    ***


    The sky glowed a deep red as the sun¡¯s light scattered through the ash. The color seemed a sign; what was about to happen would require bloodshed.


    Perelor waited in the carrier hold as the ship shot through the sky. They were still well within the atmosphere, but the thrusters seemed at full blaze, and Perelor had to keep his legs wide and hold on to a support bar to keep from falling. With his other hand, he idly twisted his lasertip in his hand, lost in thought.


    It had been so long since he¡¯d seen his sister, he realized. He¡¯d changed so much during that time ¡ª almost none of it for the better. What if she had changed, too? What if she didn¡¯t want the new Perelor?


    But then, that was why he was here, why he hadn¡¯t killed Ithrey and been done with it. He let out a shaky breath.


    I just need a little more time.


    ¡°Nervous?¡±


    The question came from Ithrey, who stood on his right. Arrus was in the back, where Perelor had ordered him to stand this time. To put up a shield, for Ithrey and the others, while Perelor went forward.


    ¡°A bit,¡± Perelor admitted.


    ¡°Good. You didn¡¯t seem nervous at all last time. It was disturbing.¡±


    Perelor snorted. ¡°I was panicking last time. This time I¡¯m just nervous.¡±


    ¡°Huh. There¡¯s a difference?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    They stood in awkward silence, fields of grain passing underneath. Finally, Ithrey cleared her throat.


    ¡°Arrus said you were a memory burner once.¡±


    ¡°Once.¡±


    ¡°What changed?¡±


    Flames.


    Blood.


    Screams.


    Rubble.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he lied.


    ¡°They just¡­ didn¡¯t work one day?¡±


    ¡°Not exactly. But once my sister was taken, they¡­ faded. It only took a few weeks.¡± That was close enough to the truth. They¡¯d vanished immediately the night it had happened, but he hated thinking of that night. Couldn¡¯t think of that night. Even now, with his newfound second chance, he remembered only flashes.


    ¡°I see.¡± She paused again. ¡°I hope you can get them working again.¡±


    Perelor tensed. ¡°No,¡± he hissed.


    ¡°But¡­¡±


    ¡°No. Don¡¯t ask me to do that. I¡¯ve done enough for you already.¡± He forced himself to relax. ¡°It¡¯s not a good idea. Trust me.¡±


    ¡°Having a memory burner would increase our odds,¡± Ithrey said gently.


    ¡°I know that¡¯s what it seems like. But¡­ it¡¯s not just gone. It¡¯s broken. I¡­ don¡¯t want to talk about it.¡±


    ¡°Ah. Like most things, it seems.¡± She nodded to his arms. ¡°Those scars didn¡¯t come from rolling around on your cot.¡±


    Perelor winced, but did not contradict her. Last night¡­ well, many things had changed, but not that. ¡°I¡¯m fine now.¡±


    ¡°I hope so. Who knows what Cyrla might throw at us.¡±


    The ship began descending, and a bump of turbulence forced Perelor to temporarily drop his lasertip and grip with both hands. Cursing, he knelt when it was over and picked the weapon up.


    ¡°Whatever she does,¡± he said, ¡°I intend to counter it.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Ithrey sighed. She stepped back, taking her own lasertip from off her back. She frowned at it. ¡°I hate these things.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re good weapons.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re weapons. They kill, and nothing more.¡± Her eyes grew distant. ¡°Once I thought I could avoid that. I can¡¯t, but I thought I could. I thought I could avoid a lot of things.¡± She shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m rambling.¡± Her voice grew softer. ¡°I hope you know what you¡¯re doing, Captain. The stories I¡¯ve heard about these squads¡­¡± She shivered.


    The ship¡¯s descent slowed. Perelor gave Ithrey a meaningful glance, and she nodded, turning to face the soldiers.


    ¡°Be ready!¡± she shouted. ¡°Arrus will be shielding us from the front as we file out, and we¡¯ll be in a bubble formation after that. Does everyone know what that is?¡±


    The Miradorans grunted their affirmation. The other slaves were too timid ¡ª or too tired ¡ª to respond otherwise. There were only a few left anyway; as promised by Larsh, every slave Perelor had lost in the last battle had been replaced by one of Ithrey¡¯s Miradorans.


    She¡¯s practically giving the woman a personal army. That can¡¯t last for long. But Larsh was only the latest in a long list of problems. Steeling himself, he stepped to the very front of the troop hold, face just inches from the door. He closed his eyes, letting the blackness, the stillness, consume him.


    The ship stopped. Arrus raised his hand. Perelor felt the heat of the plasma lap against his nose. Heard the hiss of the door as it opened. Felt the camera click.


    But for this moment, he let himself be still. He closed his eyes. Envisioned his arms and torso. Hoped his preparation, limited though it was, would be enough.


    The moment ended. Opening his eyes, he drew in Purity, more of it than he¡¯d ever drawn at once, almost his entire supply. The resultant light shone out of the hovering troop carrier and into the smoky shadows, illuminating the faces of Grahalan men who waited behind stalks of wheat, holding metal shields and aiming pistols at Perelor¡¯s men. They opened fire, the plasma shield shrieking as the bolts hit.


    It was time. Ablaze with white light, he turned to Arrus and nodded. A hole opened in the shield, just large enough for one person to fit through. One person only.


    Perelor leapt through it just before it closed.


    It was a simple idea, that Perelor had once dismissed as foolish ¡ª because it was. While Arrus shielded the men, Perelor would run forward, using the raw power of his Purity Surge to keep the enemy distracted. With an untrained force, he suspected the tactic would go wrong in seconds. Surgewielders were forces to be reckoned with, but they could be reckoned with, especially when outnumbered.


    But Ithrey¡¯s new force was trained. In theory, they could push forward in a coherent charge, making good on the chaos Perelor caused before Perelor fell. If they worked well enough as a team, they might get away with far less casualties.


    Might. It was a gamble. But necessity was necessity.


    And so, as Perelor¡¯s feet hit the ground, he forced the anxiety out of his gut and attacked by instinct.


    It was amazing how easily the movements came after all these years. He spun around blasts of plasma, using his Purity to strengthen his muscles and move with blinding speed, running to the first soldier. He raised his makeshift metal shield to block Perelor¡¯s lasertip, but Perelor grabbed it with his free hand, throwing it aside with unnatural strength, then impaled the man with his lasertip. Twisting the man¡¯s corpse to absorb the plasma bolts that rocketed toward him, he then ran toward the next man, cutting him down. There were more men behind him, and finally, they dropped their blasters, drawing daggers to attack him up close. As they did, Perelor fixed his eyes on one man in particular ¡ª a soldier wearing a metal breastplate.


    Ignoring the man¡¯s stab at his chest, and letting his enemy¡¯s blade sink deep into his lungs, Perelor thrust his hand forward and slammed his palm against that breastplate, burning Purity. Envisioning his entire body, he willed the metal, with all the focus he could muster, to become one with his skin.


    Time slowed. It could not have been more than a second during which nothing happened, yet to Perelor it seemed minutes, his heart frozen mid-beat, the blood from the blade in his chest drifting midway through the air. His white glow flickered, and he his good eye burned with pain. Something trembled deep within him, a vibration he couldn¡¯t quite describe, but felt regardless.


    One he felt every time he tried to memory burn.


    Panic rose alongside the pain in his chest. No. No, this is Purity. I can burn it. I can!


    He pushed harder, with a strength he didn¡¯t realize he could muster before that moment. And, finally, the Purity obeyed. Time sped back up, and the metal of the soldier¡¯s breastplate exploded with white light, then began to flow away from the man, moving in a wave up Perelor¡¯s arm, forming into a brilliant, thin suit of armor around his face, then his chest, then his arms. The metal bunched up around the dagger, then violently shoved it backward, throwing the Grahalan soldier back with it. The wound sealed immediately afterward, and the armor snapped into place around where the weapon had been. Perelor felt his uniform bulge as the titrite spread, and the acrid smell of smoke fled as it closed around his nostrils and mouth.


    They could not see him grin¡ª the armor had formed a protective seal over his lips ¡ª but he felt glee anyway as he saw the look of horror that crossed the Grahalan soldier¡¯s faces. They had thought they could handle him.


    They had been wrong.


    He spun into them. To their credit, they did not buckle, instead pressing in harder, slamming lasertips and blades against his armor. But it did no good. He lashed out with his own weapon, slamming it into a man¡¯s skull. It broke apart in a spray of shards. He slashed again. A man fell with a gaping gash in his chest. He swung the back of his lasertip upward, sending the butt of it crashing into a man¡¯s jaw. His neck snapped with a loud, sickening crunch. Blood sprayed against Perelor¡¯s armor. The camera whirred faster than it had before.


    Through it all, he smiled. It was not the smile of joy. It was not even the smile of purpose seized, for he knew his men would die anyway, given enough time. It was the smile that came from simply moving. From doing something, after all these years of drifting along in the current of the Talar war machine.


    The glory of defiance.


    His Purity was running out fast, he noticed. Ithrey had warned him of this; according to her, it took far more of the Second Power to add substance to one¡¯s body than it did to simply adjust the substance that was already there. He attacked with more vigor, lashing out with his gauntlet-covered free hand in addition to his lasertip. More men fell. The Grahalan line buckled. A war cry sounded behind Perelor, and bolts of plasma rammed into the few soldiers who tried to hold. Some of those bolts struck Perelor, too, but his armor easily absorbed them, and, finally, the enemy scattered before him.


    Abruptly, the camera stopped whirring, and that monotone female voice Perelor hated rang in his ears. ¡°Recording complete.¡± A few moments later, explosions rocked the ground in front of the slaves, followed immediately by Talar soldiers leaping down to fight the retreating Grahalans.


    That was quick. He turned back to the men ¡ª to his men. Arrus¡¯ shield was still up, blazing blue against the red rays of sunlight scattered through the sky. Ithrey stood at their head, sweating, but smiling.


    And there were no corpses to be seen. He swept his eyes over them, taking a headcount, not daring to believe it at first. Forty alive. He looked over them again. Forty; he hadn¡¯t miscounted.


    Somehow, they¡¯d went through an entire battle without losing anyone.


    Arrus stepped to the front of the squad as the fighting continued to move forward, toward the grain silos they had come here to conquer in the first place. He was wearing a grin wider than Perelor¡¯s had been during the fighting. No one, he mouthed. We did it!


    No one. The plan had worked better than Perelor had dared hope. Slowly, he forced himself to relax, letting go of the Second Power. The titrite peeled off his skin like crusting paint, dropping with a loud crash to the ground. Arrus opened a hole in his shield, stepping forward, then spontaneously throwing his arms around Perelor.


    ¡°Torment! That was brilliant!¡± He squeezed Perelor tighter. Shocked, Perelor pushed him away, though he felt a grin spread across his own face.


    ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m sure! Perelor, the way you fought¡­ I mean, I¡¯ve seen you fight before, but that was amazing.¡± He smirked. ¡°Some of the others are whispering about you being an Eternal.¡±


    Perelor snorted. ¡°If only that were true.¡± But his smile did not fade. Ithrey walked up to them a moment later, folding her arms.


    ¡°Good work. You did better with that titrite than anyone I¡¯ve ever seen.¡±


    Perelor hesitated, then gave her a nod of respect. ¡°I had a good teacher.¡±


    Ithrey shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ve never even used titrite, but I¡¯ve heard the theory.¡± She paused. ¡°With fighting like that, we might be able to pull off a mutiny.¡± Her eyes grew distant, her expression ponderous.


    Perelor shifted uncomfortably. ¡°That¡¯s still not a good idea. Not until we¡¯ve tried everything else.¡±


    Ithrey paused, then nodded. ¡°You¡¯re probably right. The message¡­ the message is our best chance. ¡± She sighed. ¡°I wish I had more time. But we do not, and so we must act.¡± She turned to Arrus. ¡°Tonight?¡±


    Arrus swallowed. ¡°She still hasn¡¯t responded.¡±


    ¡°Call her, if you have to. As good as the battle today was, Cyrla still knows I¡¯m here. It¡¯s only a matter of time before she gets around Larsh¡¯s orders and has me killed.¡± Ithrey¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change as she mentioned her own death, but Perelor noticed her hand shake as she talked.


    Not as firm as she likes to appear. He was noticing that more and more.


    ¡°I¡­ alright.¡± Arrus straightened. ¡°Tonight.¡±


    The shield dropped, and the other soldiers began swarming around them, several of them giving Perelor nods of respect, one even giving him a slap to the shoulder. Their earlier attitude of indifference was gone. Some were even smiling.


    Fools. This won¡¯t last.


    Except¡­ what if it worked? He hadn¡¯t broken any Talar laws; he¡¯d checked the codes thoroughly before even considering this. If he perfected this, could he keep them all alive? It seemed unlikely, but then, finding his sister had seemed impossible just a few days ago.


    He heard a hiss behind him. Frowning, he turned, then froze.


    A ship had landed behind them, one he recognized: Cyrla¡¯s ship. Its door snapped open immediately after landing, and Cyrla herself stepped out, accompanied by half a dozen guards, weapons already in hand.


    Instinctively, Perelor walked forward, placing himself between Cyrla and Arrus. He had broken no rules. They couldn¡¯t punish him for this.


    They might not be here for that, he tried to tell himself. Relax.


    As he saw Cyrla¡¯s stony expression fix on him, he tensed anyway.


    ¡°Krot,¡± she said, folding her arms and stopping in front of him. ¡°That was quite the stunt you pulled.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t break any rules,¡± Perelor growled.


    ¡°No, you didn¡¯t. And you¡¯re not why I¡¯m here.¡± She gestured to the guards. ¡°You know your orders. On with it.¡±


    Moving in sync, the guards stepped around the pair, aiming their blasters, not at Perelor, but at the slaves behind him. Plasma shrieked.


    Twelve of the Miradoran slaves dropped before Perelor could even react. As he turned and shouted, seven more were slaughtered. He drew his lasertip, but a tendril of red light snapped upward from the ground, snatching the weapon from his hand. Another tendril lashed around his boot, then pulled back, and he swore as he toppled to the dust. As he scrambled to his feet, the gunfire finally ceased.


    Smoke billowed from the corpses, blocking his view. ¡°Arrus!¡± he shouted. He hesitated before adding. ¡°Ithrey!¡±


    There was no reply, though as he scanned the corpses, he could not find them, and a moment later, the smoke cleared enough that he could see them, standing with their hands raised in surrender. Some of the other slaves had survived, too. Seven of them.


    The ones who weren¡¯t Miradorans, he realized.


    ¡°Larsh¡¯s orders,¡± Cyrla said behind him. ¡°She ¡ª finally ¡ª concluded that giving Ithrey a personal guard was not as good an idea as she¡¯d initially thought.¡±


    ¡°Voidling!¡± Perelor whipped around, anger consuming him. He reached for his belt, drawing the knife that waited there. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­¡±


    He stopped as he saw the red glow around her. What could he do, against that?


    The knife slipped from his fingers. Echoes danced in his mind. His eyes moved away from Cyrla, toward the corpses waiting all around him.


    Flames.


    Blood.


    Screams.


    Rubble.


    It was happening again. People were dying again, because Perelor was foolish enough to hope.


    Cyrla smiled that predatory smile of hers. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t try that if I were you. Though it seems you¡¯ve already realized that.¡± She moved her gaze past Perelor, fixing on Ithrey. ¡°Stop trying to game the system, Valeo. We¡¯re not fools, and we will catch up to you.¡± She turned back to Perelor. ¡°Titrite is illegal for Elekhai now. Larsh gave a decree the moment I told her what you were doing.¡± She stepped closer, whispering in Perelor¡¯s ear.


    ¡°Let me remind you, though, that I can change all of that. How many lives are you willing to sacrifice to save Valeo¡¯s?¡±


    She turned, waving to the guards. ¡°Our work is done here. Perelor, you¡¯re on corpse duty. It should be a good reminder to you, yes?¡±


    ¡°You Voidling,¡± Perelor hissed. It came out so weak. Okron, what have I done?


    ¡°That title is a truer one than you realize,¡± Cyrla said. She walked away, and a moment later, her cruiser took off, kicking up dust as it revved its thrusters and soared away. Perelor coughed, falling to his knees as ash swirled around him. As the shock of it all faded into despair.


    It would never happen, he realized, that elusive future of peace he¡¯d always dreamed of, even when he¡¯d barely dared dream. He had just performed a miracle, and they¡¯d quashed it in moments.


    There was no reason to hope.


    Eliel. Eliel can save us. I have to keep going, for her.


    Yet, as he remembered the burned bodies of men who had been alive just moments before, men who he had finally saved, he wondered.

 Chapter 29 - The Right Of Challenge

    Yaenke does not believe I am the Endowed. He denies his own denial, yet drills me to the bone and screams at me to find a reason to fight. A ¡°core¡±, he calls it.


    He does not understand. Why is a futile question; it can always be asked, even after an answer is given. Nor is it what he is truly asking. He wants to know what I fight for. This may seem a mere difference in semantics, but having faced the enemy, I know it to be more.


    Perhaps even the key to defeating him.


    -Arath Dralei, circa 2,899 Post Fall of Meridian


    Standing in her quarters on Xilia, Ryla fingered the mask in her hands, staring out the window at the green poison drifting through the air outside. She didn¡¯t think she¡¯d ever get used to that view.


    ¡°You coming?¡±


    Ryla jolted, cursing, whipping around. Naidi stood behind her, arms folded, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. She was wearing a long, bright pink dress. Sighing, Ryla forced herself to relax.


    ¡°You could¡¯ve knocked.¡±


    ¡°I could¡¯ve. This was funnier.¡± Naidi waved to the hallway outside. ¡°Are you coming?¡±


    ¡°Soon. Go on without me.¡±


    ¡°We both know that means you¡¯re not coming.¡±


    Ryla rolled her eyes. ¡°Just go, please.¡± She turned away, though Naidi did not leave.


    ¡°Are you ok? You¡¯ve been¡­ off these last few days.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡±


    ¡°If it has to do with the whole Void thing I¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m. Fine. Leave.¡± That came out almost as a shout, and it was Naidi¡¯s turn to jump.


    ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll go, then.¡± She stormed off, her skirt dragging behind her. Okron, the girl couldn¡¯t go one day without dressing up, could she? Whatever. Ryla would be right behind Naidi, if only because Cyrla had finally agreed to meet at tonight¡¯s Forum. However, Arrus had also messaged her ¡ª she still couldn¡¯t figure out how, but he had ¡ª and he wanted to speak with her over holoscreen, ¡°in private¡±. So, here she was, in as private a place as she could find. At least, private before Naidi had barged in.


    That¡¯s not why you¡¯re mad, a part of her whispered. She was right. You¡¯re still nervous about tomorrow¡¯s training session.


    She shivered, pushing the thought back. So what if she could hear her uncle¡¯s moans constantly now, rather than just when she was focusing? She had her memory sense to work with. As long as she kept that on, she could avoid the screams. She wasn¡¯t going insane. She couldn¡¯t be.


    Her holoscreen buzzed in her pocket. About time. She walked over to the door ¡ª which Naidi had left wide open ¡ª slammed it shut, then answered Arrus¡¯ call. His face spread out in a hologram before her, though she couldn¡¯t see his surroundings.


    ¡°Hey. You said you wanted to talk?¡±


    Arrus glanced behind him, then back at Ryla. His face was covered in dust, and there was a gash on his cheek. ¡°Are you alone?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m sure. What is this about?¡±


    Arrus glanced behind him again. ¡°Ithrey is going to kill me if she hears¡­ ah well.¡± He met Ryla¡¯s eyes. ¡°We found the Endowed.¡±


    It took a moment for Ryla to process what Arrus had said, but when she did, she snorted. ¡°In the slave squads? Sure. What did you really call about?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m serious, Ryla. And she¡¯s not in the slave squads. She¡¯s trapped on Grahala.¡±


    ¡°The Endowed is a searing Grahalan? C¡¯mon, I saw through the joke. Let¡¯s move on, please?¡±


    Except, as she met his eyes, she realized he was serious. She sucked in a breath. ¡°You¡¯ve got to be kidding me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve talked with her brother. She¡¯s the real deal, Ryla.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve never even met this person?¡± Ryla set the holoscreen down on the nearby windowsill, gripping her head with her hands. ¡°Oh, Arrus. She¡¯s not who you think she is.¡±


    ¡°Perelor wouldn¡¯t lie.¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes, Perelor. Wasn¡¯t he the filth who ran away after the Voidling attack? Practically foaming at the mouth?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not fair and you know it.¡±


    ¡°So it was him? Thaus Arrus, I¡¯ve told you that you can¡¯t trust the man. Anyone who thinks their sister is the Endowed has probably lost their sanity, and I seriously doubt some man in the slave squadrons is the exception to that rule.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not just trusting Perelor. Ithrey thinks the same thing and the two have never met. She¡¯s a Seeker of the Light.¡±


    ¡°A what?¡±


    ¡°A Seeker of the Light. They fight against the Void.¡±


    ¡°Did she tell you that?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ yes, she did. But she is one; I can tell.¡±


    Ryla ran her hand down her cheek. Oh, Arrus. Poor, innocent Arrus. ¡°What is it they want from you? They always want something for their lies.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re helping me escape.¡±


    ¡°Are they helping you escape or are you helping them?¡±


    Arrus hesitated. ¡°Both. I can¡¯t do it without them, and they can¡¯t without me.¡±


    And they¡¯ll backstab you the moment that¡¯s not true, Ryla thought. ¡°You know escape isn¡¯t possible. Larsh would hunt you until Torment grows cold if you tried.¡±


    ¡°That might be sooner than I¡¯d like to think about,¡± Arrus said. ¡°And I know. I¡¯m willing to take that risk.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going to get yourself killed!¡±


    Arrus shot another glance behind his back. ¡°Quieter,¡± he hissed. ¡°And yes, I might.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t seem to realize the consequences of that. Torment, Arrus. That¡¯s the price if you¡¯re wrong.¡±


    ¡°Torment is the price of living. I know what I¡¯m getting into, Ryla. I¡¯m not here to debate if this is a good idea. I¡¯m here to ask for your help.¡±


    ¡°My help? What in the Three Heavens do you think I¡¯m going to do?¡±


    ¡°You have a wormdrive.¡±


    She paused, then snorted as she realized what he was insinuating. ¡°So you want me to leave everything to get chased down and killed by Larsh, over a girl you haven¡¯t even met?¡±


    ¡°If you don¡¯t think it¡¯s worth it, I understand. But if you could have just one conversation with Perelor or Ithrey¡­¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Ryla¡­¡±


    ¡°No. And that¡¯s final. Listen, I hate your situation as much as you do, but if you leave it will just get us both killed.¡± She sighed. ¡°I have plans in motion that should fix this. I just need a little more time¡­¡±


    ¡°Plans?¡± Arrus frowned.


    ¡°I¡­¡± Ryla waved her hand in frustration. ¡°I can¡¯t tell you, ok? It¡¯s too fragile right now; I can¡¯t risk anything getting out.¡±


    Arrus¡¯ frown deepened. ¡°I see. You don¡¯t trust me.¡±


    ¡°No! I do. But do you really want to be tortured? That¡¯s what would happen, if they find out you know what I¡¯m up to.¡±


    Arrus paused for a moment, then shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t care about your schemes. I need help. It¡¯s the searing Endowed, Ryla. This goes way beyond just us.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re not being scammed.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not. But you don¡¯t trust me, so¡­¡± he shook his head. ¡°Can I at least get your pass code?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re hacking into the database again? Do you have any idea how many times I¡¯ve had to change that code because of you?¡±


    Arrus cringed. ¡°Something a little more dangerous this time. But I¡¯ll be careful, I promise.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t seem like you¡¯re being very careful.¡±


    ¡°Neither do you, whatever it is you¡¯re up to. Listen, I¡¯ll trust you to handle your plans, if you trust me to handle mine.¡±


    ¡°This is lunacy.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, it is.¡± Arrus¡¯ voice grew quiet suddenly. ¡°But it¡¯s the only chance we have. And I¡¯m doing this whether or not you give the code.¡±


    Ryla stiffened. If he did it without her help¡­ well, the punishment for trying to escape like that would be death.


    Will he actually try it, though?


    Ryla studied his face for a moment. Did he really think he¡¯d found the Endowed? It was impossible. People had searched and waited millennia for the prophesied hero. Whoever they ended up being, they weren¡¯t going to be some backwater girl trapped in a siege.


    Except, there was that grim tightness to Arrus¡¯ face, which was so jovial normally. And that tired solemnity in his eyes¡­


    Yes, he would try it. And Ryla couldn¡¯t just let him die.


    Thau you, Arrus. Why now, of all times?


    ¡°Fine. You can have my pass code. But after that, I can¡¯t do anything for you. I¡¯m going to be¡­ busy, I think, over the next few weeks.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to worry about me,¡± Arrus said coolly. ¡°That¡¯s all I need.¡±


    ¡°Good. I¡¯ll send it over now. But I¡¯m changing it in a few days, like usual.¡± Ryla opened a second screen on her device, sent it over, then closed it. ¡°Are we done here? I¡¯m already late to the Forum.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Arrus looked uncharacteristically angry. Well, let him be. Ryla wouldn¡¯t risk everything over a delusion. The pass code would keep him sated until he realized what was actually going on.


    And by then, hopefully Larsh will be long dead.


    ¡°I don¡¯t regret my decision to come to the slave squadrons,¡± Arrus said suddenly. ¡°I¡¯m not asking you this because I want to back out. I¡¯m asking because it¡¯s what must be done. I hope you learn to do what is right someday, instead of what¡¯s just convenient.¡±


    He shut off the holoscreen, leaving Ryla alone. She stared at the empty space for a moment, shocked, then growled. After everything she¡¯d done, he said that? Torment, whoever this Ithrey was, she and Captain Perelor would regret deceiving her cousin.


    But there was no time to worry about Arrus right now. Straightening, Ryla tucked her holoscreen into her pocket and marched off to go join Naidi at the Forum.


    ***


    The Forum was the perfect symbol of Talar culture: simple and without fanfare. Though Ryla hated politics she could tolerate the tradition; here, there was no bureaucratic dancing about, only conviction and the lack of it. The way governments should be.


    The entire system had been designed as a foil to the feasts of Artensian nobility ¡ª rather than meeting in a room with ornate tables and rare delicacies, the Talar nobles stood at plain wooden desks, no chairs, no decoration, in a room that was nothing more than a cement cube. Rather than trying to find time to talk between mouthfuls of gluttony, officials spoke to each other directly, only leaving the room to discuss classified information.


    It was beautifully efficient. However, today it made Ryla anxious. Cyrla had insisted they meet here, but as far as she knew, there was nowhere private to gather.


    She had spotted Naidi ¡ª in that pink dress of hers it was easy to pick her out ¡ª and they now stood at their own desk, waiting for someone to approach. Naidi seemed transfixed by the bustling crowd, eyes darting about, but Ryla just tapped her fingers impatiently against the gray-stained wood surface. Cyrla should¡¯ve been here by now.


    ¡°Blast,¡± Naidi said. ¡°I wish they had snacks.¡±


    ¡°Not having food is the whole point,¡± Ryla mumbled.


    ¡°What¡¯s the point of the point then? Seems like snacks are more important than whatever this is.¡±


    Ryla rolled her eyes. ¡°You¡¯re just hungry.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯ve been trying to tell you the whole time.¡± She frowned. ¡°You want to leave? No one¡¯s come here anyway.¡±


    ¡°Not now.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    Ryla paused, unsure what to say. ¡°Waiting for someone,¡± she said finally.


    ¡°Oh? Did you finally bring a date to one of these things?¡±


    Ryla snorted. I wish it were that simple. ¡°No. I have an actual meeting, unfortunately. You¡¯re welcome to leave if you¡¯d like.¡±The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Naidi hesitated, then shook her head. ¡°Nah, I¡¯ll stay.¡± She stared at Ryla with a concerned gaze. Ryla ignored her, instead continuing to tap her fingers against the desk, searching the crowd. They¡¯d been going for almost an hour, and Ryla had been late even before that. When was the filthy woman going to show?


    Suddenly, a man stepped up to the desk, tall and muscular, with long, curly black hair. Ryla tensed.


    ¡°Traegus.¡±


    ¡°Shal Magala,¡± he said, nodding respectfully. The slightest smirk crossed his face. ¡°We have matters to discuss.¡±


    Ryla pursed her lips, then nodded. ¡°Yes, we do.¡±


    ¡°Follow me, then.¡±


    Traegus turned and began walking away, and Ryla followed, winding through the bustle of nobles and generals gliding around the room, then letting out a relieved breath when they ducked through a doorway and out into an empty hallway. They wove through the corridors from there, until arriving at another door nearby. Traegus stopped at the entryway, pressed his finger against a scanner beside it, then stepped inside as the door slid open.


    Inside was a conference room ¡ª one for minor officers, if Ryla had to guess. The space was dominated by a roundtable with a holoscreen in its center¡ª likely for displaying a planetary map, but it was powered off right now, so Ryla couldn¡¯t tell. Two dozen chairs waited around the table, one elevated and embellished with silver: a seat for the highest ranked official.


    To Ryla¡¯s surprise, Cyrla was not sitting in that chair; instead, she waited on the seat directly to the left of it. Traegus sat in the elevated seat, then gestured for Ryla to sit in the chair to his right. She hesitated, then did so, scanning the room to see if she recognized its other occupants.


    They were all nobles, of course, and she knew many of them. Shal Tyrellith, a thin man with a lump in his nose, was a well-known general and head of one of the Six High Houses. Shal Irila, a portly woman with glittering jewels around her neck, had been appointed as Lady of Commerce just a few years ago. There were at least three of the seven High Councilors present. And several others Ryla did not recognize, though their fine clothing, often adorned with medals, showed they, too, were high-ranking politicians. An impressive showing.


    Are they all in on this?


    Traegus answered her question by clearing his throat, then speaking. ¡°We are all in attendance now, are we not?¡±


    ¡°High Councilor Valorus wasn¡¯t able to make it,¡± Shal Irila said. Her voice was high and nasal. ¡°But otherwise, yes.¡±


    ¡°Good. You all understand the risks associated with this meeting?¡±


    ¡°A simple meeting is not a crime,¡± mumbled Shal Tyrellith.


    ¡°No,¡± Traegus conceded. ¡°But I work closely with Jadis; hence the Forum, and not somewhere more private ¡ª if I stray too far, she¡¯ll suspect me. I do not want anyone under the illusion that she would hesitate to slit our throats if she found out what we are planning. Are all willing to give their oath of secrecy?¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± Tyrellith sighed.


    ¡°Aye,¡± said Irila. Her eyes were narrow, her expression hard, and her hands were balled up into fists. As Ryla took another look at the others, she saw similar looks on the others¡¯ faces.


    ¡°Agreed,¡± said Cyrla. The slightest hint of a smile crossed her lips.


    Eyes turned to Ryla suddenly, and she realized she hadn¡¯t given her own oath. She paused.


    Meeting in secret with politicians, a part of her whispered. Do you really think you can make it out without their filth on you?


    But, it was better than touching that rancid taint on the Third Power. And certainly better than losing Kairus. ¡°Aye,¡± she said.


    Traegus stood, leaning against the table. ¡°Then let us begin. You all know the objective. How are we going to do it?¡±


    ¡°Assassination is always a prudent option,¡± said Irila.


    Cyrla laughed. ¡°You think you can assassinate the most powerful burner in generations?¡±


    Irila shrugged. ¡°Even burners have to sleep.¡±


    ¡°Not Larsh,¡± Ryla said quietly. She immediately cringed. Was she even allowed to speak here?


    Irila raised an eyebrow. ¡°What was that?¡±


    They invited you, Ryla reminded herself. You could kill them in a moment. Don¡¯t be a coward.


    ¡°She can burn Purity, for one,¡± Ryla said. ¡°She also uses a Purity Surge to keep awake.¡±


    ¡°That would require an absurdly powerful Surge, particularly if she uses it for other things,¡± Tyrellith said, frowning. ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    ¡°She does,¡± Traegus confirmed. ¡°She swaps them out, using the Surges in the Tower underneath Xilia. She hasn¡¯t slept in over two years now.¡±


    Tyrellith whistled softly. ¡°She¡¯s dedicated. More so than I realized.¡±


    ¡°Which is precisely why she must die,¡± Cyrla snapped. ¡°Her policies are tearing this nation apart.¡±


    ¡°Too much has changed,¡± another noble agreed. One of the High Councilors, though Ryla didn¡¯t know their name. ¡°But I don¡¯t think Tyrellith is debating the validity of our cause. Simply noting that Larsh is more dangerous than we previously believed.¡±


    ¡°Which is why we must be equally dedicated,¡± Cyrla said. She swept her eyes over the nobles, expression hawkish. ¡°More so than simply attending a meeting and saying ¡®aye¡¯.¡±


    Traegus raised a hand. ¡°Peace, Cyrla. We are not here to bicker.¡± He turned back to the table. ¡°Other ideas?¡±


    Ryla shifted uncomfortably. They¡¯re more divided than I thought. She had no idea how to navigate those divisions, it was all she could manage to see that they were there. Okron, why did politics have to be so complicated?


    ¡°Cyrla and I together might be able to take down Larsh,¡± she said. ¡°I¡­ I have a friend who might be able to help us, too.¡±


    Cyrla frowned. ¡°Naidi?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Absolutely not,¡± Cyrla said. ¡°The girl is frivolous at best.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s earnest,¡± Ryla said, heat rising in her cheeks. ¡°There¡¯s a difference.¡±


    ¡°Nevertheless,¡± Traegus said, raising his voice again, ¡°I think it would be best to avoid entangling those we cannot fully trust.¡± Several nobles gave mumbles of agreement at that. ¡°But you would still have to face her guards. Even if you outmatched Larsh, you would fall. I am no duelist, but I know that much.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s right,¡± Tyrellith said. ¡°I remember a few years ago, three of Larsh¡¯s burner slaves tried to kill her. They failed.¡±


    ¡°I know the burners in question,¡± Cyrla said. ¡°They were untrained, and one of them could hardly be considered a burner at all. If we were to get Larsh alone, Ryla and I could best her. I¡¯m sure of it.¡±


    ¡°There is one way to get her in the dueling ring,¡± said one of the nobles. Another High Council member. She grinned slyly. ¡°I suspect that is why so many of my colleagues are here.¡±


    Irila raised an eyebrow. ¡°The right of challenge? That seems quite direct.¡±


    ¡°Direct transfer of power will be necessary,¡± Cyrla said. ¡°The general public favors Larsh.¡± This earned several glares, but Cyrla snorted and continued. ¡°You know I speak the truth. Some of the commoners even believe she is the Endowed. If we are to suppress a revolt, we cannot afford an outright coup.¡±


    ¡°The right of challenge is hardly different,¡± Tyrellith said.


    ¡°From a military perspective, perhaps,¡± Traegus said slowly. ¡°From the perspective of most politicians, though, it will be legitimate. It is within the law, where a coup is not, even if they are the same in spirit. For the nobility, that is important.¡±


    Ryla swallowed. She knew of the right of challenge; it had allowed Alai to duel her for her position just days before. By Talar law, any high-ranking official could be challenged for their position, as long as the High Council approved the challenge. It was how the Talar kept such a well-oiled war machine; everyone with experience had to hold their own in the dueling ring, or, if they couldn¡¯t, they had to appoint a champion who could. Larsh had gained her seat as Cunning One because of the right of challenge, besting Cunning One Axus¡¯ champion, then ordering the man to the whipping platform when she¡¯d taken the throne.


    Still¡­ fighting Larsh¡­ in the arena¡­ well, there was a reason she had dismissed the idea before.


    There¡¯s no way we could win that duel.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think challenging is a good idea,¡± Ryla said. ¡°She¡¯d retaliate if we tried it.¡±


    ¡°Of course she would, child,¡± Irila snorted. ¡°Retaliation upon our failure is a given. Why did we involve the girl to this?¡±


    Ryla felt red flush in her cheeks, but Cyrla spoke before anyone else could. ¡°She is Larsh¡¯s heir.¡±


    Irila stiffened. ¡°That is not official.¡±


    ¡°Since we are behind closed doors,¡± Traegus interrupted, ¡°I can confirm what Cyrla says. It has not been announced, but the proper legislation has been passed. Larsh has no children and no living spouse, so she has elected to choose a successor. If she dies, Ryla Magala is next in line to the throne of Talar.¡±


    Ryla frowned. ¡°That¡¯s done now?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Traegus said. ¡°She has not told you?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Ryla said softly. Heir¡­ finally¡­ She¡¯d been trying to secure that position for years now. Once Larsh was dead, it would enable her to end the war. To save Kairus. To get rid of Voidburners, once and for all.


    Okron, if she got rid of Larsh and took the throne¡­ this might work.


    ¡°Well, it will be official soon,¡± Traegus said. ¡°So, to answer your question, Shal Irila, in addition to her abilities, that is why we have involved a teenager in this. When all is done, you may very well be kneeling before her.¡±


    Ryla¡¯s head swam. Mother is going to have a fit when she hears¡­


    Irila leaned back. ¡°You can¡¯t possibly think we¡¯ll be appointing her with the right of challenge?¡±


    Traegus shrugged. ¡°Who else could win such a contest? Surely none of you want to go into the arena with a burner.¡± That sent a hush over the room. ¡°Besides, killing Larsh will create a power vacuum. As much as you may not like it, Shal Irila, the easiest solution would be to use a pre-established successor.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve accomplished far more than any of you,¡± Irila snapped. ¡°If I¡¯m cooperating in this, I want the throne. Or I¡¯m backing out.¡±


    Traegus turned white, but Cyrla grinned, leaning forward, and for the first time Ryla noticed she was glowing with red Void. ¡°How far do you want to go with your insults, Irila? Surely you don¡¯t think threatening us is actually a good idea.¡±


    Irila met her with an icy stare. ¡°And surely you don¡¯t overstep your bounds enough to challenge me.¡±


    ¡°Enough,¡± one of the High Council members snapped. ¡°Traegus and I have spoken of this already. The High Council will support your ousting of Larsh, but not a full coup. Ryla is heir. If you kill Larsh, she will take the throne.¡±


    Traegus turned to Ryla. ¡°What say you?¡±


    Ryla hesitated, then nodded. ¡°I will become Cunning One.¡± She met Irila¡¯s eyes. ¡°And things will be different. That I promise you.¡±


    Irila met Ryla¡¯s gaze, staring at her critically, then gave the slightest nod, turning away.


    She wanted me to speak up, Ryla realized. She doesn¡¯t actually want the throne. She just doesn¡¯t want it to go to someone weak. Sure enough, as she read Irila¡¯s echoes, she found that very thought buzzing around in the woman¡¯s head. I¡¯ll have to keep that in mind.


    She should use her powers to read the others, too, she realized. It was an edge she could not afford to ignore.


    Traegus turned back to the table. ¡°Any other objections?¡± No one spoke up. ¡°It¡¯s settled, then. Ryla leads when this is over. Now. Back to the matter at hand. We can best Larsh in a duel, but how do we get her into the ring to begin with? The right of challenge requires a unanimous vote from the High Council.¡±


    ¡°The vote will not be an issue,¡± said the female High Councilor from earlier. ¡°We simply need enough of a reason to appease the public. To prevent a more¡­ bloody sort of mutiny.¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t make her raise taxes,¡± Irila muttered. ¡°And that seems to be all the public cares about.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Traegus said. ¡°To both points. We can¡¯t make her raise taxes, but there is something else the public cares about. Victory.¡±


    Tyrellith scoffed. ¡°Good luck getting Larsh to lose a battle. That woman is a better tactician than anyone I¡¯ve known.¡±


    For hating Larsh, Ryla thought bitterly, Tyrellith does seem to praise her a lot.


    ¡°We cannot control Larsh,¡± Cyrla cut in, ¡°but we can outsmart her.¡±


    ¡°How?¡± Tyrellith asked. ¡°Sabotaging our own army?¡±


    ¡°Precisely,¡± Cyrla said, grinning. Ryla shivered. The woman was still glowing with Void. Couldn¡¯t she let the Third Power go for one moment?


    Tyrellith¡¯s eyes bulged. ¡°That¡¯s treason,¡± he hissed.


    Just for show, Ryla noted. She shivered. That man¡¯s thoughts¡­ he couldn¡¯t have cared less about his men.


    ¡°This entire meeting is treason,¡± Traegus reminded him. ¡°I must admit, Cyrla and I have already begun work on this phase of the plan. Larsh is brilliant, but she¡¯s stretched thin, both in troop numbers and mentally. I do not think it will be hard to trick her into a blunder.¡±


    ¡°You suggest working with foreign authorities to ensure a defeat?¡± Irila asked. Unlike Tyrellith ¡ª who wore his false disgust visibly ¡ª she seemed curious.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like this plan,¡± Ryla interjected. ¡°We¡¯d be killing our own soldiers.¡±


    ¡°Change costs blood,¡± Cyrla said. Okron, how could she say that with so little emotion? ¡°Besides, if we don¡¯t interfere, how many more will die in Larsh¡¯s campaigns? She may be brilliant, but she¡¯s mad if she thinks we can conquer the entire galaxy. Eventually, she will fall. We¡¯re simply accelerating the process, so that something of Talar remains when she is gone.¡±


    The others nodded, faces growing grim. ¡°I don¡¯t like this,¡± Tyrellith said slowly. ¡°But, I know logic when I see it. What have you set in motion?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve fed information on Larsh¡¯s plan of attack for Iral City to the Grahalan military,¡± Cyrla said. ¡°We have also prevented information on Grahalan troop whereabouts from reaching Larsh.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re planning to flank her when she attacks the capital,¡± Traegus said. ¡°Frankly, they were already doing a good job without us.¡±


    ¡°We just gave them an extra edge,¡± Cyrla agreed. ¡°When Larsh launches her attack there ¡ª which will only take a week or two more ¡ª she will fall right into their trap. Into our trap.¡±


    ¡°And once she does,¡± the female High Councilor said quietly, ¡°we challenge her, then kill her.¡±


    ¡°Precisely,¡± said Traegus. He paused, letting silence fall over the room. Ryla shifted uncomfortably.


    She didn¡¯t like the plan. Killing their own men? Challenging Larsh? It all seemed far too underhanded ¡ª and far too likely to fail. Cyrla was powerful, and so was Ryla, but Larsh¡­ well, Larsh was in a class of her own. And, if Ryla remembered the law correctly, Larsh would get to add in a second champion on her side for the duel. It just didn¡¯t add up.


    Yet, as she saw the eyes of everyone else in the room, she realized she was not in a position to negotiate. So, though she sat up a little straighter, she did not protest.


    ¡°A good plan,¡± Tyrellith said after a moment. ¡°Not plasma proof, but good. And no plan is plasma proof.¡± He sighed. ¡°I think our discussion is over, then?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Cyrla said. ¡°Unless you have more objections.¡±


    ¡°It will work,¡± Irila said. She shrugged. ¡°At least, if anything can work.¡±


    ¡°It shall be done,¡± the female High Councilor said. She rose, as did the other High Councilors. ¡°When you have created your disaster, consult us again, and your challenge will not be denied.¡± She turned to Ryla. ¡°And you.¡± She frowned. ¡°Be ready, child.¡±


    They left the room in an orderly line. A moment later, Irila rose, sighing, and exited, too. Tyrellith gave them a nod, then also left.


    ¡°Secrecy,¡± Traegus said as they did. ¡°Remember the oath.¡± The nobles replied with nods and frowns.


    As the others left, Ryla sucked in a breath and rose herself. ¡°I think I should go, too.¡±


    ¡°Not yet,¡± Traegus said. His voice was suddenly cold. ¡°Cyrla has something to give you.¡±


    Ryla frowned, but wasn¡¯t able to speak before Cyrla rose, sliding aside the folds of her cloak to reveal a long, jagged knife waiting at her hip. A jewel had been inlaid into the hilt, and it glowed with soft purple light.


    Purple. Ryla had never seen that color in a Surge. She shivered, a soft voice suddenly whispering in her head.


    ¡°What is that?¡± she hissed.


    Cyrla smiled. ¡°You can sense it. I was curious about that; I¡¯ve never brought this near a memory burner.¡± She drew the dagger, gazing fondly at it with glowing red eyes. ¡°They call it Desolation. A fitting name, I think.¡±


    ¡°Enough show,¡± Traegus sighed. ¡°Tell her what it¡¯s for, and be done with it.¡±


    Cyrla shot him a glare, but turned to Ryla, holding out the dagger. ¡°If Larsh, or any memory burner, is cut with this, their powers will vanish until the Desolation in the cut runs out. It¡¯s how I intend to kill her.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want that,¡± Ryla said. Was it just her, or was the air around the dagger warping? Warping into¡­ faces¡­


    Sighing, Cyrla pushed it farther toward Ryla. ¡°You don¡¯t have to use it until the duel. In fact, I recommend you don¡¯t; Desolation Surges are incredibly scarce, and they require great care to wield. But you agreed to help us, and this is part of the cost.¡±


    Ryla hesitated, glancing at Cyrla, then at Traegus. Both of their faces were grim. Swallowing, she took hold of the dagger¡¯s cold metal hilt, then immediately stuffed it onto her belt, where she couldn¡¯t see it. Closing her eyes, she blocked out those strange, whispering voices.


    ¡°What is that?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Desolation,¡± Cyrla said. ¡°I told you.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but what is Desolation? Larsh never told me a purple Surge was possible.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Ever infused with the pure essence of Oblivion,¡± Traegus said. ¡°Incredibly rare, as Cyrla noted. But not impossible to acquire, if you know the right people. No one knows how it works, exactly, but it suppresses burner powers more surely than drugging ever could.¡± He straightened. ¡°Our business here is done. We should get back to the Forum, Cyrla.¡±


    ¡°I have other matters to attend to,¡± she said. ¡°But you can go back to the games if you wish.¡± Still glowing red, she stepped halfway out the door, then turned back to Ryla.


    ¡°Remember the oath, Ryla. You have committed now. Don¡¯t back down. You can¡¯t.¡±


    She shut the door behind her, leaving Ryla alone with Traegus, who, after straightening his robes, gestured for Ryla to follow him. She did, numbly walking back through the halls and into the crowd of the Forum, that dagger still whispering on her hip, her thoughts screaming that she had made the wrong decision.


    Yet, with Traegus¡¯ hulking figure at her side, she knew Cyrla¡¯s words were true. It was too late to back down.

 Chapter 30 - In The Dust

    I wonder, sometimes, if there has ever been anything but war. If the crimson Void that haunts me was ever green, as the Eternals say. Could it be that peace is a lie? Sometimes I wish it was. At least then, I would know that fighting was useless.


    -Nathazar Vorcix, circa 1,300 Post Fall of Meridian


    Perelor knelt in the dust, trying to find the strength to rise. The Talar would hand out Disposers soon, he knew, as Cyrla had ordered them. He¡¯d have to rise then. Stand up and clean up the men he¡¯d just gotten killed.


    For now, he just wanted to kneel.


    Things had gone so well these last few days, like rays of light peeking in as the door to a dark room opened. Now it felt like that door had been slammed back shut, and midnight reigned in his soul once more.


    Okron, he wanted to rip that door off its hinges. He wanted to bask in the light and never leave it again. He wanted it so bad.


    Yet, he was also so exhausted. So he just knelt, numb, eyes drooping despite the Purity racing in his veins.


    ¡°Perelor?¡±


    His hands shook. His heart pounded. And still he felt on the verge of passing out. He hated how the worry and the tiredness mixed, on days like today.


    ¡°Perelor, c¡¯mon.¡±


    A hand shook his shoulder, and a glimmer of awareness returned. He looked up to see Arrus staring at him.


    ¡°You alright?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t look fine.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Perelor repeated. Slowly, he stood, muscles groaning. ¡°Where¡¯s Ithrey?¡±


    ¡°Piling up the corpses,¡± Arrus said, voice growing soft. ¡°Said it¡¯s her duty, after getting them killed.¡±


    I¡¯m the one who got them killed, Perelor thought. Not her.


    ¡°I should help,¡± he said. ¡°And¡­¡± he closed his eyes, cringing. ¡°And we need to plan.¡±


    Arrus paused, then nodded. ¡°Alright.¡± He walked through the smoke, waving it away and coughing, until they could see the pile of bodies Arrus had spoken of. Ithrey was kneeling beside a fallen soldier just next to the pile. She muttered a prayer, closed the man¡¯s eyes, then, with a grunt, grabbed the body and hoisted it onto the heap.


    She stepped back, panting. Sweat covered her forehead. Her eyes were distant. She coughed into her elbow, stepped toward the next body, then turned before she made it there, eyes fixing on Perelor. She gave him a curt nod, frowning.


    ¡°You¡¯re up.¡±


    Perelor swallowed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I shouldn¡¯t have frozen like that.¡±


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t a criticism. Just an observation.¡± Ithrey turned back to the fallen soldier, kneeling and closing the man¡¯s eyes. ¡°We all react differently to these things,¡± she added softly.


    Perelor stood silent, watching her as she muttered a prayer, the words too faint for him to hear. Plasma and cannons still shrieked and boomed in the distance, and occasionally the smoke swirled as a fighter shot through the air overhead.


    All it would take is a minute of the battle going wrong, and we¡¯d all die, he thought. They¡¯re fools for keeping us this close to the front lines.


    But then, their deaths were the point. The camera on his head suddenly felt heavier.


    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have tried the titrite,¡± he muttered. ¡°I should¡¯ve known that wouldn¡¯t work.¡±


    ¡°You couldn¡¯t have predicted that.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I could¡¯ve. It¡¯s common sense; the Talar don¡¯t want us to survive. They¡¯re recording our searing deaths. I¡¯ve told my men that same thing hundreds of times. I was a fool for trying it myself.¡±


    ¡°And the alternative?¡±


    Perelor paused. ¡°I don¡¯t know. But I still shouldn¡¯t have tried. They¡¯re dead because of me.¡±


    Ithrey stood, hoisting the fallen soldier, then tossing him onto the pile. ¡°Duty,¡± she said softly, almost to herself, ¡°is not meant to be light, but don¡¯t make it heavier than it has to be.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s my fault,¡± Perelor repeated. It always is.


    Ithrey opened her mouth to reply, then closed it, shaking her head. ¡°You¡¯re a strange man, Perelor Krot.¡± She gestured to the corpses. ¡°Are you going to help? I wish we had more time to grieve, but we don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°The Disposers will be here soon enough. We don¡¯t need to pile them. What we do need is a new plan.¡±


    ¡°The plan will still work fine. It didn¡¯t involve these men anyway.¡±


    Perelor frowned. ¡°So we¡¯re just going to pretend like nothing happened, then? Stack their bodies and go on?¡±


    ¡°What other choice is there,¡± Ithrey said softly, ¡°but to go on?¡± She straightened, dusting off her uniform ¡ª a useless gesture, it was still torn in a dozen places. ¡°Arrus has contacted his cousin. We go tonight. These men would¡¯ve died regardless; we cannot pause to mourn them.¡±


    Perelor opened his mouth to protest, then cursed and shut it.


    Men, you are going to die.


    How many times had he given that speech? How many times had he chosen not to care, only to hurt anyway when the blood spilled? And this time, he¡¯d been so close¡­


    Yet Ithrey was right. The plan hadn¡¯t involved the Miradorans. Even if it had, what choice was there?


    ¡°So tonight, then?¡±


    ¡°As soon as the fighting has died down and it¡¯s dark.¡± She paused, and for a moment her face looked utterly agonized. She studied Perelor, opened her mouth, then shut it, then opened it again. ¡°We¡¯ve decided you need to stay behind, though.¡±


    ¡°What? Why?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s easier with two people; my distraction will only require one. Besides, you can give a story to cover us. Just in case things go¡­ wrong.¡±


    ¡°No story is going to excuse you,¡± Perelor said. ¡°I¡¯ve snuck around the Talar camp dozens of times. Arrus hasn¡¯t. You need me.¡±


    Ithrey raised an eyebrow. ¡°I thought you said you would follow my lead?¡±


    ¡°To an extent.¡±


    ¡°Well, follow it to this extent: hang back. We¡¯ll be fine. I¡¯ve done plenty of stealth work, and I¡¯d rather have as little a handicap as possible.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know the Talar camp like I do.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know a lot of places. Being able to think on the fly is what makes it stealth.¡± She met his eyes, and there was actual concern in her gaze. ¡°You said you¡¯d follow me to Torment itself if it meant finding your sister, Captain. So, follow me.¡±


    ¡°And if I don¡¯t trust your judgment?¡±


    ¡°Then learn to.¡± Ithrey rose, nodding to the side. ¡°Looks like those Disposers you told me about are here, so we can¡¯t talk much longer anyway. Arrus and me go tonight. End of story.¡±


    She walked away. Searing insufferable, Perelor thought.


    Yet, there was still that haunted look in her eyes, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. As she marched up to the arriving Talar soldiers and grabbed her Disposer, Perelor noticed her hands were shaking.


    A dozen guards? There¡¯s no way she can pull this off. He hesitated, then cursed under his breath. ¡°She¡¯s not going to like this.¡±


    He¡¯d do it anyway. For he¡¯d realized something as he knelt there, consumed by the echoes of the fallen. People had died because of his mistakes. That had happened before, of course, but never so directly, save for perhaps that terrible night when Eliel had been torn from him. Even that had only been separation, not death.


    Flames.


    Blood.


    Screams.


    Rubble.


    And that blade¡­


    Going forward, he¡¯d realized, there could be no mistakes.


    ***


    Ithrey had to admit, she was impressed with the Talar army¡¯s ability to set up camp so quickly. Within hours of the battle¡¯s start, hundreds of ships carrying both troops and supplies had landed in the field near the slave squadrons, and makeshift tents and barracks had been quickly constructed using metal panels that snapped together with magnets. Small cookfires flickered everywhere, servants diligently cooking bread expanded from crates of powdered concentrate that had arrived just an hour before. Atop several of the structures, soldiers knelt, snipers in their hands, sweeping their eyes over their surroundings, in case the Grahalans attempted to flank the camp. The entire setup, and the speed with which it had been created, astounded Ithrey.


    Most important to her, though, was the makeshift comms tower technicians had constructed nearby. Stretching into the sky, it was one of the few structures with a blue plasma shield surrounding it, powered by a massive battery a cargo cruiser had dropped off earlier. Its antenna flashed constantly with lights of purple and green. An indication of messages received and transmitted, Ithrey knew. Yet those flashes, on then off, light then dark, still felt foreboding.


    She was not ready to die, she admitted. But then, she never would be. She let out a shaky breath.


    Night was setting, the red sun almost completely submerged below the horizon; only small rays of crimson light still glowed through the smoke. Ithrey had to squint to make out Arrus¡¯ face as he jogged over to her cookfire, kneeling beside her.


    They were alone, save for the Talar guards. Perelor was off burning the corpses, which he had insisted on doing himself.


    You need time to plan, he¡¯d said. Ithrey suspected the real reason was so he could be alone. Well, good. The farther he was from what was about to happen, the better.


    ¡°We¡¯re allowed to walk into camp, yes?¡± Ithrey asked, eyeing a guard nearby.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Arrus answered. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ unusual. Perelor really is the only one I know who¡¯s actually done it. But it¡¯s allowed, as long as we don¡¯t trigger those chips.¡±


    Ithrey nodded, eyes still flickering about to the guards surrounding them. Did she look too nervous? There certainly seemed to be an unusual amount of eyes on her tonight.


    That¡¯s good, she reminded herself. You¡¯re going to be the distraction. Still, those eyes felt like bullets stabbing into her. And there would be bullets, soon.


    I am sorry, Arrus, she thought. I truly am. At least Perelor would live. The more she¡¯d thought, the more she¡¯d realized his death was unnecessary. He would probably still die here, but this mercy, at least, she could give.


    ¡°Camp is dead,¡± Arrus noted. ¡°Sounds like the Grahalans are still fighting for that outpost, so everyone¡¯s gone.¡±


    Ithrey nodded, letting out a relieved breath. ¡°We¡¯re going to want to get this done now, then. Before they return. We¡¯ll need to move quickly; I don¡¯t want to be there when everyone comes flooding in.¡±


    Arrus nodded. ¡°It¡¯ll take time to crack the thing. But I think I can do it.¡±


    ¡°You think? Or you can?¡±


    Arrus shrugged. ¡°I really can¡¯t know for certain until I¡¯m there.¡±


    Ithrey frowned. Should I hold off then? ¡°This has to succeed. Would it help if I scouted the software beforehand? And we did this another night?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Arrus said immediately. ¡°Tonight is our best shot, believe me. There¡¯s almost no guards. Even Cyrla¡¯s gone.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯ll be gone other nights.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯ll be gone if we¡¯re still alive,¡± Arrus countered. He shivered. ¡°I¡­ I¡¯ve never seen them execute people that fast, Ithrey. If we give that woman more time, she¡¯ll have us killed. I¡¯m sure of it.¡±


    Ithrey paused, considering. Then she sighed. ¡°Alright. But we need to be careful. We can¡¯t afford to fail.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± Arrus glanced at the sky. ¡°Trust me, I know.¡± He sat down, his hand twitching slightly. Ithrey noticed for the first time that glowing red mist was rising from that hand.


    Soulcurse. She gritted her teeth. At least it wasn¡¯t a bad one. They¡¯d be fine.


    Well, the message would be. They wouldn¡¯t. She trembled, for a moment, before steeling herself.


    She waited until night had fallen, then waited a little longer, then signaled for Arrus to follow her.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    ***


    Perelor pressed himself against the wall of a nearby barracks, peaking around the corner to watch Arrus and Ithrey as they strode through the Talar camp. Ithrey stood out like a bloodstain on a white cloth in that black-and-orange uniform of hers. So far, the guards hadn¡¯t given them much attention, but, so far, they weren¡¯t anywhere near the comms tower.


    Sear that woman for leaving me behind. His own dark blue and silver uniform blended much more easily into the night than Ithrey¡¯s orange-trimmed Miradoran clothes. Distraction or not, she should¡¯ve been the one to stay behind, not him.


    Well, he¡¯d followed anyway, whether or not she liked it. Now he just needed to cause a distraction, so they could get to their destination. Preferably without anyone realizing he¡¯d been involved.


    He glanced around, looking for anything that could cause such a disturbance. He saw nothing, save for a couple of grenades waiting against a crate. He frowned. An explosion would work¡­


    He turned back to Ithrey and Arrus. They were continuing onward, though they were drawing more attention now. One guard was staring at them, a tall, burly man with a rifle on his back and a hooked nose. Perelor hesitated, then cursed as the man started walking toward the pair.


    She better thank me for this. He withdrew his lasertip from his back, slid farther behind the wall, then, wincing, he aimed at the grenade, closed his eyes, and fired.


    Plasma shrieked, and a moment later, white light flared, bright enough that it still blazed through Perelor¡¯s eyelids. As it faded, he snapped his eyes back open, then scrambled away, sheathing his lasertip and shouting.


    ¡°Attack! Attack on the camp! To arms!¡±


    Soldiers¡¯ voices echoed his own, and Perelor waited until the smoke had cleared a little, then dashed back toward where the grenade had exploded. Trying to act frantic, he glanced toward where Arrus and Ithrey stood. They had frozen in place, but the soldier was no longer staring at them, instead grumbling as he walked toward the blasted-out ground near Perelor.


    Ithrey, though, saw him. She met his eyes, shaking her head. Perelor nodded at her, motioning with his hand for her to keep moving. Hopefully she got the message; he couldn¡¯t check, for as he waved at her a soldier fell into line beside him, surveying the blast.


    ¡°What happened? Did you see anything?¡±


    ¡°Just the flash, sir,¡± Perelor replied, saluting with his wrists crossed ¡ª the Talar way. ¡°Nothing else.¡±


    The man ¡ª who, Perelor noted, wore officer¡¯s knots on his left shoulder pauldron ¡ª turned his gaze up to the sky, squinting. Then he sighed. ¡°Back to your posts, all of you. But keep an eye out, you hear me? These Voidlings aren¡¯t giving up easily, I¡¯ll tell you that much.¡± He shook his head as he walked off. ¡°You¡¯d think the searing Cunning One would give us a break. To Torment with that woman.¡± That last part was whispered under his breath, and Perelor doubted he was supposed to hear it.


    Slowly, the other soldiers dispersed. Perelor gave them a curt nod and stepped away from the explosion himself. No eyes lingered on him. He glanced to the side. Arrus and Ithrey were gone, but the soldier who had almost apprehended them was still in Perelor¡¯s sight. It had worked.


    Sear you Ithrey, Perelor thought. You better thank me when this is done.


    Sliding his lasertip onto the strap on his back, he continued on into camp, fingering the dagger on his belt. That earned him some stares; it seemed rumors of what he often did with the dagger had spread. That, of course, was exactly why Perelor kept his hand on it ¡ª let them think he was simply trying to find a place to cut himself, and they wouldn¡¯t suspect his true intentions.


    I¡¯m helping, no matter what you say. He wouldn¡¯t let her fail. Whatever she thought of him for it.


    ***


    ¡°That man,¡± Ithrey muttered. ¡°I ask him to do nothing, nothing of all things, and he still can¡¯t obey.¡±


    Please, she thought. Please go back. You¡¯ll die if you don¡¯t.


    Arrus shrugged. ¡°What he did worked.¡±


    ¡°Barely,¡± Ithrey scoffed. Please go back. You don¡¯t understand¡­


    ¡°But it worked.¡± Arrus glanced nervously around them. No one had yet spotted them, crouching between towers of supply crates near the comms tower, but even with most of the army gone there were so many people milling about the camp that an encounter could happen at any moment.


    The comms tower was completely unguarded now; the clearing surrounding it was lit by ethium lamplights, but no one stood there. However unoriginal Perelor¡¯s tactic had been, it had worked unnervingly well.


    ¡°I should probably go to the tower alone,¡± Arrus said. ¡°The distraction is done, and you¡¯re wearing a Miradoran uniform. I¡¯m at least in Talar clothes.¡±


    ¡°They won¡¯t arrest you, then?¡±


    ¡°Oh, no, they¡¯ll still arrest me if they find out I¡¯m unauthorized. It just might be harder for them to realize that. Still, you can follow if you want.¡± He sighed. ¡°Or not. It¡¯s not like you can take on the entire army.¡±


    Ithrey hesitated. ¡°If we contact Alaran, you¡¯ll be fine. How confident are you that you can do that?¡±


    ¡°Fifty-ish percent. I¡¯ll know as soon as I try to log in.¡±


    ¡°And if that fails?¡±


    ¡°I trigger an alarm that gets me executed.¡±


    Ithrey paled. ¡°We can¡¯t take that chance.¡±


    ¡°I can, and it¡¯s only me doing the illegal part.¡± He gave her a wistful smile. ¡°I didn¡¯t tell Perelor on purpose, he¡¯d never let me do this. But I have to take this chance. For the galaxy, right?¡±


    Ithrey hesitated, then cringed, nodding. She reached into her uniform and handed him the recording disk she¡¯d stolen earlier. He slid it into a slot in his holoscreen. ¡°For the galaxy,¡± she said. She frowned. ¡°You still should¡¯ve told me at least.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, probably should¡¯ve,¡± Arrus admitted. He swallowed again, wringing his hands together. Then he stood. ¡°Wish me luck.¡±


    ¡°Luck is an illusion. But may God Above bless you.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what religion that¡¯s referencing, but I¡¯ll take it.¡± He sucked in a breath, then slipped out from between the crates, falling behind the wall of a nearby building, then slowly striding out into the open, as if on a leisurely walk. Ithrey made her way through the crates, keeping her head just barely above them to keep her eye on Arrus.


    It seemed to work; if anyone was watching, they thought nothing of a lone man in Talar robes. Ithrey¡¯s heart pounded, and she expected something to go wrong at any moment, but the boy went completely unperturbed until he arrived at the comms tower, then set his holoscreen against it.


    Ithrey swallowed. Please let this work. Even from a distance, she could still read the worry on the boy¡¯s face. A boy, she reminded herself. No seventeen-year-old should risk himself like this.


    Yet, here they were. So, slipping behind the cover of a barracks, she watched as Arrus began his work. His eyes were fixed on the holoscreen for several minutes, but then they darted to Ithrey.


    It¡¯s working, he mouthed.


    Oddly, despite their impending death, Ithrey felt pressure drain from her, and she couldn¡¯t help but smile. At least it had worked. In moments, the galaxy would know where the Endowed was. The Seekers, the Confederacy, the other nations, someone would surely help.


    Arrus would die, she would die, but Alaran would live.


    She was so caught up in the feeling of triumph she almost didn¡¯t notice the red, glowing eye that lit up in the darkness behind Arrus.


    ***


    Perelor slipped around a corner and into the alleyway behind Ithrey just as her eyes widened. She stepped back, gesturing wildly at Arrus.


    For a moment, Perelor cocked his head, confused. Then his own eyes widened as he saw the Voidling.


    He opened his mouth to shout a warning, but it was too late. A tendril of black mist slammed into Arrus¡¯ side, throwing him away from the antenna. He yelped as he crashed into a nearby crate.


    Ithrey stepped back, muttering something Perelor couldn¡¯t hear under her breath. Perelor hesitated, the Voidling¡¯s red eye seeming to bore through his skin. Through all of him. Then, growling, he ran forward, unsheathing his lasertip from his back, drawing in Purity from his Surge.


    His glow drew eyes. Talar soldiers pointed toward him, and several unsheathed blasters. In the back of his mind, Perelor felt their echoes as they stared at him, waiting for the order.


    I know some of those guards, a part of Perelor thought idly. They know I wouldn¡¯t try to escape.


    Okron, even knowing that, they¡¯re afraid of me.


    ¡°Voidling!¡± he yelled. ¡°Voidling in camp!¡±


    The shout didn¡¯t draw their eyes to the creature ¡ª only the glow of its red eye kept it from blending into the night, while Perelor¡¯s bright white radiance made him stand out. Still, it confused them enough to keep them from shooting, and that was all Perelor needed. As they stared, he shifted his muscles, then jumped as far as he could with the added strength.


    It proved to be quite the leap. He soared through the air, a shooting star of alabaster brilliance, before crashing into the black mist of the Voidling.


    The Voidling¡¯s ethereal body hissed as Perelor struck it, dissipating along with a sizeable chunk of Perelor¡¯s own energy. The singular red eye of the creature shrunk backward for a moment.


    But only for a moment. Shrieking, it threw three tendrils at Perelor at once.


    Instinct kicked in, and Perelor slashed through two of the tendrils in a wide sweeping motion, but even instinct couldn¡¯t block three at once. The last blow hit him squarely in the chest. He grunted as he slammed into the ground.


    ¡°Voidling!¡± he yelled again ¡ª though it came out as a rasp this time. He rolled and sprang up into a crouch ¡ª just in time to avoid a tendril that rammed into the ground where his neck had been just moments before.


    ¡°Voidling!¡± It came out as a proper yell this time. ¡°To arms! Voidling in camp!¡±


    Plasma shrieked as the Talar soldiers, finally, seemed to understand what they were seeing. The Voidling screamed as bolts of fiery orange slammed into it, crackling as they burned away its misty form. It wasn¡¯t enough to truly damage the creature ¡ª the Powers were the only proper way to fight a Voidling ¡ª but its one good eye darted toward Perelor, then back to the soldiers, then back to Perelor. Perelor rose to his feet, drawing in more Purity, falling into a battle stance.


    Retreat. Please. He didn¡¯t know if he could fight this thing ¡ª weakened or not ¡ª if it kept going.


    This will not be our last meeting, a voice said in Perelor¡¯s mind. Oblivion has plans for you, son of Rion.


    Another round of plasma slammed into the creature, and it screamed a final time, its gaseous body shooting off into the sky, the red eye following it.


    Perelor stood his ground for a moment, watching the crimson pinprick of light, until, finally, it was distant enough he could no longer spot it. Then, at last, he relaxed, just as Ithrey stumbled to a stop behind him, breathing heavily.


    ¡°I should have expected that. But of course I didn¡¯t. Ugh. I should¡¯ve known!¡±


    ¡°Nothing you could have done,¡± Perelor said softly, though his gaze was still fixed on the patch of sky where the Voidling had vanished.


    Oblivion has plans for you. What was that supposed to mean?


    ¡°Captain! Are you alright?¡±


    Cursing to himself, Perelor shook himself out of his stupor. Talar soldiers were approaching, fully armored, sweeping scopes through the night as they searched for the escaped Voidling. He gave them a curt nod.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine. The creature left before it did much damage.¡± He froze suddenly, cursing under his breath. ¡°Arrus!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± a voice said from behind him. ¡°Well, mostly fine. Actually, how are we defining ¡®fine¡¯? Cause I might not be fine.¡±


    Perelor cursed again, turning. In the darkness, it took him a few moments to find Arrus, but eventually he saw him, laying face up on top of the contents of a crushed crate full of bread powder. He was gripping his right arm, which was swollen and bruised. Perelor rushed over, hoisting him to his feet and out of the rubble.


    As he did, Arrus muttered something under his breath. Perelor frowned.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°It got my holoscreen,¡± he whispered. ¡°Destroyed it before I could send the signal.¡±


    Thaus. Perelor had to keep himself from saying the curse aloud. If Arrus¡¯ holoscreen was destroyed¡­ well, Perelor honestly wasn¡¯t sure how he¡¯d acquired the thing to begin with. There was certainly no easy way to replace it.


    And that Voidling¡¯s going to let Cyrla know what we¡¯re doing. He was almost certain that was why it had fled. Cyrla probably couldn¡¯t punish them without revealing the creature ¡ª probably ¡ª but the plan had backfired. Horribly.


    Just like you thought it would. Just like it always does, a part of him whispered. Remember what happened the last time you tried to escape?


    Cringing, he pushed that part of him back, steadying his trembling hands. This had been risky. He¡¯d known it. Besides, he wasn¡¯t dead yet.


    Still, standing in the chill air of night, surrounded by Talar guards, he doubted again.


    Forward, he reminded himself. Forward.


    Even as he thought that, a purple-clad soldier stepped toward Perelor, nodding to him. He tensed. So soon? Surely news hasn¡¯t traveled that quickly.


    ¡°Captain Krot,¡± the soldier said. ¡°I came with a message. Shal Cyrla wishes to see you.¡±


    ***


    Perelor knew he should¡¯ve felt nervous as he walked into Cyrla¡¯s metal-plated tent. He¡¯d just tried to escape. Sure, the attempt had been promptly foiled, and to an outsider it wouldn¡¯t even look like he¡¯d tried anything, but the truth of his intentions remained. If the Talar nobility found out about this, Larsh herself would likely get involved.


    Yet, he just felt¡­ numb. Tired, and drenched in sweat. But mostly numb. He¡¯d known this would likely fail. He¡¯d deal with the consequences, the pain. If there was one thing he knew, it was how to suffer.


    Still¡­ if they kill Arrus¡­ oh Okron, I¡¯m a fool for doing this.


    He pushed past guards who watched him with wary eyes, then nodded to Cyrla as he took a seat across a violet-wood table from her.


    ¡°You called for me?¡± he asked. For once, he did not avoid meeting the woman¡¯s eyes, even though they glowed crimson. He was too drained to fear that red light.


    ¡°I did,¡± Cyrla said. ¡°I suspect you know why.¡±


    Perelor said nothing in reply. Cyrla waited for a moment, lips pursed. Then she snarled, leaning forward.


    ¡°How long do you think I¡¯ll play this game, Krot? You blew up half a dozen supply crates. You snuck into camp to send a message to our enemies. How long do you think I¡¯ll go without reporting you?¡±


    Probably not very long, Perelor thought. He kept his face calm. There had to be some way to twist her words, some way out of this. He at least had to try. ¡°Those are bold claims, Shal Tarval. What evidence do you have to back them?¡±


    Cyrla scoffed. ¡°Don¡¯t think I didn¡¯t notice the login to the database, boy. And who do you think sent the Voidling? Yes, I¡¯m willing to admit to that. It won¡¯t be long before the creatures are more common.¡± She leaned forward. ¡°But most importantly, Krot, I have the cameras.¡±


    Perelor felt blood drain from his face. ¡°Those only run during raids,¡± he said. It took effort to keep his expression neutral, and he suspected he was, at least in part, failing.


    ¡°That¡¯s what we tell you,¡± Cyrla said. ¡°But that¡¯s not the truth. They¡¯ve been running the whole time, Perelor. Not just when you¡¯re fighting. It took little effort to find you and your friends discussing your plans. How do you think I knew where to put the Voidling to begin with?¡±


    Perelor¡¯s heart pounded. A way out. Some loophole exists, you just have to find it. For Arrus. ¡°Larsh won¡¯t let you kill me,¡± he said. ¡°Or Ithrey.¡±


    ¡°But she would let me kill your friend with the Ever Surge,¡± Cyrla said. She leaned back. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter, though. You see, you¡¯re wrong. Larsh ordered Ithrey¡¯s execution just minutes ago. Three dozen lashings. The guards are after her now.¡±


    The words took a moment to set in. Then, cursing, Perelor shot to his feet. ¡°No,¡± he hissed. ¡°You¡­ you can¡¯t.¡±


    Except¡­ they could. And they would. Dread crept up his spine.


    Cyrla chuckled. ¡°You would think that, after five years, you would know our limits better. We can kill her, Perelor. We are killing her.¡±


    He stood still for a moment, trembling. Watching it all burn.


    Never learn a soldier¡¯s name¡­


    No. He would not return to that life. He turned for the door, ignoring Cyrla¡¯s growl. ¡°You can¡¯t stop them,¡± she said. ¡°The order has already been given.¡±


    He pushed out of the tent anyway. The two guards at the entrance gave him quizzical looks, but he marched past them.


    Flames.


    Blood.


    Screams.


    Rubble.


    And that blade¡­


    It was all falling apart again.


    ¡°No,¡± he muttered. ¡°Not this time. This time I try.¡± He broke out into a run.

 Chapter 31 - Experimentation

    Who am I?


    That, I think, is the ultimate question of our age. One even I cannot answer.


    -Arath Dralei, circa 2,897 Post Fall of Meridian


    ¡°Bombers! To cover!¡±


    Xanala¡¯s heart pounded as she scrambled away from the ledge she¡¯d been standing on when the soldier had cried out. In the distance, a thunderous explosion rumbled, and streaks of purple shot through the red-tinted sky. Xanala twisted toward the nearest door, then cursed as she crashed head-on into a soldier running in the opposite direction. They tumbled to the ground as another shriek split the night, closer this time.


    ¡°Off me!¡± Xanala shouted, desperately pushing a limb out of her way, then jumping to her feet. She ran around the corner and into the doorway, then immediately slammed it shut behind her.


    As she did, she couldn¡¯t help but glimpse the city outside, buildings smoking, towers crumbling. And flames. Flames everywhere.


    She shivered. I need out. Fast.


    ***


    Later that night, Xanala awoke abruptly, slamming her hand against the holoscreen alarm by the side of her bed. The thing was louder than she¡¯d thought it would be. Hand trembling, she waited, expecting guards to barge in, or the lights to suddenly turn on. Something.


    You must learn to hide, her father¡¯s voice whispered. Anyone, and I mean anyone, will kill you if they find out what you are.


    Trust no one.


    She twitched her finger, heart pounding. No reaction came, though. She let out a relieved breath. Maybe this would work. She scooted out of her bed, slipping over to the door of her newly assigned quarters, peeking through the crack at the hallway outside.


    The lights were on, but she saw no flickers of motion. She waited, counting two minutes under her breath. Still nothing.


    Alaran still hasn¡¯t found out. Good. She let out a relieved breath, then knelt beside her bed.


    She¡¯d left the Surgeblade underneath it; she¡¯d been tempted to sleep with the weapon, just in case, but then she¡¯d realized how suspicious that would look. Now that it was dark, she withdrew the weapon, closed her eyes, and Reached. There was a moment of pause ¡ª Reaching seemed to require more mental exertion than it had before ¡ª but a second later she was glowing softly with Ever.


    Then, she Reached again. Not for the Surgeblade this time, but for her own abilities.


    Nothing came ¡ª at least, no additional Ever. She felt a straining, as if her mind were pushing up against a wall of tightly stretched cloth. She could sense it giving way, could feel the air of the room behind, but couldn¡¯t quite get it to snap. Maybe if she pushed a little harder¡­.


    I can free you¡­


    She shivered. No, not yet. She reached into the pockets of her robes, gripping the holodiscs that waited there, along with two display holoscreens ¡ª in case one of them broke. She¡¯d swiped those from the military library earlier, every one she could find on the mechanics of Identity and wards.


    Now, Three Gods willing, she was going to escape. She¡¯d need to find a Purity and a Void Surge, if she could; she wanted access to all Three Powers before showing up at Larsh¡¯s camp. But for now, the Ever Surge would be enough to get her out. With half of their soldiers at the warfront, the watchmen here were scant, and over the last week she¡¯d found dozens of viable escape routes. If all went well, at least one of them would work.


    Slowly she cracked the door open, still looking for guards, still finding nothing. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the worry off her face and strode through the hallways.


    Night was at its peak, and she¡¯d heard soldiers earlier whispering about a skirmish to the south, so, hopefully, the building would be near empty. If not, she¡¯d just have to act natural and pray that no one recognized her; she wasn¡¯t stealthy enough to get out by sneaking around. Rounding a corner, she tensed as she saw a soldier leaning against a wall, but he only nodded to her, then breathed in the cigarette in his hands. As Xanala passed him, his eyes glazed over and he purred softly.


    Not much discipline around here, Xanala noted. Hardly an eye rested on her as she made her way to an elevator, then stepped inside. Alone, she ascended toward the higher floors, where she knew the landing pads were.


    She waited as the elevator pushed against her feet, closing her eyes, trying to steady her breathing. Everything was silent, even Oblivion. It was unnerving.


    The elevator clicked open, and she stepped out into a similar hallway as the one she¡¯d just left. There were a few more soldiers here, but no one questioned her as she found a map, then wound her way through the corridors and out onto a landing pad.


    All but one stall was empty, but that one ship ¡ª an old cruiser with the paint job peeling off ¡ª would do. Xanala barely knew how to fly anyway, so this might actually be better than a fighter. She released a breath she didn¡¯t realize she¡¯d been holding, shot what she hoped was a subtle glance behind her, then made her way through the shadows and up to the ship¡¯s cockpit.


    It popped open easily, and with the boost of a touch of Ever from her Surge, she was able to soar up and into the seat with no problem. Glowing with just enough Ever to light the area a few feet around her, she squinted at the control panel. It looked easy enough. A switch to start the engine, an automated take-off protocol, and a simple set of levers for controlling the vehicle after that.


    This might actually work.


    Except there was still one problem. She closed her eyes, trembling slightly as she reached into her pocket and retrieved the holoscreen from earlier ¡ª the one that, she hoped, would teach her how to expel Oblivion.


    She shrunk down into the seat of the cockpit, carefully moving the device to ensure that no one could see its glow from afar, then began watching, playing the audio through an earpiece she¡¯d also stolen from the Grahlan Archives. The night air felt colder as she surfed through videos on Identity theory and Split Power theory, stealing glances constantly to ensure she was still alone. Finally, after at least an hour of searching ¡ª though it felt much longer ¡ª she found what she was looking for.


    Expelling Power-Based Soul Control, it was called, and as she watched, it seemed to describe her condition well. According to it, someone ¡ª in this case Oblivion¡ª had merged a part of their own soul with Xanala¡¯s, but in a parasitic way, allowing them to extend themselves into Xanala and control her intentions. Alaran¡¯s ward was the only thing shielding her from that.


    ¡°The ward is only a temporary measure,¡± the holoscreen said, ¡°as the person who initiates it must then constantly fight the original perpetrator for control, and the victim is completely subject to the will of the person who warded them ¡ª a detriment to both participants. A full expulsion is recommended. It¡¯s difficult, especially if one is not a burner. It¡¯s also risky, as the process, if done incorrectly, can deepen the problem.¡±


    Xanala frowned, pausing the holoscreen. Her heart beat even faster in her chest.


    She¡¯d been right. Alaran could control her. For all his talk of helping her, and all his words about the greater good, he¡¯d still lied. Her hands trembled.


    He could be influencing me right now¡­ That wasn¡¯t likely, though. Steadying her breathing, she continued watching the recording.


    The ritual seemed fairly simple, though, to be honest, Xanala had no idea if it would seem that way when she attempted it. She had to use the Ever from the Surge and infuse it into her soul, flushing out Oblivion¡¯s corruption almost like water washing a dish. The recording recommended using multiple Surgewielders, working in tandem, but Xanala didn¡¯t have that luxury.


    The recording ended, leaving her in darkness, save for the soft light of her blue glow. Instinctively she drew in more Ever from the Surge, casting azure light across the cockpit. Breathing in, she peeked over the edge of her seat, checking one last time to ensure she wouldn¡¯t be disturbed.


    There was no one.


    It was time.


    She drew in all the Ever she could from the Surge. It was a strong one, and the intensity of the light almost blinded her as she stared at her arms. The guards would certainly see that. She needed to hurry.


    Closing her eyes, she Reached, not for any of the Powers, but for the web of her own soul.


    At first, she felt nothing, but within a few moments, she felt a soft prickling in her chest, something the recording had said she would feel. The prickling started in her forehead, too, and on the back of her neck, then spread from there into her veins.


    As the recording had also said, the prickling feeling on her chest was¡­ different. Sharper, and more painful. It was there she would have to target with her Ever.


    She let out the breath she¡¯d sucked in. Then, gritting her teeth, she willed all the Ever she could into that one point.


    The prickling intensified, and, for a moment, she felt the strange sensation in her chest match the feelings in her neck and forehead. Her veins throbbed, and her skull ached, but she let out a long breath.


    Then, abruptly, her glow vanished, and agony like she¡¯d never felt before slammed into her.


    I have you now. Oblivion¡¯s voice was louder than it had been before. Not just in volume, but in the way it resonated within her, her very heartbeat seeming to sync with the rise and fall of his voice.


    Red light suddenly burst alive in her chest, then spread through her veins, lighting up her arms, her legs. Her eyes. It cast crimson shadows on the fallen holoscreen beside her.


    Without her willing it, her leg moved.


    No! Panic rose in her mind. But only in her mind. Everything else felt numb, like a foot you¡¯d slept on for too long ¡ª except across her entire body. No!


    She tried to push against Oblivion, Reaching, slamming the force of her will against his. It was like trying to push a planet with her shoulder. Instead of helping her resist, she found her willpower burned out, and as she fell back in exhaustion, Oblivion took complete control. He forced her to stand, then hop down from the cockpit. She could hear soldiers rallying, too, though the sound was duller than usual, as if she were underwater.


    No¡­ Her protests were weak, and they did nothing. Oblivion forced her to jump downward, and though she still felt the shock of her feet striking the pavement, it was dwarfed by the raw fear pounding through her mind.


    Oblivion fixed her eyes on the Grahalan soldiers. They were grouping into a squadron, and several pointed and yelled as Oblivion closed Xanala¡¯s eyes, lighting up with Void. The tingling numbness Xanala felt intensified as he threw his hand forward, burning the magical energy.


    Time seemed to slow. Tendrils shot out from Xanala¡¯s hands, twisting toward the soldiers.


    No. I will not be a murderer. Not again!


    Yet Xanala¡¯s cries were only a whimper, and they did nothing. The tendrils slammed into the soldiers chests, throwing them backward, then reared upward, reaching for their necks¡­Stolen novel; please report.


    Then blue light washed over Xanala. The tendrils puffed out of existence as a blazing figure slammed feet first into the cement. The fall should have snapped Alaran¡¯s legs like they were made of powder, but he hardly seemed to notice the force of it, instead leaping for Xanala.


    You, Xanala heard Oblivion hiss. I will enjoy killing one of you. He lashed out with Xanala¡¯s hands, throwing tendrils toward Alaran, pushing far more Void into powering them. This time, though, Alaran didn¡¯t vaporize the tendrils but abruptly shifted himself in midair, throwing himself feet first into Xanala. She felt the pain that opened across her chest as his boots crashed into her ribs, and the breathlessness that followed as she rolled across the cement, cuts and bruises opening all across her skin.


    Fool, Oblivion thought. He didn¡¯t seem to even notice Xanala resisting him anymore. He stood, raising Xanala¡¯s hands, letting go of Void and instead burning Purity. Strangely, as it raced through Xanala¡¯s veins, it didn¡¯t glow white, instead emanating a dark black. I will make you suffer for that.


    I will make you all suffer.


    Oblivious to any of it, Alaran whirled around. Oblivion slammed Xanala¡¯s hand against the floor, and the cement flowed into her skin ¡ª a poor imitation of titrite, but still more protective than any natural armor could be. It flowed across Xanala¡¯s face just as Alaran unleashed a hail of plasma. The Purity-infused cement sizzled as it absorbed the blows.


    The bright light of the superheated air still blinded Xanala, though, and for a moment Oblivion stood still. One crucial moment.


    Ever slammed into Xanala¡¯s forehead ¡ª not a plasma attack, but raw Ever, still completely in its ethereal form. It strained as it pushed against the titrite helm covering her, hissing and churning like blue mist.


    What is he doing? she thought.


    Yet even as she drifted, confused, she felt Oblivion thrashing violently against the Ever, and she understood.


    He¡¯s trying to ward me again, she realized. Hope surged in her, and, letting out a mental growl, she attacked Oblivion with all the willpower she could muster.


    It wasn¡¯t much, not against the cold, intense power he had acquired over her. But, pushing with all her might, pain screaming at her from the exhaustion of it, she held him back, for one, crucial moment.


    The Ever broke through the helm, the titrite dropping back to the ground as cement. Blue light blazed in Xanala¡¯s veins.


    The last thing Xanala saw was Alaran, landing beside her, face tight.


    Even in blackness, she trembled at the fury on that face.


    ***


    She awoke to find herself again in chains. To find herself, once again, alone. Dark metal walls greeted her on her sides; she had been chained to the back wall standing up, cuffs holding her limbs up in several places. Her mind was foggy again, so they must have drugged her, too. Beyond a pneumatic doorway, there was nothing else in the room.


    She closed her eyes, almost too tired to do what she knew she had to. Almost not wishing to know. But, sucking in a deep breath, she Reached.


    Nothing. The same nothing she¡¯d felt earlier, before trying to reverse Oblivion¡¯s taint.


    Before failing.


    So he¡¯s warded me again. She wasn¡¯t sure if that was better or worse. Oblivion wasn¡¯t controlling her, but¡­


    Stop it, she chided herself. Alaran might¡¯ve been able to control you, but he didn¡¯t. It¡¯s¡­ she swallowed, too proud to admit it, even in her head, then winced. It¡¯s better than Oblivion. It¡¯s not perfect, but it¡¯s better.


    There was a problem now, though. The chances of Alaran giving her another Surge to work with were about the chances of a river running through Torment. Her avenue to Talar, and survival, was gone.


    You really are weak, Oblivion whispered.


    She tried to think of some other way, some hope, but drugged and exhausted, she didn¡¯t even know where to start. Leaning back, she sagged in her chains. Closed her eyes again.


    Sleep came. With it, nightmares.


    ***


    She stood atop a balcony. The same balcony where she¡¯d stood just days ago, watching the sunset. Had it been just days? How long had she waited in that cell, chained and unconscious? She didn¡¯t know, and as she gazed at the horizon, the thought slipped away like water down a pipe.


    Soon, though, the sunset was not what she was staring at. Screams, soft at first, slowly grew louder, and she turned her eyes down to the Grahalan city below.


    Flames and smoke covered it. All of it. Fighters dashed about, just barely above the buildings, firing indiscriminately into the city complex. The town had not been evacuated, and bodies flew everywhere, many raining down into the streets below. People ran everywhere, yet nowhere was safe. Ash and embers cascaded downward. The ground shook as towers collapsed.


    Above it all, a giant battleship, with clean, purple-painted trim, waited like a shark in the sky. Xanala had never seen the ship in person, but she recognized it.


    The Talar flagship. She stepped back reflexively. She had only been three when Ethea had been ransacked, but schools always played recordings of that day. It was a warning, they said.


    A warning against what Xanala saw now.


    Realizing where she stood, she turned to flee. Yet, even as she thought it, her muscles locked in place. A voice, rich and deep and terribly familiar, echoed all around her.


    The Final War comes. You cannot stop it.


    ¡°You,¡± she hissed. ¡°Get out of my head!¡±


    You will die here. Alaran knows this; he has seen his own death in the Tower. Yet, you do not have to die.


    ¡°I¡¯m not falling for this again. I have a plan. It¡¯ll work.¡± It has to.


    A long pause. Then a chuckle.


    We shall see. When Alaran is dead, and you watch this very scene unfolding before you, we shall see.


    Her eyes involuntarily flicked upward, then widened as she saw a Talar fighter shrieking toward her. Adrenaline raced through her as its blasters lit up, then fired.


    Heat, terrible, burning heat, washed over her. After that, nothing.


    After the nothingness, pain.


    ***


    Xanala¡¯s eyes shot open, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her breaths so rushed she hardly took in any air. Her vision was speckled with black dots at first, though as she forced her breathing to steady, they gradually faded back into color.


    As they did, she tensed. Alaran was sitting across from her, lips pursed, leaning forward to inspect her intently. His eyes were filled with anger.


    ¡°You¡¯re awake.¡±


    Xanala winced. Part of her wanted to close her eyes, and avoid this, but she was still in the cuffs from before, so there was no way to run. She swallowed. ¡°I am.¡±


    ¡°You almost killed several of my men.¡±


    ¡°That was Oblivion.¡±


    ¡°Working through you. Not much difference, the way I see it.¡±


    ¡°There is a difference.¡±


    ¡°Maybe. But I still should kill you.¡± He sighed. ¡°You¡¯re lucky you¡¯re the Endowed.¡±


    Doesn¡¯t feel lucky, Xanala thought. But she fell silent. She did not think it would be best to test Alaran¡¯s patience.


    Alaran rose, clasping his hands behind his back, pacing. ¡°What do you expect me to do, child? I can¡¯t kill you, you¡¯re too important. But you aren¡¯t leaving me another option.¡±


    ¡°You could¡¯ve started by not mind-controlling me.¡±


    Xanala regretted her words immediately. Alaran¡¯s face tightened, and he whipped around to face her again.


    ¡°Did you even listen to the recordings you stole? Yes, I can control you, at any time I want. But have I ever used it?¡±


    ¡°How would I know?¡±


    ¡°Oh, you would know, girl. If I were in your position¡­ bah!¡± He waved a hand. ¡°You¡¯re lucky you¡¯re the Endowed.¡±


    ¡°Well I wish I weren¡¯t.¡± Anger welled inside Xanala, and despite the part of her that screamed for her to avoid Alaran¡¯s anger, she kept going. ¡°And if you had been given the scar, you¡¯d wish you weren¡¯t either. Do you have any idea what it¡¯s like to have him in your mind all the time? Do you have any idea what it¡¯s like to know that if anyone, anyone at all, found out about you, you¡¯d either be killed on the spot or dragged into a war against a searing god? Do you have any idea?¡±


    She was shouting by the end, shouting like she¡¯d never shouted before, and to her surprise, when she was done Alaran actually stepped back, face falling. He opened his mouth, shut it, then turned away.


    ¡°No. No, I suppose I don¡¯t.¡± He slid back into his chair, paused, then nodded. ¡°And there¡¯s only one way to remedy that. What is it like, Xanala?¡±


    Xanala snorted. ¡°Do you really expect me to believe you want to know?¡±


    ¡°Regardless of what you believe, I do.¡± He sighed. ¡°You¡¯re the Endowed. I like it as little as you seem to, but regardless of our preferences, we have to work together. A lot more than our well-being depends on it.¡±


    ¡°Why should I care about that?¡± Xanala knew she should have calmed down by now, but a part of her just kept going. ¡°The world has done nothing but spit on my face and kick me down, over and over and over. Why should I care about saving people I hate?¡±


    To her surprise, Alaran was silent for a long moment. ¡°I think you do care,¡± he said finally. ¡°You¡¯re just scared to admit it.¡±


    Xanala snorted. ¡°I think you don¡¯t know me very well then.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Alaran said. ¡°Maybe.¡± He paused, tapping his finger against his leg. Xanala¡¯s own finger twitched violently, though it didn¡¯t seem to make any difference.


    Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of silence, Alaran rose. He closed his eyes, lighting up with Ever, then snapped his fingers. Xanala¡¯s cuffs all released at once, and she had to slam her hands against the wall to keep from sliding downward. She frowned.


    ¡°What¡¯re you doing?¡±


    ¡°Releasing you,¡± Alaran said. When her frown deepened, he only shrugged. ¡°I can¡¯t keep you here against your will, not forever. I won¡¯t be releasing the ward on you ¡ª I doubt you¡¯d like that much anyway ¡ª but you¡¯re free now. I¡¯d kill you, but you¡¯re the Endowed, so¡­¡± he shrugged again, sighing. ¡°There¡¯s nothing I can do to help you if you don¡¯t want to help yourself.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re just going to¡­ let me go?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t hate you, Xanala. Hopefully, this proves that to you, even if you don¡¯t want to embrace your destiny.¡± He smiled sadly. ¡°And, frankly, I don¡¯t have enough time left to deal with you if you¡¯re not cooperative. This entire planet is under siege, and as a Grahalan leader I¡¯m not under any illusion that I¡¯ll be spared when it falls. I¡¯d rather spend my energy trying to save as many of my people as I can, rather than keeping you prisoner.¡±


    He rose, stepping through the pneumatic door. Hastily, Xanala scrambled to her feet.


    He¡¯s actually letting me free. I can go to Larsh. I can escape the siege! She needed to move fast, she decided, before he changed his mind.


    Yet strangely, she hesitated as Alaran¡¯s figure stepped out in the hallway.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    She cursed herself for asking. She didn¡¯t need to know why, and she certainly didn¡¯t want him questioning his decision. Alaran turned back, though, his eyes solemn.


    ¡°Because it¡¯s the right thing,¡± he said. He shook his head. ¡°Maybe you¡¯ll understand that, one day.¡±


    He turned the corner and vanished, leaving Xanala alone.


    Free, but alone.


    ***


    Alaran rested his head in his hands as he walked away from the cell. That girl was barely clinging to sanity. Perhaps it was Oblivion¡¯s taint, perhaps it was trauma, perhaps it was both, but regardless of the cause, he couldn¡¯t trust her.


    Maybe she isn¡¯t the Endowed, he thought. Things would certainly be easier if she wasn¡¯t. Many had been born with the scar, none had yet fulfilled the prophecy.


    Yet, if she wasn¡¯t the prophesied hero, why had he seen her when he¡¯d visited the Tower of Foreseeing? Why could he not shake that image of her holding a glowing silver sword to the sky?


    They will come to you, the True Eye had said. You will not have long, but you must prepare them.


    They will face more than you ever could.


    He sucked in a breath, continuing away from the cell. He had done all he could. Maybe the girl would come back, and take her place. Maybe not. But he had done all he could.


    It would be enough. It had to be.

 Chapter 32 - Heir

    I believe, for once. Arath has a good heart. I have trained him as well as I know how.


    If there is someone who can defy Oblivion, it is him.


    Yet, I worry still. Is my trust false? Do I simply wish to believe in something, anything, after what happened with Verys?


    -E¡¯vin Yaenke, circa 2,899 Post Fall of Meridian


    Within moments of reentering the Forum, Ryla could tell something was off. Everyone was looking toward the front of the room, rather than mingling. Almost all of them wore grim expressions, far from the usual pretense of cheeriness that accompanied such a social event.


    ¡°Now?¡± Ryla heard Traegus mutter. He was a good head taller than her, and he was standing on his toes, gazing at something Ryla could not see. ¡°Of all times, now?¡± He shook his head, then turned back to Ryla. ¡°You¡¯re going to want to listen carefully. That¡¯s all I¡¯ll say.¡±


    Ryla opened her mouth to ask what in Torment he meant by that, but he slipped into the crowd, ignoring her as she tried to grab his arm. She tried to push through after him, then cursed under her breath as she lost sight of him in the torrent of people.


    ¡°Thau you, Traegus,¡± she muttered. The bustle continued, several hushed conversations breaking out among the nobles.


    Naidi. Ryla thought she knew where her table was from here, and Naidi would still be there. Maybe she would know what was going on.


    She made her way through the crowd to the table. Thankfully, Naidi was still there ¡ª and she was sitting on the table, of all things, legs crossed. Didn¡¯t the girl understand manners?


    No, Ryla reminded herself. She doesn¡¯t. She¡¯s Darian, not Talar. She tapped Naidi on the shoulder, and her friend turned.


    ¡°Oh! You¡¯re back. Just in time, Larsh says she¡¯s making a big announcement. Something about her heir, and some other thing?¡±


    ¡°So that¡¯s what this is about,¡± Ryla muttered. ¡°Great.¡± She blinked. ¡°Wait. Her heir?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. And something else, too, I guess. Something even bigger, she said.¡±


    Bigger than announcing her heir? A part of her twisted in knots of dread.


    But the heir¡­ it was finally going to be made official.


    ¡°Are you ok?¡± Naidi asked. ¡°You look¡­ pale.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she said, straightening. ¡°I just¡­ the heir, you said?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. What about it?¡±


    Ryla hesitated. ¡°You¡¯ll see,¡± she said. ¡°Just wait here. And be ready to leave; they¡¯ll probably be asking you a lot of questions when this is all done.¡±


    ¡°That¡­ just makes me more confused.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I know. I¡¯m sorry.¡± Ryla turned. I need to talk to Larsh about this. Before she does something stupid. ¡°I¡¯ll talk to you later, I promise.¡±


    ¡°Ok then.¡± Concern crossed Naidi¡¯s face, but she didn¡¯t protest any further as Ryla walked away, pushing toward the front of the room. It wasn¡¯t easy, the Forum was far more crowded than it had been when she¡¯d left for the meeting with Traegus, and no one seemed to notice her trying to make her way through the quiet circles of conversation.


    Probably should be grateful not to be noticed, Ryla thought. Once Larsh announces this, that¡¯ll end real fast.


    Finally, she saw Larsh, conferring quietly with a pack of politicians ¡ª heads of large Houses, mostly. They did not look happy, though Larsh wore a bemused smile on her face.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid your opinion on the matter is of no consequence,¡± Ryla heard her say as she approached. ¡°I am the Cunning One, and the Endowed.¡±


    One of the women ¡ª the head of House Nythlas, if Ryla remembered correctly ¡ª stiffened. ¡°Are you threatening us?¡±


    ¡°I am,¡± Larsh said. ¡°I am indeed.¡± She stepped back as the nobles stared, aghast, her gaze turning to Ryla. ¡°It seems the subject of our disagreement is here. Ryla, come.¡±


    Ryla tensed as the nobles¡¯ eyes turned to her. For a moment, she wilted under their sour gazes.


    Then she steeled herself, turning to Larsh. ¡°Now?¡± she hissed. Larsh was only a few inches taller than she, but right now that seemed half a planet of difference. Fortunately, anger overcame her fear, at least for the moment. ¡°Traegus told me you were going to make it official, but now?¡±


    ¡°What better time than now?¡± Larsh mused. ¡°One can only delay destiny for so long.¡± Her expression hardened. ¡°Besides, perhaps this will make you take certain responsibilities more seriously.¡±


    ¡°Void isn¡¯t a responsibility,¡± Ryla snapped. ¡°It¡¯s a curse.¡±


    ¡°You are wrong,¡± Larsh said. ¡°But you will realize I am right, I think, in time.¡± She waved a hand to the watching noblemen. ¡°You are dismissed.¡± Noting their angry postures, she raised an eyebrow. ¡°And I would suggest you leave. I have been far too patient with you already.¡±


    Ryla folded her arms as the nobles left. ¡°Now isn¡¯t the time,¡± she repeated.


    A part of her screamed at herself for protesting. Wasn¡¯t this what she wanted? With the power Larsh was about to give her, she could start making a real difference, even before the assassination.


    And after it¡­


    She would be Cunning One. Leader of Talar. One of the most powerful women in the civilized galaxy. Perhaps the most powerful. Something she¡¯d always wanted.


    Why did that disturb her now?


    ¡°You don¡¯t decide that. And I will not delay this any further for your opinion.¡± Strangely, her face actually softened for a moment. ¡°I am sorry, child. I do this because, when this is over, the world s will need a leader, and it cannot be me.¡±


    Her face became steel again, and abruptly she was ablaze with Ever, without even closing her eyes; Larsh was a master at Reaching. She shot into the air, hovering near the ceiling so that all could see her, a beacon of blue light above them.


    ¡°Silence!¡±


    She used Ever to amplify her voice, and Ryla had to clamp her hands over her ears. They still rang as the room went completely still. Conversations ended, the crowd turning to face Larsh. In the back of her mind, Ryla felt the echoes of the nobles, afraid, annoyed, awed. Most often all three.


    But they all watched. If there was one rule in Talar at present, it was that you did not test Larsh¡¯s patience.


    And I¡¯m about to attempt a coup against this woman. Ryla shivered.


    ¡°Silence,¡± Larsh repeated, and though she did not use Ever this time, her voice still rang out clear and loud. ¡°I have important announcements to make.¡±


    More than one, Ryla noted. What was it that could be more important than the succession?


    ¡°First, I am announcing my heir.¡± This sent hushed whispers flowing through the room¡ª though no one dared do more than whisper. Larsh turned to Ryla.


    ¡°Ryla Magala is who I have chosen. Note that this announcement is only a formality, the proper rituals are already completed.¡±


    ¡°Without our consent,¡± Ryla heard the noble woman from earlier mutter. She glanced at Ryla, and there was venom in her gaze. Ryla could feel her thoughts; she was debating assassinating Ryla.


    Try it, Ryla thought, giving the woman a glare. I dare you.


    The noble woman¡¯s eyes were not the only pair that fell on her, though. As the room shifted to watch her, Larsh stretched a hand toward Ryla.


    ¡°My apprentice is incredibly competent. She has shown prowess in tactics and courage in combat. Above all, she has proven her tenacity and grit. She will make a fine leader when I am gone.¡±This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Which hopefully will be soon, Ryla thought bitterly. She was immediately grateful for the small trace of Ever she¡¯d left burning in her veins.


    ¡°I would like her to rise,¡± Larsh continued, ¡°and give her acceptance.¡±


    No choice, Ryla noted. But then, who would refuse an honor such as this? Perhaps in more peaceful times, Ryla could¡¯ve avoided the responsibility.


    Not now, though. Not while her brother was in danger.


    She swallowed, then lit up with Ever, and shot up into the air beside Larsh.


    ¡°My name is Ryla Magala,¡± she said. Her voice felt oddly small in this place; she¡¯d never mastered Larsh¡¯s trick to magnify her voice. ¡°I hope to serve you well, when my time comes. In the way we all deem best for Talar.¡± Nervous excitement began rising in her chest. ¡°Most of all, I hope to be a woman worthy of this calling.¡±


    She swept her eyes over the crowd. This is my chance, she realized. To denounce all this, publicly. To make a difference.


    Yet, Larsh was still hovering right beside her. She hesitated, falling silent for a long time. Too long. Finally, she sucked in a deep breath, then nodded. ¡°That is all I have to say.¡±


    She cringed as she descended back to the ground. It was a poor speech, but she¡¯d tried to sound at least a little like her uncle had; he¡¯d always been good with the public. It was charismatic enough it earned her a few modest claps as she drifted back down to the ground.


    I don¡¯t deserve those. She¡¯d backed down, avoided saying what she really wanted to say. Maybe she was a coward.


    No, she chided herself. I just have to be prudent right now. If I had upset Larsh, she might suspect I¡¯m about to try something, and the entire plan could¡¯ve been ruined.


    It still seemed a flimsy excuse.


    Larsh pursed her lips, evidently unsatisfied, but turned back to the crowd. ¡°That is not all. I have new campaigns to announce, three of them.¡± Eyes bulged at that, but Larsh kept talking. ¡°Terria, Arathel, and Irinor will all be attacked within the next weeks. As usual, this information is confidential; if it is leaked, there will be executions. Any of you who not already assigned a campaign will head to the war front, and Traegus will give you your assignments shortly. Questions?¡±


    Mouths tightened, and Ryla felt a flood of hesitant thoughts from the crowd rush over her, but no one voiced any of the obvious concerns. Yes, the army couldn¡¯t sustain three more campaigns, yes, their supply lines were already stretched thin, but when Larsh demanded something¡­ well, it was better to simply deliver that thing, rather than face the wrath of a memory burner.


    ¡°As I cannot preside fully over all our current battlefields,¡± Larsh continued, ¡°I have elected to give Shal Magala partial control over the armies on Grahala. If any of you have concerns, go to her before you come to me.¡±


    Ryla¡¯s eyes nearly bulged out of her head. ¡°What?¡±


    She wasn¡¯t the only one. Several nobles let out cries of disbelief; this was ludicrous enough that even Larsh¡¯s presence couldn¡¯t quell them. No one commanded an army so young, let alone an entire campaign.


    ¡°She isn¡¯t even twenty years old!¡±


    ¡°The heir was bad enough, this is insanity!¡±


    ¡°Why her? Her House has barely a coin to their name!¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡± Larsh¡¯s eyes raged with blue light, and her voice rang so loud Ryla had to clamp her hands over her ears. ¡°Enough.¡± She lowered her voice, though it still echoed loud enough for all to hear. ¡°This is not a matter up for debate. The Cunning One has spoken, and she will not speak again.¡± She smiled darkly. ¡°At least, I suspect you do not want her to speak again, yes? That would have¡­ unfortunate consequences.¡±


    Immediately silence followed. Larsh¡¯s grin widened. ¡°Good. Now for why I really called you here.¡±


    Larsh actually hesitated a moment before continuing. When she spoke, Ryla felt chills run up her spine as she took in the words.


    ¡°I intend to go through the Testing.¡±


    For once, there was no reaction from the crowd, at least not an audible one. It seemed the news was too consequential for a mere gasp to suffice. People tensed, eyes bulged, but a deathly quiet hung over the room.


    ¡°I have procrastinated this for too long,¡± Larsh said. ¡°I admit, confronting the Confederacy so boldly makes me nervous. But it is time.


    ¡°I cannot fight Oblivion without a unified Delti behind me. The Confederacy will bow to my authority as the hero of the prophecy, or it will fall.¡±


    She paused for a moment, then nodded. ¡°I have scheduled my Testing for two months from now. Until then, the campaigns will continue. The cause will continue. May Okron be with us. The Forum is dismissed.¡±


    She left, descending to the ground and walking away without another word. Ryla did not miss her dismissing the blue glow of Ever, then summoning Void in its place.


    She claims to be the Endowed, then in the same breath uses the very essence of Oblivion. Filth!


    She growled softly, then closed her eyes and refreshed her Ever. That woman! Ryla would crush her for her heresy. She would drive the Desolation dagger straight into Larsh¡¯s arm, then plant her own blade deep in the Cunning One¡¯s chest, then twist, and watch as the blood squeezed itself from her veins¡­


    Red light flashed around her. Ryla cursed, forcing her mind to clear, forcing her rage backward. Not yet. Certainly not if Oblivion was influencing her.


    Could he, now that she¡¯d burned Void? She didn¡¯t know, and that worried her.


    Eyes fell on her as Larsh departed, and she had to wave aside several questioning nobles as she followed the Talar leader ¡ª including the noble before who had thought about assassinating Ryla. She made sure to meet that woman¡¯s eyes, putting as much fury in her gaze as she could.


    The noblewoman did not wilt, though. She just met Ryla¡¯s gaze with equal anger.


    That one will be trouble, Ryla thought. Thaus, I don¡¯t have time to deal with this now. She stopped staring at the woman and continued onward, following Larsh through the backdoor of the Forum. Guards posted there prevented the others from following, though, thankfully, they did not stop Ryla.


    The door led into a hallway, which in turn led to another door that Ryla suspected led to a landing pad outside. Larsh was almost at the second door when Ryla called out to her.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    Larsh paused at the door, a mask halfway to her face. She didn¡¯t turn, though.


    ¡°Why?¡± Ryla repeated. ¡°You don¡¯t even believe in the prophecy. Why do you keep lying?¡±


    ¡°Do not question me, girl.¡± Larsh¡¯s voice was soft. Unsure. Ryla hesitated, then continued.


    ¡°Why?¡± she repeated. ¡°I keep you asking you that. Why all the bloodshed? Why do we have to wage war to unify Delti, when the Confederacy exists? Why is any of it necessary?¡± She shook her head. ¡°But you never answer. And I¡¯m sick of it, Larsh.¡±


    A part of her shrunk back, terrified by her own boldness. But most of her¡­ well, most of her meant what she said. She didn¡¯t understand Larsh, and Okron, it was hard not to hate her because of that.


    Larsh was silent for a long moment before she finally turned. She did not meet Ryla¡¯s gaze, and Ryla was surprised to see tears in the Talar leader¡¯s eyes as she stared down at the mask in her hand.


    ¡°I told you I wish it weren¡¯t necessary,¡± Larsh said softly. ¡°I always tell you. Why isn¡¯t that enough?¡±


    ¡°For this kind of slaughter? Nothing is enough.¡±


    A wistful smile crossed Larsh¡¯s face. ¡°Have you ever visited Torment, Ryla?¡±


    ¡°No. Who searing has?¡±


    ¡°I have.¡± Larsh let that statement hang for a long time before she continued. ¡°The legends are true, all of them. There are fields of people there who do nothing more than grip their skulls and scream as they sink into endless tar. There are others who thrust themselves into rivers of lava, desperately hoping that the flames will end the pain. They never do, but they try it anyway.¡±


    She turned her gaze up, finally meeting Ryla¡¯s gaze. The tears were gone now, replaced with cold determination. That, and the red glow of Void leaking through her irises. ¡°I will do whatever I must to get rid of that fate. For you. For Hyran. For all of us.¡±


    Ryla didn¡¯t know who Hyran was, though she didn¡¯t care enough to ask. ¡°And what about the Endowed?¡±


    ¡°A myth.¡±


    ¡°The Tower says it is real.¡±


    ¡°The Tower says many things.¡± Larsh sighed. ¡°Hope itself is a myth, Ryla. I will fail as all before me have, I think. It does not matter. None of it matters. That is why I must keep fighting. Because maybe, when he¡¯s defeated, it will.¡±


    ¡°So that¡¯s what this is all about? Your fragile ego?¡±


    Too far, a part of her warned. You need to wait!


    She ignored it. If there was one thing she was good at, it was being bold. Even when that boldness crossed the line into recklessness. Still, she expected Larsh to lash out. Or at least dismiss her, as she always seemed to do.


    ¡°Have you ever wondered why I need an heir?¡± Larsh asked. ¡°Not all the Cunning Ones have selected one. There has been many a succession war because the previous leader was convinced he would become an Eternal.¡±


    When Ryla did not reply, she smiled wistfully. ¡°I will kill myself, when this is done. There is a way, I have heard, to permanently rip apart a soul from the inside. That is why I selected you. When I am done, you can have your perfect world, Ryla. Maybe you can even bring them all back from Torment, and undo all the terrible steps it took to get there. All you have to do is wait. That¡¯s all I ask of you. Wait, and trust.¡±


    She finally fastened the mask onto her face, then opened the door, stepping out into the next hallway ¡ª where Ryla could not follow, not without her own mask.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t answer my question! Why?¡±


    Larsh looked back, for one moment. The tears were back.


    She closed the door without another word. A few moments later, Ryla heard an engine whine outside ¡ª Larsh¡¯s cruiser, undoubtedly. She huffed in frustration, but she knew she couldn¡¯t follow, not without poisoning herself.


    I shouldn¡¯t follow anyway. I really can¡¯t afford to push her, not now.


    And yet, she could not avoid the rage ¡ª and the fear ¡ª building within her. For if Larsh passed the Testing¡­ well, Ryla knew Larsh¡¯s ambition well. If she took control of the Confederacy, it would not end there. She would wage war on Khazath. When that was done, she¡¯d wage war on Torment. If that was ever done, she¡¯d find some other reason to keep the conflict going, hoarding power for herself, always giving some excuse why it was ¡®necessary¡¯.


    Yes, if Larsh lived, she¡¯d become the greatest tyrant since Mekezia of old. And Ryla might be the only person able to stop her.


    That terrified her even more than the thought of her brother dying.

 Chapter 33 - Snapping Point

    14 Years Ago¡­


    The darkseason was in full swing now. Shadow covered every wall, blackened every garden, seeped into every room.


    For once, it felt fitting.


    Eyes fixed on the cement floor beneath him, Perelor made his way through the city, grateful for the blazing electric lights above him, so that he didn¡¯t have to look up. At least with his eyes facing downward, he couldn¡¯t see the people staring at him. He could still feel their eyes on his back, but there was nothing to be done about that anymore.


    It had been two weeks since Eliel¡¯s declaration, and yet those two weeks had felt longer than all the rest of Perelor¡¯s young life. He¡¯d spent as much of them as he could holed up in his room, begging his father to let him stay home from school. For two weeks, his father had relented. Today, though, he¡¯d finally put his foot down.


    And so, Perelor was outside again. With the people, and the staring.


    It was raining, and the murmur of the water against the cement kept him from hearing the whispers he knew followed him. Shivering, Perelor finally arrived at the door to his school, and he ducked inside.


    ¡°You alright kid?¡±


    Frowning, Perelor looked up. He was greeted by a face with a grizzled beard.


    ¡°Dromidius?¡±


    The man shrugged. ¡°Your dad said you¡¯d just left. Said you were nervous, so¡­¡± He shrugged again, then laid a hand on Perelor¡¯s shoulder. ¡°It¡¯ll be alright, kid. Always is.¡± He smiled. ¡°Trust me.¡±


    Perelor shook the hand off. ¡°Thanks. I guess.¡± He walked away, heading for the nearest elevator; his school was on the highest floor of this building.


    ¡°Hope conquers fear,¡± Dromidius said behind him. ¡°Remember that, kid.¡±


    Yes. Now of all times, I absolutely want to remember a phrase from the Wars of Endowment. That¡¯s exactly what I want, Perelor thought bitterly. But he just stepped inside the elevator, and let the doors shut behind him.


    He was alone, and he ascended in silence, the mechanics of the lift whirring softly above him. He closed his eyes, letting the rainwater from earlier slowly drip from his hair and down his cheeks. Like tears from the heavens, given to him to cry.


    ¡°Why?¡± he whispered. ¡°If you really exist Okron, why this?¡±


    It was a question he¡¯d asked several times over the past two weeks. As usual, he received no answer. The door to the elevator opened. Sighing, Perelor wiped the rainwater ¡ª and tears ¡ª off his cheek, then steeled himself and stepped through the halls toward his classroom.


    If there had been eyes on him outside, now it seemed Etheri herself had turned her gaze on him. The whispers were everywhere, too, audible in the tight corridors.


    ¡°Did you hear what happened?¡±


    ¡°Who hasn¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°His sister can burn Void. Do you think he¡¯ll go insane, too?¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t work like that, I don¡¯t think. His father is a madman, though, I hear.¡±


    Don¡¯t you dare, a part of Perelor thought. Don¡¯t you dare insult him. Don¡¯t you¡­


    And yet, he¡¯d been questioning his father every step of the way through this. He kept silent, and kept his eyes down, praying no one would notice him.


    That prayer, it seemed, was in vain. He was only halfway to his classroom when a hand shoved him violently into the wall.


    ¡°You. I¡¯ve been waiting for you.¡±


    Perelor looked up, expecting to see Sekhen, but it wasn¡¯t. In fact, he didn¡¯t recognize the face that greeted him at all ¡ª though the other boy clearly recognized him. The fury in his eyes was not something one earned by just standing there.


    Perelor tried to fall into a defensive stance, but before he could, a hand lashed out, pinning him to the wall. He thrashed, but the other boy was far more muscular than he, and he couldn¡¯t get away.


    So, steeling himself, he met the boy¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ¡°What I want is to strangle your sister with my bare hands,¡± the boy hissed. ¡°But I¡¯ll have to settle for you.¡± He pressed harder against Perelor¡¯s chest. Perelor¡¯s eyes darted around the hall. Drone cameras stared at him. People stared at him.


    No one helped.


    ¡°Why?¡± Perelor wheezed.


    ¡°Why? Do you have any idea the uproar you and your searing father have caused? Confederacy soldiers, everywhere. Everywhere!¡± He leaned in close. ¡°They dragged my mom off to Raerok. I can¡¯t bring her back, but you can sure as Torment bet I¡¯ll¡­¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡±


    Another voice broke the crowd. Perelor turned, expecting to see a teacher. To his surprise, he saw Sekhen walking toward them, a grim expression on his face.


    The boy raised an eyebrow, temporarily releasing some of the pressure on Perelor as he turned toward Sekhen. ¡°You want to make this your problem, vret?¡±


    Sekhen responded by walking forward, then decking the boy in the face. Yelping, he stumbled back, releasing Perelor, who sucked in a needed breath. The boy growled, pulling back a fist and swiping at Sekhen, but Sekhen dodged the blow, then lashed out with his leg, tripping the bully and sending him tumbling to the floor. The boy groaned, then yelped again as Sekhen kicked him in the ribs, then turned to Perelor.


    ¡°C¡¯mon.¡±


    Perelor hesitated. What was this all about?


    The boy stirred beneath Sekhen. Looking down, Sekhen kicked him again. ¡°I¡¯d lay low if I were you,¡± he whispered. He turned back to Perelor. ¡°C¡¯mon. We¡¯re late to class, you know. Jelador won¡¯t be happy.¡±


    Perelor frowned. ¡°You¡­ why?¡±


    Sekhen paused, face falling a bit. ¡°We can talk later,¡± he sighed. ¡°For now, let¡¯s leave.¡±


    Hesitantly, Perelor followed Sekhen, who acted like a bodyguard as they walked the rest of the way to their class, glaring at anyone who stared too long at Perelor ¡ª and that meant a lot of glares.


    No one bothered them further than stares, though, and they slipped into the classroom only a few minutes later. Eyes flickered to Perelor again, but Jelador, prim as always, snapped his fingers, calmly ordering the class to pay attention, and the eyes moved back to the lecture. Perelor didn¡¯t miss the frown that crossed Jelador¡¯s face as he walked in, though.


    There were only two seats open, in the back, next to each other but not to anyone Perelor was familiar with. Hesitantly, Perelor sat down, and Sekhen plopped down on the seat next to him. Perelor glanced at Jelador, ensuring the man was caught up in his teaching, then turned to Sekhen, leaning toward the other boy.


    ¡°What are you doing? I thought you hated me.¡±


    Sekhen¡¯s face was suddenly torn, though he quickly hid it. ¡°We¡¯ll talk later.¡±


    Cause that clears so much up, Perelor thought bitterly. But Sekhen quickly looked away, up to the front of the class, and, sighing internally, Perelor followed. It could¡¯ve been worse, he supposed. Sekhen could¡¯ve just helped the other boy beat on him.


    Class went surprisingly normally. Perelor was startled by how much that bothered him. A part of him, it seemed, wanted nothing more than for everything to return to how it had been. Yet another part of him wanted to tear Jelador¡¯s hair out as he lectured them on thruster designs. Didn¡¯t he know how much had changed? Didn¡¯t he see the worlds falling apart?


    But Jelador was just doing his job, and the occasional glance or whisper from the other students was enough to remind him of the chaos still transpiring. So he kept his eyes firmly on the teacher and the holoprojector behind, trying his best to focus on the rocket theory at hand.


    Okron, he hated rockets.


    Finally, after what seemed half an eternity of numbers, symbols, and Sekhen shifting uncomfortably beside him, school ended. Immediately, the other students stood, snatching up bags and leaving. Most didn¡¯t even look at Perelor as they did; hours of math had bored them enough to forget the matter.


    Sekhen was one of those who grabbed his bag, and, pointedly looking away from Perelor, he started walking for the door. Before he could get far, though, Perelor stood, grabbing his shoulder and meeting his gaze.


    ¡°Why?¡± he hissed.


    ¡°Does it matter?¡± the other boy mumbled. He had already looked away from Perelor.


    ¡°Everything else is falling apart for me,¡± Perelor said. ¡°If you¡¯re going to start going crazy, too, I¡¯d at least like to know what¡¯s going on.¡±


    Sekhen hesitated, drew in a deep breath, then finally met Perelor¡¯s eyes. ¡°I did it because I wanted to. Me.¡±


    ¡°Why though?¡±


    ¡°Because¡­¡± he sucked in another breath. ¡°Because sear my parents. The night it happened, they kept yelling and screaming, and yelling and¡­¡± Tears suddenly began rolling down the other boy¡¯s face. ¡°And sear them!¡± He broke off his gaze again, striding for the door. Again Perelor caught him.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    This time he, too, hesitated, hardly able to meet the boy¡¯s eyes. How long had they been enemies? Perelor couldn¡¯t remember a time when they hadn¡¯t been.


    And yet, those tears¡­


    ¡°Hey. We can be friends, you know.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I know. I didn¡¯t, but¡­¡± Sekhen sucked in a shaky breath. ¡°I can¡¯t keep doing what they want. I can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°I understand that.¡±


    Sekhen snorted. ¡°You don¡¯t. Your dad is searing wonderful.¡± His voice softened. ¡°But thank you.¡±


    Perelor forced a smile. ¡°They didn¡¯t even talk to you about kicking that kid.¡±


    ¡°Should they have?¡± Sekhen, too, smiled. It looked forced, though Perelor suspected his own grin looked the same.


    ¡°Naw. Unless they wanted to know what it felt like to kick a Voidling.¡±


    ¡°Amen to that.¡±


    Perelor paused, then cleared his throat. ¡°How soon do you usually get home from school?¡±


    Sekhen¡¯s expression soured. ¡°Whenever I feel like it. They don¡¯t searing care.¡±


    Perelor grinned, far more sincerely this time. ¡°If they don¡¯t searing care, what do you say we go to my place for a bit?¡±


    Sekhen hesitated, conflict flashing across his face again, for a long moment.


    Then he nodded. ¡°I think I¡¯d like that.¡±


    ***


    Several hours after school, and long after Sekhen had left Perelor¡¯s house to return to his own, Perelor stepped out of the washroom, white pajamas on, still damp from the pressure washer. Yawning, he opened the door, then froze.


    Eliel was waiting there, which wasn¡¯t unusual for this time of day. However, her eyes were bloodshot, and she was trembling.


    She looks on the verge of an episode. Perelor tensed, but forced himself to relax; he saw no red light around her.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Eliel said. Her voice was hoarse.


    Perelor grunted. ¡°Hey.¡± He walked past her.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Eliel said behind him. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean for this to be so¡­¡±


    Perelor whirled. ¡°So what?¡±


    Eliel wilted.


    ¡°Say it,¡± Perelor snapped. ¡°I want to hear you say just how ludicrous this all is.¡±


    In the other room, something creaked. Perelor¡¯s father, probably, coming to resolve this, but in that moment Perelor didn¡¯t care.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Eliel whispered.


    ¡°Being sorry doesn¡¯t make it better.¡±


    ¡°And your anger will not take the scar off her skin.¡±


    Perelor winced, turning around to see his father standing in the hallway, arms folded, lips pursed.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Eliel repeated. Her eyes were on Rion now, but Rion held up a hand to silence her.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t your fault.¡± He sighed. ¡°It¡¯s none of our fault, really.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not true and you know it,¡± Perelor growled.


    Rion raised an eyebrow. ¡°Do you really think getting angry at your sister ¡ª or me, for that matter ¡ª will somehow change everyone¡¯s opinion?¡±


    ¡°No. Because they¡¯re searing right!¡±


    ¡°Are they now?¡±


    Perelor¡¯s eyes darted between the two of them. His father, leaning against the wall, his eyes so firm. His sister, trembling, slouching. Finally, he leaned in toward Eliel.


    ¡°You don¡¯t honestly think you¡¯re¡­ you¡¯re¡­¡± Okron, he couldn¡¯t even say it. ¡°That you¡¯re that?¡±


    Eliel winced, shaking even harder for a moment. Then, closing her eyes, she let out a deep breath, then reopened them.


    ¡°I am what I am.¡±


    ¡°She burned all Three Powers,¡± Rion noted. ¡°And you¡¯ve seen the scar now.¡±


    ¡°That means nothing. The Six had the scar!¡±


    ¡°The Six were liars. Do you think I¡¯m a liar, son?¡±


    Perelor hesitated. No. No, I don¡¯t.


    That¡¯s what scares me.


    He should¡¯ve said it. Should¡¯ve apologized. Instead, he just growled, then stormed off to his room, diving into his cot, slamming his pillow into his face.


    His father did not follow. Anger quickly turned to exhaustion, and sleep came.


    At least, it came for a little while.


    ***


    Perelor awoke to screams.


    He didn¡¯t recognize them at first, instead rolling over, wondering why his nightmares continued. He pressed his face harder into his pillow as the shouts grew louder, then, groaning, he finally stood, legs trembling from tiredness.


    And the screams did not stop. In fact, Perelor could hear the words now.


    ¡°Dad! Help! HELP!¡±


    Tiredness fleeing instantly, Perelor rushed to the door of his room, throwing it open. He dashed across the tile hallway, following the sound until he arrived at Eliel¡¯s room. He threw open that door, then froze.


    Black mist, that somehow glowed with an ethereal darkness, filled the room, most of it grouped into thin tendrils, like snakes of light. Two of those tendrils pinned Eliel to the floor, who, aglow with white Purity, was desperately trying to bat them away, the black mist sizzling wherever she touched it. Within the darkness, two red, beady eyes glowed. As Perelor stopped in the entryway, they fixed on him.


    Who are¡­ ah. The boy. Oblivion told me you would come¡­


    The voice echoed in Perelor¡¯s mind. In his very soul; fear filled him, down to his bones, and he stumbled backward, screaming at both the strange sight and the otherworldly sensation. He could only tremble as a tendril whipped toward him, slamming into his head, sending his skull crashing into the wall.


    He fell to his knees, scream ceasing, head ringing. The tendril twisted around, slamming into his gut, and he doubled over, sinking to the floor.


    I cannot kill you, the Voidling hissed. Oblivion was very explicit about that. But all the same I will enjoy making you suffer¡­


    ¡°Be gone, fiend!¡±


    Perelor¡¯s vision swam with black dots, but he recognized his father¡¯s voice, and the black dots subsided as blue light washed over the corridor. Groaning, and gripping his still-aching stomach, Perelor hauled himself up into a sitting position, his vision clearing just enough that he could see his father, holding a blue Surge in front of him as he stalked toward the Voidling. His skin was already filled with azure Ever.


    Where did he get that? I thought he hated using the Powers¡­


    The Voidling¡¯s two red eyes fixed on Perelor¡¯s father. It waited for a moment, tendrils hovering in the air, foreboding, but hesitant. Then it chuckled, a metallic grating sound that echoed in Perelor¡¯s skull.


    You think that is enough to stop me?


    ¡°Begone!¡± Perelor¡¯s father shouted again. He raised his Surge higher. He was trembling.


    Okron, he was trembling. And if he was scared¡­


    Torment. We¡¯re going to die. I¡¯m going to die¡­


    The Voidling just chuckled harder. The sound felt like someone was slashing Perelor¡¯s ears. Tendrils flew forward towards Perelor¡¯s father. He snarled, burning Ever, and plasma crackled through the air, incinerating the tendrils, but more continued to race towards him. Growling, Perelor¡¯s father drew in more Ever from his Surge, then lashed out with even more plasma, burning nearly all of his Ever at once to send a wave of heat rolling down the corridor. The tendrils puffed away, and the plasma slammed into the Voidling¡¯s main body. Mist hissed as the Powers struggled against one another, and nearly the entire hallway was filled with blackness.


    For a moment, silence hung in the air. Perelor¡¯s father¡¯s glow was almost gone now, and sweat beaded on his brow.


    But he killed it, Perelor thought. We¡¯re safe. Coughing, he stumbled to his feet.


    Then froze as two red eyes blazed back to life.


    Perelor¡¯s father cursed ¡ª one of the few times Perelor had heard him swear. He burned the last of his Ever, sending a bolt of plasma racing towards the two red eyes, but a tendril twisted, blocking the blow. A second tendril lashed out into his chest, throwing him backward and against the wall. There was a loud thud as his head slammed into the plaster, and then, groaning softly, he slumped down to the floor.


    ¡°Dad!¡± Perelor immediately fell to his knees beside his father, reaching out to check his pulse, but before he could, the very tendril that had incapacitated his father latched onto Perelor¡¯s torso. Breath fled his lungs as he was yanked backward, dragged against the floor and toward the Voidling¡¯s red eyes.


    No. No. No! He thrashed violently. The movement was useless; he didn¡¯t know how to fight this creature, and the panic rising in his chest kept him from thinking straight enough to form a plan.


    Pain spiked up his leg as it rammed into the side of Eliel¡¯s doorway. He screamed. ¡°Help! Help!¡± He didn¡¯t know who would even come, but it was all he could think to do. In his peripheral, he could see Eliel, encased in makeshift titrite, a hole in the wall behind her. Tendrils slammed into the armor, over and over. It was beginning to crack. Another tendril squeezed around Perelor¡¯s neck, and his shouts ceased; he could hardly draw breath now.


    Oblivion doesn¡¯t want you dead, the Voidling mused. But your sister¡­


    Eliel¡¯s titrite helm exploded as five tendrils at once smashed into it. She yelped, holding up her hands to shield her head. It was no use; the tendrils snatched her arms, prying them away from her skull, and another tendril snaked toward her neck¡­


    No. No no no no¡­


    He screamed. It came out as a rasp through the tight pressure on his throat, but he couldn¡¯t contain it. He would not let his sister die!


    Endowed or not, he realized, she¡¯s still Eliel. No!


    And something snapped into place within him.


    Memories flashed through his mind. Visions of the first time he¡¯d held a sword. Of his mother, who had died years ago, holding him. Of his sister, sticking to his side the first time they¡¯d gone to school.


    His whole life flashed before him, all at once, everything laid bare. He trembled for a moment at the sheer clarity of it.


    And then, as quickly as they¡¯d come, the memories burned away. For a moment, time held still.


    Then Perelor exploded with blue light.


    It raced through his veins, then blazed into his skin. The entire room was suddenly aglow with an azure warmth that made the Voidling¡¯s red eyes look like barely a candle flame. It screamed.


    THEY SAID YOU WERE NOT READY YET! THEY SAID¡­


    The Voidling¡¯s shouts turned into muffled screams as Perelor, acting on instinct he didn¡¯t know was there, threw his hand forward, mentally willing the Ever ¡ª for, though he wanted to deny it, he knew it could only be Ever ¡ª outward. Astonishing heat ignited in front of him. The black mist hissed away, and the Voidling¡¯s red eyes went dim. Flames washed over Perelor.


    The last thing he saw before unconsciousness overtook him was Eliel, staring at him, jaw open in unconcealed awe.

 Chapter 34 - Intercession

    What I must do disgusts me. But it must be done.


    -Aiedra Okron, writing to Li¡¯astra Estus, circa 1,212 Post Imprisonment


    ¡°If he had listened, maybe we wouldn¡¯t be in this situation!¡± Ithrey snapped.


    ¡°Quiet,¡± Arrus hissed, glancing worriedly around them. ¡°Do you want the guards to hear?¡± They were back in the circle of cots, sitting on a rough, stained mattress, surrounded by soldiers in insectoid helms who had escorted them back here after the fight with the Voidling. Waiting, for the consequences to come.


    Ithrey huffed, but forced herself to fall quiet. That man. That infuriating man! Marching in, as if Ithrey couldn¡¯t handle things on her own. Nearly exposing them all.


    Nearly dying, as part of Ithrey¡¯s foolish self-sacrifice.


    He probably saved Arrus, the rational part of her noted. And you. The plan was already sunk. You¡¯re not thinking straight.


    That part of her was right. She huffed anyway.


    ¡°We need a new plan,¡± Arrus continued. ¡°And fast. I don¡¯t know exactly what Perelor got called to Cyrla for, but it can¡¯t be anything good.¡±


    Ithrey just waited, silent, numb. Angry. She had almost died. She probably still would die.


    And it was all meaningless.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do,¡± she said. It felt like a confession, rather than a statement. ¡°Do¡­ do you?¡±


    Arrus frowned. ¡°Not really. But we can¡¯t try that again, I don¡¯t think.¡± He paled. ¡°I got far enough into the transmission they¡¯ll know it was me.¡±


    Ithrey winced. ¡°So they can execute you, then?¡±


    ¡°Yup.¡± Arrus let silence hang for a moment, then chuckled dryly. ¡°All this time, and this is how it ends.¡±


    Ithrey paused, debating if she should try to convince him he wouldn¡¯t die, try to find some way to save him.


    But, she realized, to do so would be to lie. If the Talar decided to kill him, there was nothing she could do to stop them.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said.


    ¡°It was worth it.¡± He smiled. ¡°All these years in the camp I told Perelor he was wrong, and that we should try, but deep down I wondered if he was right. I can say now, though, that he wasn¡¯t. Even if they take me, even if we never had a chance to begin with, it was worth it.¡±


    Still, Ithrey thought. His blood on my hands. Her fist tightened, and for a moment she was on the verge of tears. All her planning, for what? Another dead friend?


    He¡¯s not dead yet, she reminded herself. Though her stomach twisted as she saw guards moving toward them.


    ¡°Thaus,¡± she swore. It was rare she let herself do that, but it seemed appropriate. She rose to her feet, pointing as Arrus gave her a quizzical look. He turned, saw the guards, then rose as well, hand drifting toward his Surgeblade. A faint blue radiance began rising from his skin.


    Ithrey Reached and pulled in Purity as the guards formed into a circle around them. Their helms were on and their rifles were all out, indicators flashing, barrels glowing. All save one, a man with long brown hair who held a long, black Void Surgeblade in his hand. On the breastplate of his armor, a painted Bladed Wheel reflected silver in the crimson light of his Surge. He stood for a long moment, his soldiers waiting, Ithrey and Arrus standing defensively next to each other.


    ¡°If you¡¯re here for me,¡± Arrus said finally. ¡°Then take me.¡± He dismissed his Ever, then dropped his Surgeblade to the ground.


    The man with the Void Surgeblade snorted. ¡°We¡¯re not here for you.¡± He pointed to Ithrey. ¡°But the girl has been sentenced to death by whipping.¡± He grinned. ¡°Three dozen lashings, I heard. Your corpse will be quite mangled by the end.¡±


    Arrus paled, and immediately his hand snapped back down to his Surgeblade. As he did, two of the guards stepped forward, leveling their rifles directly at his head. Two more stepped toward Ithrey, doing the same to her.


    Ithrey¡¯s mind spun. Me?


    Arrus snarled. ¡°You won¡¯t have her.¡±


    ¡°That is not for you to decide, Yral,¡± the guard captain said. Red light began radiating from his skin. Impressive, Ithrey noted idly; he hadn¡¯t even closed his eyes while Reaching for it.


    ¡°You won¡¯t,¡± Arrus repeated. He stepped forward. The guards¡¯ hands itched toward the trigger. Arrus¡¯ hand still hovered near the hilt of his blade.


    He¡¯d do it, Ithrey realized. He¡¯d actually get himself killed for this.


    Except, what good would it do?


    ¡°Stop,¡± she whispered. ¡°Stand down.¡±


    Arrus frowned. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Stand down,¡± she said. She turned, meeting his eyes. ¡°Don¡¯t get yourself killed here.¡±


    Shock crossed his face. ¡°But¡­ the Endowed¡­¡±


    Ithrey smiled. A wistful smile. ¡°We were never going to win anyway.¡±


    Arrus¡¯ expression fell, and three more of the soldiers rushed Ithrey, slamming the ends of their weapons into her gut. She folded, gasping. Arrus shouted, but before he could attack, a purple armored fist hit him in the head. He toppled, and did not get up.


    Please don¡¯t be dead, Ithrey thought. Please.


    A hand yanked her to her feet, then a knee urged her forward. A needle slid into the skin of her forearm, and her vision fuzzed. Iroxin, she knew, a drug designed to keep burners from Reaching. It didn¡¯t work perfectly, but it was usually enough to stop a Surgewielder from using their power.


    They didn¡¯t need it. For something broke in Ithrey, as she knelt in the ash-covered soil of Grahala. All her plans, all her callous sacrifice and careful manipulation, had amounted to nothing.


    In the end, she deserved her failure.


    ***


    Perelor ran like he had not run in years, feet pounding against the dust, spraying it behind him as he continued forward.


    Soldiers stared at him. Frowned. Gawked. For once, he didn¡¯t care. He was an Ethean slave, given a Surge in the camp of his enemy. He had always been a sight to see. Always been an outsider here. A tiny island of light, among a sea of darkness. That¡¯s what he should have been. What he was realizing he needed to become again.


    He wove his way through the mess of soldiers, jumping atop wooden crates when he had to, twisting through corridors between metal-plate tents, and pushing his way around the few soldiers who still stood in his way. They glared at him.


    He didn¡¯t care. They were the enemy.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    The enemy. He accepted that, rushing through the dust. These men would kill him, if they had to. Break him, if they could.


    He could not be neutral any longer.


    Finally, he saw what he¡¯d been looking for. What he¡¯d been dreading. A mess of purple guards, shoving a woman in black and orange robes forward. Her clothes were already ripped, showing bruised skin beneath. The soldiers were laughing.


    Laughing. Rage boiled inside Perelor. For once, he did not suppress it.


    ¡°Enough!¡± he shouted.


    His voice was loud, clear. Stronger than it had been in a very long time. The soldiers stopped, eyes drifting toward him. For a moment, their laughter ceased. They stared at Perelor, and though their eyes were covered by insectoid helms, he felt as if he could see the shame in their gazes.


    ¡°Enough!¡± he yelled again. He Reached, pulling in Purity. ¡°Let her go.¡±


    A pause. Then the guards snorted, turning back to their work.


    ¡°Enough!¡± Perelor screamed. And this time¡­


    This time he attacked.


    He didn¡¯t last long, didn¡¯t even engage the first of the soldiers. The ground underneath him surged upward, Animated by a soldier with a Void Surge Perelor could not see. He tumbled to his feet as the earth twisted around his right foot. Dust sprayed into his mouth, ashy, rancid.


    He grunted, trying to rise, but tendrils of soil lashed around him, pinning him to the ground. One of them twisted around his skull, pressing his nose to the floor. Breath fled him.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t try anything else if I were you,¡± a voice said. Harsh, metallic. Familiar. ¡°Larsh¡¯s patience with you is thin.¡±


    The tendrils released. Leaving him alone. In the dirt. He lay there for a moment, unbreathing. What would it be like to fade here? To just sleep, forever?


    Can¡¯t do that anyway, he reminded himself. Torment isn¡¯t sleep.


    We¡¯re condemned, all of us.


    He groaned, rolling onto his back, taking in a much needed deep breath. His lips trembled as he did. The taste of ash still permeated his mouth. He coughed, then slowly rose to his feet.


    He hesitated, legs trembling beneath him, for too long. His eyes darted about, searching for something, anything. All he found was Arrus, laying face down, blood pooling around his head.


    ¡°No!¡± He lunged toward Arrus, rolling him over, pushing Purity into his friend, for the moment not caring about the consequences. ¡°Sear it, no, no¡­¡±


    He relaxed. Arrus¡¯ chest was still rising and falling, and the wound was now sealed. As Perelor pulled his friend into his lap, he mumbled something incoherent, expression twitching. Soft red light was rising from his eyelids; he was having a Soulcursed episode.


    ¡°Give in,¡± he whispered, his voice a soft hiss, coherent now. ¡°You are beaten, Krot¡­¡±


    He shivered, gently laying Arrus back on the ground. His eyes drifted back toward the metal-plated buildings of the Talar camp. Then to the makeshift comms tower stretching above them.


    Then back down to the soldiers dragging Ithrey toward the center of camp. She let them, hanging in her rags, eyes sunken. Defeated.


    Torment, he knew that feeling. It was swelling in him now. The desire to simply fold into himself, to accept the bliss of not caring. He trembled, eyes drifting back to Arrus. He was too distant to hear the man¡¯s mumbles now, but he knew what Oblivion was saying through his friend.


    Give up. Give in. You have lost.


    His shoulders sagged. His heart ached. And yet¡­


    And yet, what choice was there, but to go forward?


    ¡°I¡¯ll be back, Arrus,¡± he whispered. ¡°Hang in there.¡± He sheathed his lasertip ¡ª it would do no good ¡ª and followed the Talar guards.


    ***


    Ithrey wasn¡¯t sure how long the soldiers drove her onward before they threw her to the ground atop a cement platform. Her head throbbed from a blow across the skull, and time blended together within the pain.


    People swarmed around the platform, talking, whispering. There was a reason the Talar used whipping for executions, it always created a spectacle. She could only see their silhouettes through her blurry vision, but she knew what they would look like if she could view them clearly. Shoulders slumped. Heads down. Trying to ignore the fact that, with a wave of a Shalarhai¡¯s hand, they could end up where Ithrey now knelt.


    A hard shove on her back prodded her into place. A knife dug into her skin as they cut her clothes from off her, barely digging into her flesh, but still drawing blood. It dripped down her back, splattering to the ground.


    ¡°I want this to be painful,¡± she heard a voice say. Cyrla. ¡°I want her to suffer for defying Larsh.¡± Her voice lowered. ¡°For defying God.¡±


    She moaned, softly. Tried to force herself to protest.


    She couldn¡¯t manage it. She deserved this. Because of her, it was over. Alaran would die, and there was nothing she could do. She had failed. The galaxy was lost.


    She closed her eyes as the heat of the whip shrieked into her shoulder.


    ***


    Perelor burst out of the front of the crowd just as the whipmaster struck Ithrey for the first time. Electricity crackled as the metal hit her back, and flesh sizzled and smoked. She slumped forward, falling off of her knees and onto her face. Blood flowed down her back. Cyrla stood behind her, a smirk on her lips, watching Perelor with glowing crimson eyes.


    Thirty-six, Perelor thought. Thaus, there¡¯s no way anyone can take that many.


    The whip came down again. Again flesh burned. Ithrey whimpered.


    Thaus, I can¡¯t take that many.


    The whip came down again. Ithrey didn¡¯t whimper this time. She just sagged. Tears dripped from her eyes.


    Time slowed.


    You know what you have to do, son.


    Except¡­ he didn¡¯t. If he died here, there was no way he could fulfill his oath. He would never see Eliel again.


    What? What do I have to do?


    His father¡¯s voice was silent. He trembled.


    You know what you have to do, that part of him had said.


    He did, he realized, deep down. He¡¯d always known.


    The whipmaster cocked the whip backward again. Swung it down.


    Perelor stepped forward, catching it.


    ***


    Agony. There was no other word to describe this but agony. Though Ithrey was surprised at how little of that agony came from the whip.


    No, the real agony was the realization of her hypocrisy. For all she¡¯d claimed to be doing good, she¡¯d thrown away lives as surely as Larsh. For all her talk of loving her friends, she¡¯d nearly condemned two men without even asking if they wanted it. She closed her eyes, tears dripping from them, as she prepared herself for the third hit.


    It didn¡¯t come. Instead, she heard a voice, loud and familiar.


    ¡°I invoke the right of atonement.¡±


    ***


    Perelor threw the whip aside, wincing as he healed the burns on his hand with his Purity Surge. ¡°I invoke the right of atonement,¡± he repeated. He met Cyrla¡¯s gaze as he spoke. ¡°I take her lashings. All of them.¡±


    There was no reply save for silence. The whipmaster cocked the whip back again, but Perelor lunged forward, slamming a fist into the man¡¯s arm. He yelped, stumbling backward and dropping his weapon.


    ¡°I invoke the right of atonement!¡± Perelor shouted. ¡°Did you not hear me? I take her lashings.¡± He stepped in front of Cyrla, lowering his voice so only she could hear. ¡°All of them.¡±


    To his surprise, Cyrla actually stepped back, cursing softly under her breath. Was that fear in her expression? It quickly fled, but he could have sworn it was there, if only for a moment. She snorted. ¡°You would actually try to stop this execution, Krot? You cannot use Purity during a whipping.¡±


    Perelor hesitated, then reached back and yanked the Purity Surge from his neck. Blood spurted from the gash where it had been, but he used the last of his Purity to heal it, then dismissed the rest and tossed the Surge aside. One of the Talar soldiers stepped toward it, but Perelor shot the man a glare, and the guard stepped back. ¡°I know.¡±


    Cyrla¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°And you would die for this woman?¡±


    He hesitated again, for one treasonous moment.


    You know what you have to do.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Cyrla actually blinked in surprise at this, then muttered something under her breath that Perelor could not hear. She hesitated, for a long moment. The Talar guards all stared at her, waiting, breathless.


    Finally, she spoke. ¡°Larsh won¡¯t like this. But I¡¯m not sure I care anymore, so, let it be done. Perelor Krot will intercede between Valeo and death, as the Endowed shall intercede between Oblivion and humankind.¡± She waved a hand. ¡°Proceed.¡±


    There was a single moment, as the guards moved toward Perelor, during which he stood, alone, triumphant.


    Then the butt of a lasertip slammed into his stomach. He doubled over. The whipmaster cocked his whip backward.


    Pain began.