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 — using Ever never did — 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 get the armor on? The duel’s about to start.”

Naidi snorted again, but she and the other attendants — who, as always, remained perfectly silent — 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 Voidburner 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 — 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 — 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 — 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 — 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 — even before burning had been legal in Talar — 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 — 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 — and fear — 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 — the top of each was a good five yards wide — 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 — 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.

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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.

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, 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 — as Ryla had anticipated — 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 Voidburner, Traegus. A searing Voidburner.”

“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 — 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 — 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 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.