Vayra tugged herself into her corespace to give herself more time—and to remove any outside pressures. It didn’t help when Nathariel and Pels were staring straight at her, begging her to find the revelation she needed.

But now, sitting at the center of her corespace, in the doorway of the simple cabin, she had to contend with Phasoné and Adair. The Goddess paced in circles in front of Vayra, and Adair curled up in her lap, purring and letting off a soft mewl. It was hardly meditation.

“Emptying your head won’t help you find insights,” Phasoné said.

“I don’t know what else to do,” Vayra said. She tried to keep her eyes shut and her legs crossed beneath her, but it was impossible to concentrate now. She almost wished she had her old core, with an empty, blank void—where outside time stalled almost completely. Then, she’d have all the time she needed to reach an insight.

“You don’t reach an insight in an empty void,” Phasoné said. She walked over and sat down behind Vayra. “The strongest impulse for advancement is fear and desperation.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got plenty of that.”

“I know.”

“Phas, if I don’t do this, it’s not just me who—”

“I know.” Phasoné rested her chin on Vayra’s shoulder. “I’m counting on—no, that’s not good enough. I believe in you.”

Vayra exhaled slowly and opened her eyes. She inched back until she was sitting side-by-side with Phasoné. They looked through the doorway of the little cabin, watching out across the starlit core. There wasn’t much to see—until Adair scrambled off her lap and down into the fields of pagwart.

It was too peaceful. Her heart was still racing from the encounter with Larra, and from knowing that they would fight again.

But she tried to take Nathariel’s advice anyway. She tried to think about herself—what she was. Half-phoenix, Discarded, Mediator who had an immense duty thrust onto her…

But would you go back? Phasoné thought. It was directed right at Vayra.

“Never.” Vayra crossed her arms in defiance. Only in these past few months had she ever felt truly alive. Truly meaningful. “There’s something to strive for. Not just going meal-to-meal, doing the same thing over and over again.” But she didn’t suppose that mattered to Phasoné. The Goddess had lived for centuries. She probably had so many memories that it all blurred into one.

“You’re half correct,” Phasoné said. “God-heirs, when we’re working towards our Godhood, tend to get so wrapped up in advancement. The years blur into decades, and even centuries, and it’s barely living. We stumble from tribulation to trial to cycling chamber and advancement ritual, not really feeling anything. Even if it was only for a few months, I have never felt more alive than I do now, spending my time here with you. And I wouldn’t have wanted it to be with anyone else.”

Vayra stood up slowly, careful not to push Phasoné off too violently. “But…I know what I am. Who I am is more important, isn’t it?”

Phasoné nodded. “Just you being the Mediator didn’t instantly make me care about you.”

Vayra caught an underlying whiff of emotion from that word care, but she couldn’t pinpoint it.

She probably couldn’t say what half of her own feelings meant, though.

“You said something once, about how I was selfish, and that’s it.” Vayra winced. “I’m worried that’s who I am.”

“Why did you come all the way out here? Why keep going once you saved your brother?”

That was a simple answer. “Because I wanted to see the sights I never could before.”

“And why advance so far?”

“Because this stupid war was ruining it all.” Vayra took a step out of the little shed and walked down the slope of the corespace’s central hill. Phasoné trailed behind her. “If I didn’t put an end to it, all my favourite sights would be ruined before I could see them.” She stopped halfway down the slope. “And the kausisia’s visions seemed to agree with me—or they thought the best way to show me my future was to tempt me with the destruction of the natural world.”

Phasoné chuckled. “The kausisia doesn’t have sapience. It doesn’t decide what to show you. It taps into the Stream and looks into the patterns. It senses Fate and shows you a possible future.” She grabbed Vayra’s hand and held it gently. “Just because you want something doesn’t make it evil.”

Vayra turned around, but she didn’t pull away. “Do you believe in fate, Phas? In destiny?”

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“At my Emissary level, I could only take glimpses into the Stream and judge possible futures. But there are so many possible destinies, and it’s impossible to pick one out of the infinite. Everything you do has such far-reaching implications that the mind can’t even fathom it—even if you develop a Bracing technique for your soul and enhance your mind beyond all possibilities.”

“So…”

“So I figure it’s best to glimpse possible futures and make what we can out of it. There may be billions of possibilities, but only one ever happens. In essence, we do what we can, and the cards fall how we make them. We change what we can, and we face destiny with our chins held high.”

Vayra turned her gaze back out across the pond, watching the slowly shifting starlight and ripples on the surface of the water. Flecks of mana and Arcara flowed through the air, following wisps and patterns—she was cycling outside the core, and energy was passing through it.

I can change things.

Vayra’s consciousness was inside the core, but something stirred. It was just a tug, as if her core wanted to expand outwards and her channels wanted to be remade. She tried to cling to it, but it faded.

“Close,” Phasoné said. “We’re almost at the revelation.”

Adair walked a figure-eight between Vayra’s legs, rubbing up against her shins and brushing her with his tail. She bent down and brushed her hands through his fur, just hoping to feel the calming softness.

But more than a wave of calm, he radiated a touch of spiritual energy. It flushed through her channels and up to her mind, washing through with calming clarity. She hadn’t realized her fingers were shaking until they stopped.

“Was that you?” Vayra whispered.

Adair meowed softly.

“Vayra, you say you had reasons for pushing yourself, and that may be true,” Phasoné said. “But I need you to look deeper. No one makes it as far as you did that fast without something else.”

“Something else?”

“A deeper drive to climb. When you look at yourself and strive to be more.”

Vayra chewed her lip for a few seconds. “To be better?”

“Not necessarily.”

More.

Phasoné radiated a simple memory: she sat alone in an empty, tall hall. The walls were made of pale marble with ridges of pulsing, Moulded Arcara interspersed. There were holes and windows, but never any glass in them—it let in a cold wind.

A woman sat at the end of the hall on a clear glass throne. Her hair was white, and she wore a plain, pale robe.

“Mother,” Phasoné had said. “Why? Why keep me here?” She was kneeling in front of the woman.

“How many of my children would seek to abandon our family’s Paths?” the woman demanded. “I have already lost Talock to his plants. Now you seek to craft your own Path and develop a Godly authority over starlight?”

“I want to live outside your shadow. I will bring our family more glory.”

The memory cut off. Phasoné blushed—the memory must not have been shared consciously.

But Vayra knew what she had to do. “I advance because I don’t want to be abandoned anymore. I advance because I don’t want to be a useless little Discarded who people pity and scoff at. I want to be a hero. There. That’s why.”

A wave of relief rolled off Phasoné.

“You’re right,” Vayra whispered. “More, not better.” My Path is me.

“Sometimes the two go hand in hand.” Phasoné walked a circle around Vayra and stopped when she was right in front of it. “You want it. Now believe it. You’ve come so far. Don’t just choose to think about it. Know what you are, know your Path, and you’ll have your revelation.”

Vayra pulled herself out of the corespace. As the little inner world faded, flashes ran through her mind. Her friends, her mentors, all the planets in the galaxy who needed her, and all the Gods who needed to be sent back to where they came from.

When Vayra’s consciousness emerged from the corespace, she opened her eyes. Behind her, on the other side of the glass wall, two guardian golems had emerged, and Nathariel was fighting them. On her side, the door to the guardsmen’s outpost door began to slide open. Larra was pulling it open, fighting against the mana Vayra had used to seal it—and winning.

The thick sheet of wood slid to the side, groaning and shuddering, revealing a trashed chamber behind. The trap golem’s chunks had been scattered all through the room, but it had done its job.

As Larra forced the door open, Vayra stood up. She knew exactly what to say.

“I can matter. I can make a difference. I am the Godscourge.”

Her soul swelled and her willpower automatically expanded outward through her body. Her core sent a pang of energy all the way through her channels, before begging her to suck all the Arcara and mana back into it.

She obeyed. Her energies didn’t just fill the core; they fuelled it and expanded it. They disintegrated into sparks. A wave of force blasted off her body, scouring dust and splinters off the floor. The walls cracked and the control panels splintered, and even Larra, who was now outputting the strength of an Admiral, was pushed back.

“You think that will save you?” Larra exclaimed. “Even if we were at the same stage, you’d still lose!”

A torrent of wind and white sparks absorbed Vayra. She couldn’t see outside it, but she didn’t need to. Her body was remaking itself, refining itself. It expelled a faint sludge of impurities, which evaporated and faded away in the vortex of sparks. The purpose she had crafted for herself before was now hammered into her very form. Body, soul, core. Her channels became more slippery, better for conducting Arcara quickly. Her body stayed lean and fast, and her soul—the source of willpower—turned firm. She envisioned it as a small marble at the top of her neck.

The lines of red feathers along her body peered through the skin, accenting every angle but never overtaking her skin entirely. Her scars faded, and everything seemed to reshape itself—not turning her into a different person, but an enhanced version of what she had been before.

The swirling sparks faded out of the air. Vayra knelt in the center of the floor. Her muscles vibrated, her mind raced, and everything twitched, ready to be used.

She was a brute-slayer, and a brute stood right in front of her.