There shall come a day when they are born, stronger than all before them,

Endowed by the Powers themselves.

They shall rule the throne of death, and all shall bow to their scepter.

Their enemies shall crumble before them.

Nations shall they raise up, nations shall they destroy, all according to the will of the Powers.

They shall unite the Three Powers in glory,

And end all suffering.

-The Prophecy of Ever, as written in the Book of Eternity of the Church of Meridian

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 – Ever couldn’t heal physical wounds – 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 – and it likely was, knowing Larsh – 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 – 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.

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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 – 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 – 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 – Yaenke was a master swordsman – 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.