“My Lady! Beware!”

Agheeral ignored the cry as she raced toward the group of tamashi. The three-reach-long creatures undulated through the air, riding on currents of sahr rather than anything as capricious as the wind. Thick, gray scales covered their long, lean bodies, from the tip of their flat, paddlelike tails to the point of their elongated snouts filled with rows of serrated teeth. Electricity crackled from them, ready to arc to anyone foolish enough to draw near—anyone, that was, except Agheeral.

A lash of blue lightning snapped from one of the creatures to her, and Agheeral raised a hand to catch the blast. It hissed and popped in her grip but couldn’t escape as she drew on that energy, pulling it into herself and pushing it down into the reservoir of power beneath her heart. That well of energy was new, something that she’d gained when the world changed. It wasn’t the same as the nearly endless core of power she could tap before the change, but in some ways, it was far better. The power she stored in her center was denser, more solid than what she’d used before, so she could use less of it to achieve the same results. Plus, it absorbed practically any source of energy, even those she’d found impossible to wield before. Of course, the reverse of that was that it took far more energy to refill that core, and the lightning lash she absorbed barely raised it by the width of a hair. Only one source of energy was dense enough to truly replenish her, and she was about to collect that.

The closest tamash opened its mouth, and a brilliant flash of white exploded from it as it belched a ball of lightning at her. She slipped around it, riding the wind on a tiny trickle of her new power, and focused her intent on the space above the creature. The world suddenly flattened as she shrank that distance, bringing herself to her desired location without having to travel so far as a span. She released her focus, and the world sprang back into normal shape—only now, she floated above the attacking beast, not before it.

The creature reacted swiftly, whipping toward her, but Agheeral touched her core of power and channeled the energy into her mind and body. She suddenly moved as fast as thought, the tamash’s attack a slow crawl that she could easily dodge if she chose. Instead, she reached out and grabbed its snout with one hand and drove a force-covered fist into its skull. The blow struck with the weight of a mountain, pulping the monster’s brain and killing it instantly.

She spun and leveled a finger at the next tamash, touching her power once more. A line of darkness shot from her extended digit and drove into the side of the beast, piercing its armor and heart with equal alacrity. The next vomited another lightning blast that she caught and absorbed before slashing with her hand. A blade of invisible wind shot out from her, cutting three of the beasts in half. To most, the tamashi were a scourge, a deadly threat beyond their power to battle, but to Agheeral…

They were simply training.

In less than a minute, over twenty of the beasts lay dead, floating on the waves below, and the rest turned and fled back into the colorless wall of the Edge, the boundary of the spirit realm that marked the end of Umpratan. Below her, the restless sea rebounded from that barrier; around her, the wind curled away from it and blew back toward the continent behind her. Nothing that wasn’t alive and sapient could cross that boundary, nothing that lacked its own spark of immortality. She could fling her blade at it with all her force, and she’d simply end up with a shattered blade. Only living, intelligent creatures could enter the realm of spirits—and those who did never returned.

She dove toward the surface of the sea and landed on it, standing on the water like it was solid ground. She drew the corpses to her with an effort of will and a touch of power to pull the water beneath her feet toward her. As they neared, she felt the power burning within them, calling out to her, each a different note in a melody only she could hear. She reached out to them with her spirit, touching each and drawing the power to her. The energy surged forth, condensing beneath her will, growing denser and denser until it formed into a fluid that surged up from the beasts’ bodies and poured into her. She drew it in deeply, tilting her head back to inhale that pure essence and pull it into her depths. The liquid poured into her core, refilling it swiftly, and at last, she cut it off, allowing the excess to dissipate.

“My Lady! Are you well?”

She refrained from clenching her fists at the voice that called out to her. Instead, she rose back into the air and floated over to the ship bobbing on the waves before her. Agheeral descended lightly to the deck beside the overdressed official whose presence she’d been forced to endure this entire trip. If she’d had her way, she would have left the vessel behind—she was hundreds of times faster without it—but doing so would have consequences. Her powers weren’t the only thing that had changed in the past years. The entire world had, as well.

“My Lady, are you injured?” The man wrung his hands as he peered at her, his entire body screaming his distress. “Those creatures…”

“Are but a shadow of the forces I battled during the Great War, Vizier,” she cut him off firmly but gently.

“But there were so many! Lady Agheeral, we have a contingent of soldiers aboard. You should have waited for them!”

“Tamashi are no threat to me, Vizier, even if there were an army of them. If you involved your soldiers, you would simply have gotten them killed for no purpose.”

Those words tasted sour in her mouth. They weren’t “her” soldiers any longer, and that reality stung her more than anything else.

Despite her victory over the spirits, she’d led a broken and dispirited army away from the fields of Praja. More than half their number had died on that field, a loss equaling a decade of casualties in the war. Agheeral regretted the loss but deemed it worthwhile; the spirits had been driven from their world, after all, and that was the point of the war. The nations could rebuild, and over generations, their losses would be replaced. She brought her army back to the great plain of Aggath to dismiss them only to find a new mountain range splitting it in half, a range that hadn’t existed moons ago.

And that was only the beginning of the changes she discovered. She led her army north, around the new mountains, and dismissed them, sending them back to their homes. The shayeni trudged off to the east, toward their forests; the short thelnis marched to the west to their hilltop homes, while the feline fernari headed southeast to the grasslands they preferred. It was a bittersweet moment for Agheeral; her entire existence had been spent watching over those soldiers, and seeing them vanish over the horizon had hurt more than she imagined it would, but the fact that they lived to bid farewell meant she’d done her duty. She’d claimed victory, and that was what she had been born to do.

Only, she soon found that her victory was at a greater cost than she could imagine. While she’d broken the ritual the spirits used to try and pull her world into theirs, that ritual had activated, and its activation had consequences. It broke her world, shattered it into pieces, and flung those pieces somewhere beyond the Edge, where they couldn’t be reached. Her soldiers marched home only to find that home denied them, their paths blocked by new shores and oceans where land existed before. The thelnis, always clever with their hands and tools, built a fleet to seek that homeland and sailed away, only to return years later with the news that the Edge surrounded their world to the west. Not to be outdone, the fernari fashioned vessels of magic and sailed out to the east, only to come back with the same news. Beyond the new shores lay an ocean, and ringing that ocean was the Edge.

That loss, it seemed, was the final snowflake that brought down the avalanche. Discontent rose among the people, discontent that led to anger—and all of it directed at her. She was the general of the army; she was the one they’d counted on to protect them; she was the one who’d interrupted the ritual. Never mind that according to Willinel, the only one of her companions to survive that battle and the greatest mortal wielder of sahr, had she not acted, the ritual would have brought the entire world into the spirit realm. Never mind that she’d spent her entire life fighting for those people and their freedom. They wanted someone to blame, and she was the convenient target.

The shift of power away from her was slow at first. A council formed, one comprised of several members of each race, designed to help advise her. Agheeral, they pointed out gently, had been born and bred to wage war, and now that there was no war, she would need guidance in the arts of peace. She’d seen the undercurrents forming even then, but she hadn’t known how to stop them from growing. To some extent, they were right; she knew how to be a leader, but only on a battlefield. Politics was something alien to her.

When the first incursions from the spirit world appeared, she’d counted them a blessing. She gathered a force and confronted them, eager to remind her people why they should follow her. Victory after victory followed, but despite her triumphs, she felt the reins of power slowly slipping from her fingers. While she was out defending her people, her council remained behind, reminding her followers that the battlefield was where she belonged, and that her skills, while unmatched in warfare, were unsuited for keeping the peace.

The day had come at last where the council had voted to remove her as its head, and there was little she could do. They didn’t present it that way, of course. They called it honoring her, declaring her the Supreme Warleader of Umpratan, and giving her full authority during times of battle—while simultaneously stripping all other authority from her. She became a figurehead, an icon of power and a bastion against the spirit incursions, but no longer a leader of her people. Those who’d willingly followed her for decades in battle turned away from her, and in turn, she found herself growing disconnected from them, less a part of the mortal races every day.

Technically, she was a nalu, a matter of necessity and design. Other races were born with genetic memories that made them excel in certain areas. Shayeni were born knowing how to wield a bow and to live in harmony with the forests; Thelnis emerged from the womb carrying their race’s nimble fingers, clever minds, and the basic crafting skills associated with their lineage. A newborn fernar possessed the knowledge needed to hunt and to tumble effortlessly through the air. Naluni had none of this; they lacked genetic memories and were born as blank slates. This once made them the least of the mortal races—under the yoke of the spirits, they served as common laborers and livestock—but it also made it possible for them to excel at anything. Fernari were amazing hunters and gifted with sahr but poor crafters and clumsy with many weapons. Shayeni were practically born with a bow in hand but could never seem to master heavier weapons or the use of most armor. Naluni could be excellent at anything they chose to master, and Agheeral had been bred to be excellent at all the arts of war.

Realistically, though, she had as little in common with other naluni as they did with the reptilian esseth. She hadn’t aged visibly in the decades since she’d come to maturity and still looked to be around twenty-five summers old. She was stronger than a giant, green-skinned vadnik, faster than a lupine goruk, cleverer than any thelni, and more intelligent than the oldest shayen. She was utterly perfect, without flaw or weakness, and now that her followers had turned away from her, it was hard to see other mortals as anything other than—less.

The perfect example stood beside her, the braying nalu vizier in his overly ornate robes, thinking himself clever as he subtly tried to demean her before the gathered sailors and soldiers. The man was only forty-five summers old, but already he showed the signs of aging. Light lines creased the olive skin at the corners of his eyes and mouth; his black hair showed gray at the temples, and if he took off the absurdly long, conical hat he wore, it would reveal the slowly expanding spot of baldness atop his head. His body looked like he’d once been a warrior but had now let his muscles atrophy, and he moved slowly and clumsily, every step thumping noisily on the wooden deck. He wouldn’t have lasted ten minutes in an actual battle, and had he tried to actually lead the soldiers under his command, they’d have likely killed him and tossed him overboard in a day. He was pathetic, a scheming grasper—and as the Council’s designated aide and representative, he was a thorn in her side that she wasn’t quite ready to pull out.

“Captain, set course for the city of Kossuk,” she ordered, turning away from the obnoxious vizier.

“My Lady, are you certain?” the little official asked, causing the ship’s captain to halt in the process of calling out his commands to the crew. “Surely, the spirits would send worse than that small group of weak creatures to assault us! I believe it wise to wait and…”

“I have given my orders,” Agheeral said coldly, eyeing the suddenly flinching commander of the vessel. “I expect you to obey.”

“Hold, Captain,” the vizier countermanded, his voice suddenly far less subservient and wheedling. “By order of the Council, we are to remain on patrol against potential incursions for a period of three moons, no less. You will continue on your…ack!”

The vizier cut off as Agheeral’s hand darted out and seized his throat, cutting off his wind. She lifted him effortlessly into the air, ignoring his kicking feet and his desperate attempts to claw her hand free. Compared to her, he was little more than a newborn infant, utterly helpless and powerless in her grip. Her eyes never left the cringing captain as she spoke again.

“Captain, set course for Kossuk immediately. It seems I need to have some words with my advisor, to remind him of his place.”

“As you say, Great Lady,” the captain bowed, hesitating briefly before adding, “If it please my Lady—the ship, she is but simple wood. I would beg you to consider that during your questioning.”

She gave the man a flat smile. “Diplomatically spoken, Captain, but have no fears. Your vessel will be in no danger from me—and I suspect that I won’t be needing it any longer.” She called the winds and rose from the ship, carrying the now weakly struggling vizier in her grip. She drifted off the deck and floated several spans away, far enough that she judged her passage wouldn’t damage the vessel, before channeling a trickle of power into the air around her. The air around her rippled and distorted as she exploded into motion, racing over the waves toward the Edge faster than an arrow from the strongest bow. The vizier went limp in her grasp as his frail body failed to withstand the incredible force of her acceleration.

She reached the Edge in seconds and slid to a halt. She glanced down at the roiling sea beneath her and lashed out with her will. A loud crackling sound rose from the waves as a patch ten reaches wide froze solid, the ice descending even more reaches below the surface to keep the platform stable in the waves formed by the wind of her passage. She lowered herself to the ice and touched down gently, barely disturbing the platform. The vizier didn’t get such a gentle landing as she tore away his fancy robe, revealing a heavy paunch and sagging flesh, then tossed him carelessly onto the unyielding ice.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

The man woke with a groan as the cold quickly seeped into his bare flesh, and he pushed himself up with a confused, disoriented look on his face. He clutched his arms to his shoulders, curling up into a ball, and looked around with growing alarm as he saw the ice upon which he sat—and the towering wall of the Edge looming mere reaches away. He slid back away from that wall, then looked up at Agheeral standing over him, his face panicked and fearful.

“My Lady!” he protested. “What’s the meaning of this? What…?” His questions cut off as his gaze met her own. Agheeral channeled a tiny trickle of power, allowing it to flow up into her eyes, and struck with her will, driving her mind into the vizier’s. He tried to resist, erecting a barrier of will around his thoughts as all soldiers were trained to do when dealing with the spirits, but his barrier was so pathetic that any spirit would have pierced it easily, much less her. The force of her mind shattered that wall like it was made of thin glass, and her will plunged into him, smothering his and blanketing his mind. His struggles ceased almost instantly, and he fell still as her mind dominated his, stealing his will from him. It was something she hated doing—taking over the mind of another was the way of the spirits, and doing it left her feeling vaguely unclean—but the vizier’s words had made something click in her mind. She needed information, and this was far simpler than torturing him for it.

“What were your orders, Vizier?” she asked in a cold voice. She could take his will, sense his emotions, even shatter his mind, but she couldn’t read his thoughts. No power she knew of gave that sort of access, not even among the spirits, a fact for which she was grateful. If it had, they would have known of her existence and snuffed her out long before she was able to defend herself.

“To keep you patrolling the Edge for a minimum of three moons,” the man replied in a wooden voice. “To watch your battles and gauge how much strength the change took from you, and to see how you accumulate power.”

She hesitated, surprised at the last two orders. “To what end?” she asked curiously.

“I don’t know. I was simply told to report what I see to the Council.”

She nodded. “And what did you tell them?”

“That you have to kill to gain power. That you drain it from the bodies of the slain. That your power seems undiminished by the change.”

“Good.” She released her hold on his mind, and his eyes cleared instantly. A look of horror and loathing spread across his face as he realized what she’d done—and what he’d said. Before he could complain, she lifted him by his throat and held him aloft. He gagged and choked as her fingers cut off his windpipe, and his eyes bulged in horror. His fingers danced and fluttered in the manner of a sahr-wielder as he tried to fling a working at her, but the power slid past her ineffectually, allowing her to draw a little more energy from it as it flowed over her.

“You’re a treacherous serpent, Vizier,” she said in a voice as cold as a spirit’s heart. “By all rights, I should toss you to the spirits and let them play with you, so you could see what my armies and I faced for decades to give you a world free of their slavery.” His face paled, and despite the fact that she knew he couldn’t breathe, his efforts to escape redoubled. She ignored them; he was as helpless as a babe in her grip, a mewling infant who could no more harm her than he could lift a mountain.

“I won’t do that, though,” she said. “That would be cruel, and despite your treachery—and my supposed Council’s—you don’t deserve that. No one does.” His struggles lessened, and relief flashed across his face. Premature relief, as it turned out.

“However, treachery can’t go unpunished, so…” Her fist clenched, and the man’s trachea crumbled with a popping sound. His eyes bulged once more, and his face darkened to purple as her fingers crushed the large veins in his throat, trapping the blood in his brain. He lived, but that would only last for a few minutes at most—more than long enough. She flexed her arm, then flung the man, adding a tiny bit of power to the motion. He sailed backward, his hands grasping for her and his feet kicking as he soared through the air, hurtling toward the gray wall of the Edge. His shattered throat didn’t even let him cry out as he vanished through that barrier, disappearing into the world of the spirits, never to return.

She turned her back on the wall and gazed toward the distant mainland as she lifted into the air on a current of wind. She’d lied to the vizier. Killing him hadn’t been a mercy. It was a necessity. Those who entered the Edge usually didn’t return, but when they did, what emerged wasn’t them. The spirits ripped out their soul, leaving the body an empty vessel, then poured themselves into it and slipped out into the mortal realm to sow havoc. She’d hunted down dozens of the spirit-possessed herself, but she guessed that hundreds had escaped her notice. By ensuring that the vizier would die swiftly, she’d kept from adding another to those ranks, one who held some measure of actual power and could do real harm. The man’s last few minutes of life would be terrible ones, subjected to the spirits’ torments, but they would end swiftly, and no power of the spirits could stop it. They couldn’t heal; they could only mar and destroy.

Granting the man those last few minutes of life had also been a necessity. The vizier had been in contact with the Council, obviously, but she had to assume they had some way of knowing if he died. That would, after all, be their first warning that she knew they planned some sort of treachery against her. Whatever method he used to contact them, though, wouldn’t reach across the Edge. No power did, not even hers. She could touch the Edge, draw on its power, but she couldn’t stretch her awareness through it. They might worry at losing contact with him, but they wouldn’t immediately panic. That gave her an advantage: they wouldn’t be expecting her swift return. The Council had stolen power from her—no, she corrected herself, she’d let them steal power and authority from her. It was time to see what they did with it.

She summoned her power and sent it into her eyes, and the eldritch currents of the world suddenly flowed into perfectly clear view before her. It took her but a second to locate the thin line of power stretching from the horizon and disappearing into the Edge, slowly unraveling as its connection with the lost vizier failed. She reached out with her mind, molding the world around her to her will. A tunnel of screaming wind formed around her, shooting her up and over the churning sea at terrific speeds. At the same time, the very fabric of existence condensed before her, bringing everything in that direction closer.

Marches flashed below her, days of walking for a normal soldier flitting by in seconds. The wind roared its fury as she arced outward, following that thread of power. She streaked over the northern swamps, where the reptilian esseth now dwelt. She raced past the much smaller forest that the shayeni had taken as their own, bordering mountains that glittered golden in bright sunlight. She followed the line of power to the fields of Aggath, where her council supposedly waited—and then continued past, flashing through a gap in the new mountain range dividing the continent and roaring across lands that looked well-watered and farmed. Green grew everywhere she saw, and mighty rivers that hadn’t existed a few decades ago carved paths through the rich soil. Naluni worked the land everywhere she looked, raising enough crops to feed her entire army—or, she supposed, the citizens of a new land.

Guilt and disappointment flashed through her as she realized that she’d never even considered how the races would feed themselves. She’d made no arrangements for farms, for transport of food, or for the livestock that would provide the meat a nation would need to eat. During the war, her quartermasters had handled such, and she’d never given it a thought beyond making sure her army was provisioned, and those provisions were safeguarded.

She followed the decaying line south, ignoring the commoners who cringed and cowered at her passage as she examined the terrain. When she’d last passed this way, after the Fields of Praja, this land had all been grassland. The new mountains changed that, trapping much of the rain on this side of them and turning it into rich soil. Villages and towns dotted the sparkling river she followed, and simple roads connected them, while wooden rafts and barges floated along the river. Her council had done this without her knowledge, she realized; they’d found this land, realized its utility, and built it up while she slaughtered incursions of spirits.

A shimmer of light caught her eye, and she rose higher into the air. Her vision was fantastic, but she couldn’t see through the world’s horizon; as she rose, more of Umpratan spread out around her, and she saw more of the Council’s work. Praja was no more, but towns rose where once hundreds of thousands of bodies lay. A river carved the land near that plain, and the beginnings of a new forest rose on the western side of that flow, which spilled out into a bay that had once been part of the great battlefield. To the south, lands that had once been the junglelike home of the canine gurukkai now looked sere and withered, their trees wilted and brown as the water that should have fed them poured far to the north. And to the south…

She sped toward the glimmer of light that caught her eye to the south, following the last vestiges of the line of power that raced toward it. She recognized that shimmer; it came from a city, one that the spirits had forced their slaves to built and that they called the center of their kingdom. It was a place of towering crystalline spires, walls of opal and jade, and gleaming gemstone halls. The spirits called it Baldasar, and they believed it to be their ultimate triumph, an unassailable fortress and city from which they ruled this world.

And so it had been—until Agheeral herself tore down its diamond gates and allowed her army inside to sack it. It was the turning point of the great war, the moment when it became obvious to all that the spirits were doomed. They’d expected a long, protracted siege; instead, she’d taken the city in a few days. And now…

She ignored the men and women swarming about the city, slowly repairing the damage she’d done. The link had faltered and faded at last, but she knew where she was going. The central tower of the city was an edifice of gleaming emerald, and it was from there that the spirits truly ruled. That would be where her supposed Council ruled in her name without her word. That would be where she confronted them.

Her will lashed out at the structure, and the gleaming gates surrounding the central palace shattered into shards of gemstone that sprayed over the cowering guards. She ignored them; they no longer served her, so they weren’t her concern. The ruby doors leading into the palace had been repaired to some extent, but they crashed into fragments of crimson crystal as they had so long ago when she’d first taken this tower.

She settled to earth and strode inside. Guards rushed up, forming before her, and she felt a spike of disappointment as they raised their weapons to stop her. They should have bowed before her and offered their service; instead, they opposed her, and those who opposed her had ever only suffered one fate. She controlled the blast of power she unleashed at them, breaking their bodies but leaving them alive as she swept past and up the stairs leading to the spirits’ grand hall.

Her council waited for her there, cowering around a sapphire table that the spirits had oonce used for their deliberations. Anger surged in her; were these mortals attempting to rule as the spirits did? If anyone deserved to hold that position, it was her. She’d let power slip from her hands, but she would reclaim it. Her advisors had forgotten that political power meant nothing without the strength to wield it. She’d let her sorrow and confusion rule her long enough.

“M-my Lady,” her shayeni “advisor” stammered, half-rising to his feet. “W-we did not expect…”

“Be silent and sit down.” Her words were calm, but they carried the force of her will behind them. Willinel might have been able to resist, but he was long gone. All her companions were, and those who remained no longer remembered the horrors of war—but neither had they gained strength from it. All seven of the council members dropped into their seats, their mouths working silently and fear spreading through their eyes as they realized that in the grip of her will, they were helpless as babes.

“This council was supposed to serve as my advisors,” she said in a cold voice. “However, instead, you have tried to usurp my power—and I allowed you to do so. No more.” She floated into the air, touching her power so that it radiated from her as she stepped onto the table at the center of the room. She glanced at the shayeni, and when she spoke, her will backed her words. “Telastel, has this council been working to steal my authority and power?”

The elf struggled for a moment as her will tore through his barriers and wrapped around his thoughts. His eyes went blank, and he ceased struggling. “Yes, My Lady.”

She glanced at the short, horrified thelni woman staring up at her. “Bordana, to what end?”

The halfling’s eyes went just as blank, and when she spoke, her voice was wooden and emotionless. “To build a new kingdom, My Lady.”

Agheeral looked at the cowering feline fernar at the end of the table. “Mirrinir, why should you rule instead of I?”

“Because you refused to, My Lady,” the advisor spoke in a flat tone.

“What do you mean?”

“The people looked to you for guidance after the Shattering. You gave them none, so our predecessors provided it instead. We rule because we must.”

Agheeral froze at the cat’s words. Was that true? Had she truly turned aside from her people? Was war the only thing she knew? Could she even rule in a time of peace?

She shook her head. This wasn’t a time of peace. It was a truce, a lull in the war, but if she lowered her blade, the spirits would return. She was needed.

She turned her head to her nalu advisor. “And how did you believe you could ever supplant me, Vivitania?” she asked the woman. “All of you together—your entire army is no threat to me. I could remove you all whenever I wished.”

The woman struggled, her will fighting Agheeral’s in admirable fashion, but in a few seconds, her resistance crumbled, and her face went blank. “We are making more of you, My Lady,” she said woodenly. “They will serve where you would rule.”

“What?!” Agheeral’s roared exploded through the room, hurling the advisors around. She grabbed the blank-faced nalu by the throat and lifted her up, barely restraining her anger. She was a unique creation, a perfect creation, the sole survivor of hundreds of secret trials and experiments, and her creators were long dead. Had their knowledge survived?

“Explain!” she commanded.

“We found the process in the ruins of Shinfrain, My Lady, where you were given life. Some of it was lost, but we’ve managed to replicate enough to create guardians to protect ourselves and our lands from you if needed.”

“Show me!” Agheeral demanded, pointing to Mirrinir. “Show me!”

The fernar’s fingers danced as he wove strands of sahr, and a window opened in the air, one that revealed ten cylindrical tanks. Agheeral grabbed the cat as well and folded space, taking herself to that spot in an instant at the cost of much of her stored power. They were underground, deep beneath the earth from the feel of it, in a cavern she knew intimately. She’d been born here, brought to life through a combination of magic, breeding, and the sacrifice of thousands of lives. She’d thought this place lost, but apparently, it survived the spirits’ assault on the village above, the attack that slaughtered the only ones she could consider her parents. That blow had come far too late, of course. She was long gone, training with the various races and learning all they could teach, becoming the perfect weapon and leader she would need to be.

Murky liquid hid the bodies she felt floating within the tubes before her. They were only partially formed, but even so, she could tell that they were—less. Power coiled within them, but not the same power she held. They reminded her of shadows, things that looked like her but were ephemeral and insubstantial.

She gathered her power, intending to obliterate her potential rivals, but she paused and glanced at Vivitania. “You say that these are being bred to follow?” she asked.

“Yes, My Lady. We hope to gain their strength without losing our power.”

Agheeral nodded and released her advisors’ minds, ignoring the look of horror on their faces as they understood how utterly she’d controlled them. “Then serve they shall—but me, not you. As of this moment, you no longer rule. I do.”

“My Lady, the laws…”

“Are meaningless. Only my will has true meaning. All else is merely words.” She turned back to the pair. “You will tell me who among the council I can trust to serve me and who will work against me. Those who prove trustworthy will live and continue their work to lift up my people. Those who do not will be replaced, their lives feeding my powers. Is that understood?”

“Yes, My Lady,” Mirrinir replied swiftly, bowing low. “I will happily divulge…”

“You misunderstand, Mirrinir. You’ll tell me the truth, not whatever lies you think will gain you extra power. You all will. There will be a culling, and when it ends, all will serve me, in life or in death.” Her power flowed through her, and the pair stepped back, their faces fearful. “Once, I was called Nasika, She Who Leads. Now, I will be known as Shashana, the Eternal Queen.”

Agheeral turned her back on her soon-to-be-born followers. They would serve as a new company, companions to replace those she’d lost in the war, and once they were birthed—she would obliterate this place. She wouldn’t again allow any to rise to take her power, at least not until she was ready to hand it over of her own will.

She paused. Or perhaps she wouldn’t. She would lock it away, though, hide it behind a barrier of her power so that none could use it and its secrets against her again. In the meantime, she had a council to purge. It was time to reclaim what was hers and remind those pathetic sycophants who she was and why an entire world of spirits spoke her name in tones of abject terror…