They had locked him up in his room. Just like a prisoner.

Would there be a trial, too?

Or would they just kill him?

The gods would decide, so they said.

It did not make him feel any better. Not by a long shot.

They were not taking any chances with him.

As if he could have been dangerous.

Jack had lived with them for days now.

What were they so afraid of?

If he hadn’t done them harm before, why would he now—let alone how?

But you could not expect reasonable or logical thinking from fanatics.

He was pacing back and forth when a coughing bout took him by surprise. The aches had also started spreading again.

With a grimace, he sat on his bed and grabbed his last bottle of medicine from the nightstand. He popped two pills into his mouth. At least, they hadn’t taken those away. Though there weren’t many left. Nor were they as effective as they once had been.

It felt as if his sickness had found a workaround to counteract the benefits of the medication.

“I can’t take this anymore,” he whined.

He’d been stuck in this small room for three hours now.

How much longer would he have to wait?

As if on cue, he heard footsteps stop at his door. It was unlocked and swung open.

The never smiling priestess—Sister Anne, he remembered—motioned for him to stand.

“Follow me, Brother Jack.”

“Where to?”

She stepped back and gestured again.

With a sigh, he stood, slid the medicine bottle into his pocket, and walked into the hall.

She took him to the storeroom in the back where four men waited next to a glider. One of them approached with a blindfold.

“What is this?” he asked with a backward movement.

“Do not make us use force,” warned Anne.

“Why are you doing this to me? Have I not said I would gladly see the gods?”

Despite his words, he did not resist when they placed the blindfold around his eyes.

“The gods do not wish us mere mortals to know all their secrets,” she stated blankly. “You should consider yourself blessed for the wonders you shall soon behold. Few have been granted such privilege.”

He sensed a hint of envy in her voice, and idly wondered if that might have made her smile.

After being helped into the glider, he felt the vehicle move, pick up speed, then soar.

“Where are we going?” he tried again.

But no one answered.

It was a short trip—though that did not mean much, as distance was relative when you could not tell how high or how fast you flew.

When the glider landed, he was helped out, then pushed down an alley, up stairs, and through a door.

Still, they kept him in darkness.

It was not total darkness, though. Light could pass through the tissue and from the variations in brightness he could tell they had now stepped behind closed doors.

There were many footsteps around him, and multiple voices, though he could not make out specific conversations.

It was clear however that they were in a crowded place—with a crowd that did not care, or was not surprised, to see a blindfolded man brought in their midst.

Likely more fanatics, he figured grudgingly.

Both his arms were firmly held as he was led through various halls and doors.

Finally, they stopped.

He expected the blindfold to be removed, but still it remained.

A buzzing sound teased his ears and a scent of fresh air tickled his nostrils.

His arms were freed and someone pushed against his back.

He took a step forward.

It felt like his entire body stepped through a pool of mud.

He tried to stop, to pull back, but he noticed he could not.

There was a force here that sucked him in.

He held his breath, fearing he might choke.

And then, suddenly, the pressure eased.

Everything felt normal again.

Except the lighting was different.

Someone pulled the blindfold off and he blinked.

Though the sky here was just as dark and ominous as it had been in Joqqal, the structures around him were of a very different nature.

All the walls he saw, everywhere around him, were made of shiny glass, gold, or precious stones.

Buildings rose high into the air.

The streets, clean and shiny, were busy with activity—proud-looking men and women going about their business, gliders flying in every direction...

A dozen people were gathered here, all staring at him.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw a large rectangle with flashing lights.

Jack turned to look at the strangers again—he did not recognize a single face.

“What is this place?”

“Welcome to Ahuaxa,” said a woman, “the city of the gods.”

***

There was darkness here, too, but it was of a different nature.

It belonged.

It felt right. Comfortable. Almost peaceful.

He rose to his feet and considered the misty quality of the air.

It was fresh and he liked it.

The path he was on wound its way further toward the base of a distant mountain.

He turned and, in the opposite direction, saw the silhouette of a castle.

On each side of him were thick bushes and trees.

What struck him most, though—which he had failed to notice the first time—, was the silence.

Evken did not mind it.

It was not the kind of silence that comes from fear.

Nor was it the kind of silence that comes before a storm.

Or that of death creeping through the lands.

No, this was a more subtle type of silence—one borne on stillness and quietude.

It, too, belonged.

His thoughts drifted back to his friends.

There was danger where they were, he knew, but he couldn’t stay here, no matter how much he wanted to. Not yet.

His friends needed him.

If they were to stop the mad gods, they would need his help.

Reluctantly, he wished himself back.

And just like that, he was at the dam again, under a thunderous sky, and pummeling rain.

He looked around, but they were all gone.

Almost all.

Someone lay on the ground, unmoving.

He rushed to the man’s side and turned him over.

It was Xian!

He shook him until the god’s eyes fluttered open.

“Evken...”

The Rissl propped himself up on his shoulders. Rubbed his forehead.

“They took my son!” he suddenly said, jumping to his feet.

“Where did they go?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Xian with a frown. He looked at the Zendaar leaning on his cane. “Did I not see you disappear? How did you do that?”

Evken grimaced. “I’m still not entirely sure. It’s only the second time I’ve managed to do it. What I do know is that it took me to the Gleaming.”

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“The Gleaming? What is that?”

Xian walked to the edge of the dam. The waters were still rising and would soon overflow if nothing was done. He knelt and placed his hand above the surface of the water. It began to boil, to evaporate, and its surge stopped.

“I... don’t know. A mythical place of my people. Our books state we came to this world through the Gleaming. I never understood what it meant. Not sure I do even now.”

“Can you show me?” asked Xian as he finished his work on the dam and stood to face him.

The Zendaar thought about this for a moment. Now that he had gone back and forth twice, he believed he had a better understanding of how it worked. He was fairly certain he could pull it off again... but could he take someone with him?

“Maybe.”

He held out a hand to grab the Rissl’s shoulder.

“Hold on,” said Xian as his eyes glazed. “I... I think Paul is trying to contact me.”

***

They had taken him down into the depths of the earth. Where exactly, he did not know. They kept him in a dark cave with no door. For what use would a door have had?

Despite their underground location, the contrary winds had not relented. Still they held him prisoner, incapable of making a single move.

He could talk, and there were spells he could have uttered—but none that could have freed him.

“Why did you bring me here?”

Xhoras stood there, smirking.

“Because I can’t kill you, Paul. Despite your Zendaar blood, you are one of us. But without you, there’s little your precious father could do against us.”

“He still has Evken...”

The Rissl snorted. “That Zendaar cripple? Please. He is useless.”

“How do you know so much about me? I don’t understand all those things you said earlier.”

“No, I don’t imagine you do.” Xhoras paced before him, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Do you know what it’s like to be a prisoner for millennia? Awake, but unable to move?”

Paul did not, but feared he might soon. He knew these mad Rissl could not hurt him, but he was concerned he’d be immobilized here for all of eternity. Would this be their way of getting back at Xian for what he’d done to them?

“Under such circumstances,” went on Xhoras, “one must occupy time as one can. And so we used dreamskins to escape our captivity. Dreamskins are very limited in what they can do, sadly, but at least we could talk, we could touch, we could manipulate.” He glanced at his prisoner with a slight smile. “We arranged for certain things to happen, you see. You would be surprised how much can be achieved in five thousand years. Our goal always was to free ourselves. But the only way to pull it off was to get rid of that damnable mask. We first arranged for it to be discovered by the humans.”

Paul was starting to see where this was headed and it made his head spin. Could the renegade be telling the truth?

“That part was easy,” added Xhoras. “We could sense where it was, so we only needed to point archaeologists in the right direction. But we also knew no human would ever be able to remove the mask. That’s why we needed you. The closest thing to a clueless Rissl we could hope for.”

Who was the madman calling clueless? That made Paul’s blood boil. But the contrary winds bound him as tightly as ropes would have.

“But that was not enough, of course. You would never have thought of going to the mask if someone hadn’t piqued your curiosity and prompted you to do so.”

“Jack!”

“Yes. Indeed. Jack. He caught a most unfortunate illness. A rather unique virus that Verlhynn herself engineered. She’s very good at that game—”

“It’s my friend’s life you’re talking about, you creep! That’s no game!”

“Oh, but it is. You carefully place all the pawns right where you need them, and then you make your final move. Checkmate!” Xhoras laughed.

Paul grunted. “How did you know Jack wouldn’t just kill himself?”

“Because he’s too passionate about his work. Because there are too many mysteries on Qojja he dreams of piercing. Including the mask itself. It haunted him. Even before he knew he was sick. We made sure he heard the Zendaar held the secret of eternal life and had some interest in the mask themselves. When the doctors told him his organs were failing and would eventually shut down, one after the other, it wasn’t difficult for him to think of a solution. But enough talk! I have work to do.”

The renegade walked toward a wall, then paused and looked back at his prisoner.

“Don’t worry, it won’t take much longer. This world will soon be destroyed, and your plight shall end with it.”

His laughter resonated in the stone chamber even after he’d disappeared.

Paul could not even move his head, so strong were the winds against his face. They blew loud through his ears, and that too was distressing.

He just wanted it all to stop.

But to make it stop, he would need to make a Gesture. Even a small one would help. But he could not.

The energies were there, flowing all around him, so close and yet out of reach, taunting him...

There had to be something he could do.

He had no notion of time, here, so deep under the earth, and away from the sky. Who knew how many hours had passed? But finally, he remembered.

When the mask had exploded, it had released its power into the world. He had felt it. He had embraced it. He had moved within its spreading threads. There had been no need to move or talk... And his father had sensed him. And his father had come to him.

He knew the Suryi would also feel it, but it was his only hope.

So he reached out with his mind. Groped around. Felt the shapes, sensed the colors, until he found the fading traces he sought.

He pulled on the threads, gave them texture again, gave them girth, then strode upon them.

Paul wondered if he could make his presence known without being noticed by his jailers.

Lights glided and swirled around him.

He recognized the glowing hue of his father as soon as he saw it.

It became brighter as it noticed him.

But, at the same time, three other lights flickered nearby.

***

The shock had left her speechless.

Not that it was an unusual name. There were thousands, millions, possibly billions of women who wore that same name. She had heard it many times.

But never had it been directed at her. And definitely not by him.

At least... not in a very, very long time.

Susan stared at the white-haired man.

“Rakash?”

Her voice was hesitant, though the strange name rolled off her tongue with ease. There was confusion in her mind. How could she know this man who she had never seen before? Yet at the same time, she did know him. This knowledge surprised her, while another part of her was surprised it would surprise her.

How could she not know him, after all he had meant to her?

Rakash offered her a benevolent smile.

“You are confused. It is only natural. Do not fight it. Things will become clearer if you let the memories take over.”

She walked slowly to the bed and let herself fall upon it, feeling dizzy.

“What is happening to me?” she muttered.

Rakash remained where he was, observing her with interest. A hand moved up to the pendant he wore around his neck. He tapped on it a couple of times.

“I saved you, of course. How could I not?”

She looked up at him with a confused expression.

“You saved me? No.” She frowned. “That’s... that’s not right.”

The memories were coming back, but it was a slow and blurry process.

“You killed me over five thousand years ago... how is this possible?” she said, with a quiver in her voice.

“Five thousand four hundred and ninety-three... but who’s counting?”

Conflicting thoughts raced through her mind. She knew Rakash had killed her, and yet she felt sympathy for him—even love, in a way. But if he had killed her, why did he claim to have saved her? And, more importantly, why did she feel like this was quite likely?

“Do you remember what your last words to me were?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” she said breathlessly as they came back to her. “I begged you to end my suffering...” She jumped to her feet and pointed an accusing finger at him. “Why am I still alive?”

“The virus that was in you had no cure at the time. But I could not let you die forever. So as I slit your throat and watched the life drain out of you, I recorded an imprint of you, my dear Julia. All of you.” He tapped the pendant again. “It was all stored here. Your DNA, your personality, your memories... All of it.”

“And my illness, too,” she said accusingly.

“It could not be avoided, I’m afraid. Which is why it took so long to bring you back. But I did find the cure, eventually. Why do you think I’ve been so obsessed with alien technology?”

Not that she had known, but it reminded her of the things she had discovered about Lucaan Labs.

“Moonrise,” she said, “that was you?”

He nodded. “I’ve used it to go beyond this cursed world, to attain other planets that are otherwise out of my reach. And through them, I have collected artifacts, science, knowledge... And when I finally found the cure, I looked for the perfect vessel. This, too, required patience. But I had no lack of time.”

Her memories became clearer, though there still were large dark gaps. She felt she could have lost herself had she tried to penetrate them.

She shook her head, trying to make sense of it all.

“How—”

“I had agents on every new colony,” said Rakash, “scanning for the perfect genes. It was a good cover, too. Who would question medical examinations in a new settlement? One day Wilma Caine was brought to my attention. The lovely Wilma. She met all of my criteria. I had your matrix injected into her.”

“That’s how she got her curse!” realized Susan.

“An unfortunate side effect.”

“Is all this madness why you had my parents murdered?” she asked angrily.

Rakash quirked a brow. “Why would I do such a thing?”

“Don’t lie to me! The person who killed them had been commissioned by Lucaan Labs, who works for Moonrise.”

“I did not know this, nor would I have condoned it. I will find the parties responsible and slit their throats myself.”

She stared at him, then sat back on the bed.

It was true, then.

Why would he have killed them? She knew it didn’t make sense. Knowing him as she did, he would never have done anything to harm her. The murder had been about that damned alien technology all along.

“What about my uncle?” she asked with a frown. “Duncan.”

“He was hired to keep an eye on you, to keep you safe. Though he lost track of you after your parents suddenly left Vuulthur.”

Susan sighed. “He made up for it in the end. He gave his life to save mine.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

Such poor phrasing should have upset her—how could he be happy that Duncan was dead?—but oddly, she was not. A sense of peacefulness bathed her, as if she had finally found her purpose.

At least, Susan’s purpose.

But she knew now Susan was only a small part of her.

She had also been Julia.

She still was Julia.

But what was Julia’s purpose? Did she have one? Who was she?

The dark gaps had significantly shrunk, but they were still there.

“Rest,” said Rakash. “We can talk more later. Over dinner. There is so much I want to tell you—and show you. This world is a much different place now.”

He walked out as her eyes went to the windows.

The sky was dark, wind blew hard, heavy rain poured down on the garden beyond.

It is a different place indeed, she thought.

A knot formed in her stomach as the last dark gaps dissipated and another—even older—memory came back to her.

“Oh, Rakash...” she whispered, “what have you done?”

***

The three of them stood at a misty crossroad in a world of constant night.

It was quiet, here. A nice change from the chaos of a dying world that had become their daily lot.

When he’d told Evken that he knew exactly where his son was, the Zendaar had conjured up a holomap of Qojja with a few taps on his wristpad.

“Show me.”

Xian had done so, wondering what Evken had in mind.

“I can get us there faster than with your ship. And, more importantly, we can get in and out before the Suryi have time to interfere.”

“How?”

“The Gleaming,” had said Evken. “I’ll admit it’s still new to me, but... every time I’ve gone in and out, it was from a different point within that place, and each time I came out in a different place here. There is a spatial connection that I can sense.”

“I’m willing to believe you, but will it be enough to find a specific spot? It might not be the best time to experiment with something new...”

“I know I can do it, Xian. It’s rooted deep inside of me.”

“If distance there is the same as here, we’d still have a long way to travel...”

“No, no, it doesn’t work that way. It’s like...” Evken had frowned as he’d tried to find the right words. “I can fold space onto itself. Then it’s just a matter of willing myself in a specific location. From within the Gleaming, everything becomes possible.”

Xian had seemed skeptical, but he had agreed to give it a shot.

The silence that prevailed in the Gleaming had caught him by surprise. It was a stark contrast with the constant rain and thunder that reigned on Qojja.

Evken had taken only a few steps, turned around, examined his surroundings, then grabbed Xian and pulled him through...

... into a dimly lit cavern of howling winds.

His son had been there, unable to move, and blinked as they arrived.

“Father!”

They had heard running footsteps in the hall behind them, coming closer.

“We need to hurry,” had said Evken.

Xian was already busy. He had plunged a hand into the shifting currents and willed them to quiet down until they became simple breezes and then but a wisp of a memory.

“Stop!” had yelled Xhoras as he’d held his hand out.

The ground beneath them had begun to shake, but Evken had grabbed both Xian and Paul and in a second, they had been gone.

They now stood at the crossroad, and all three of them looked around with curiosity.

“What is this place?” asked Paul.

“It is the Gleaming. It was through here that my people came to Qojja.”

“Then it is through here that you can leave,” remarked Xian.

Evken stared at the Rissl, his eye going wide.

“You’re right! I hadn’t thought of that.”

Xian smiled. “You won’t have to worry about Rakash anymore.”

“Does anyone live here?” asked Paul as he looked toward the north—or what one might have assumed to be the north.

“I met a creature, once,” mused Evken. “It was an odd one. And I’ve seen a castle.”

As the Zendaar talked, Xian waved his hand around and frowned. He pressed his fingers against the earth and closed his eyes.

Nothing happened.

“Paul... can you try to do something... anything? Make a rock roll...”

His son seemed intrigued by the suggestion. He reached out a hand and stared at a nearby rock. But it refused to budge.

“Interesting,” muttered Xian.

“What does it mean?” asked Evken.

“That this place, whatever it is, was not made by our kin. I don’t think it’s even a world per se.”

“Why would you say that?”

Xian pointed above them. “Have you not noticed there are no stars? Not even the glimpse of a moon...”

Evken blinked as he studied the sky. He had not yet spent enough time here to pay much attention to anything. He could see now there was only darkness above them, splattered with occasional splashes of shapeless color... like rare clouds of varying hues—blue, green, violet, yellow... The dim lighting that bathed them, he realized, was emitted by these shifting, floating, vaporous bodies.

“What is it, then?” asked Paul.

“I don’t know.”

Xian stepped off the dirt trail and into the bushes. He pushed them aside and disappeared into the thicket. The other two looked at each other, then followed him.

They found him crouching by a stream, with his hand skimming the surface.

“Better luck here?” asked Paul.

“No.” He stood and turned to face them with a wide grin. “But it gives me an idea.”