I wish I could say confidently that we were right. That Nathazar will, as prophesied, destroy Oblivion, once and for all. As we prepare for our assault on the Tomb, the people look to me for affirmation of his divinity.

I cannot give them what they seek. The truth is, I do not know. No man can, save the Tower give him the knowledge.

I worry, though, that we give him too much credit. He has ambition, and he is clever, and his heart is good, but I worry still.

-E’vin Yaenke, circa 1,300 Post Fall of Meridian

Ryla drifted in the realm of souls. Her body was sound asleep in the real world, and only a small piece of her was here, manifesting as a tangled mess of ribbons of green light, vaguely humanoid, with a face and appendages that were clearly supposed to be limbs.

Fear gripped her chest, stronger in this place, as she took in her surroundings. She was hovering a few feet above the peak of a jagged, basalt mountain. On almost all sides of her, more mountains rose, some taller than hers, some shorter, but all weaving into each other to form a tapestry of waving hills that stretched farther than the eye could see. In one direction, the slope cut down sharply into a caldera-shaped valley. The valley itself was mostly barren, full of smoldering rock, but in its center stood a glistening, castle-like fortress, made of pure stone, a thousand red lights shining out into the cold night air.

The Tomb of Souls, it was called. Dareth Guur. The stronghold of Oblivion.

She found herself drifting down toward the highest tower of the structure. She fought against whatever force pulled her, thrashing, cursing, but it did no good. Within moments, she found herself sucked through the window, then deposited into a stone chamber.

The room was larger than it seemed it should have been from the outside. In fact, as Ryla turned back to where she had come, she found the window gone, replaced by a solid wall, and behind her, the chamber extended into what seemed to be an endless hallway. The floor was made of slick stone, stained a dirty crimson. The walls were made of metal, though it had a rough, sporadic texture, as if the substance had been melted into a sludge and splattered outward to solidify. There was no ceiling, only hovering dark mist, though pillars of human skulls held up the mist, plastered together with tar. Shivering, she turned to face forward again, and found what she always found.

A man sat on a spiked throne, which itself sat several feet higher than Ryla, elevated by a set of circular stairs. Men and women, half made of flesh, half made of red mist, knelt before the throne, bowing repeatedly and moaning cries that sounded like pleas for mercy, but whose words were unintelligible. Upon the throne was Oblivion himself, his eyes closed, his head laid back, perfectly still save for the rise and fall of his chest. Slowly, his eyes opened as Ryla stepped back.

“You are here. Good. Cyrla is loyal, but much has been lost since the Imprisonment. I worried she would not be able to pull you through as Traegus has in the past.”

Ryla stepped back, whimpering. Oblivion rose from his chair. He waved a hand, and the people worshipping him puffed away, screaming as they did. He strode toward Ryla, and as she tried to retreat backward, she felt a force clamp down on her shoulders, locking her in place.

The dark god continued until he was directly in front of Ryla’s face, as if he were about to kiss her, though his expression was grim and he stared deep into her barely-formed eyes, his own glowing with a deep, fiery light.

“The Tower insists it cannot see your fate,” he whispered, as if to himself. “It has lied before, but in this I think it has been truthful. It sees the effects of your choices on others, but it cannot see you, and neither can I. I would be less concerned by this, but I have seen that you will cross paths with Xanala soon. Very soon.” He leaned forward.

“I have tortured you in the past, hoping to make you my servant. I see now that this is the wrong tactic.” He stepped back, then seized Ryla’s head.

“You will not break, I think, not yet. But all men can be predicted, if you know them well enough. Know who they are, and you know how they will act.”

He smiled, and Ryla felt a subtle pain begin to pound in her skull — not just here, but in the physical realm, too. Oblivion smiled.

“Do not worry, this will not hurt. You will not remember any of this, when you return. But I must know, Ryla Magala.

“Who are you?”

***

Ryla awoke with a start, sweat pouring down her forehead. She bolted upright, shaking, almost instinctively snapping her eyes shut and Reaching for Ever. In her panic, the thoughts proved to be too much, and she failed to relive them, her eyes flashing back open, her heart rate increasing. She swept her gaze over her room, and found nothing. Slowly, she forced her breathing to steady, and her pounding pulse slowed. Shaking her head, she swung her legs over the side of her mattress, wiping the sweat off her forehead with her hand.

What was that? There had been a dream involved, she was sure of that. It had been about… been about…

She frowned, then shrugged. It didn’t matter. She rose from her bed, walking over to her wardrobe, then slipped back into one of her many Talar military uniforms, carefully straightening the wrinkles in the carbon fiber. Once that was done, she retrieved her holoscreen from atop a dresser. A message waited on it:

To Grahala. Meet me on the Dawnslayer. Now.

She sighed, but the message was from Larsh, so there was no way out of it. She strapped her blade and dagger onto her belt, then immediately left to go take her personal cruiser to Grahala.

***

A few hours later, Ryla waited in the observatory of Larsh’s flagship — aptly named Dawnslayer — watching a battle for a heavily-shielded refinery unfold in the wheat field below. Talar men dropped by the dozens, sniped time after time by entrenched Grahalans, but they were gaining ground, if slowly, and if only through sheer force of numbers. Ryla itched to light up with Ever and join the fray, but Larsh had expressly forbidden her. So she waited, glancing nervously at the clock on her holoscreen. Larsh was late.

A man in a general’s uniform stood beside her, dictating orders to lesser officers who sat behind him in rows, relaying commands and other information to one another, to the general, and out through comms channels to those in the field. No one seemed to notice Ryla standing there, even when she closed her eyes to light up her skin with trace amounts of Ever.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

An explosion rocked the field below. Bodies went flying. Flames roared, consuming crops all around the refinery, burning away enough food to feed dozens of families.

I will stop this, Ryla thought, hands tightening into fists, her heart pounding fast. I need to stop this.

Kairus will not die here.

Pneumatics hissed, and she turned around to see Larsh stepping into the room. Finally. The officers did acknowledge her, eyes drifting toward the false scar on her forehead, and several bowed.

“Erak’assala,” they whispered. “Praise the Endowed.”

Larsh ignored their prayers, walking straight to Ryla and the general. The general, too, turned, and the two exchanged words about a potential strike force making its way through tunnels below the refinery. Larsh shot down the idea immediately, noting that a few well-placed grenades could cave the entire mine in.

“I don’t want to incentivize them to damage the refinery in any way; they’ll likely try it even if we don’t encourage them. Keep pushing forward. Their line will break eventually.”

The general nodded. “It shall be as you say, Cunning One.” He turned back to the battle as Larsh turned to Ryla, lips pursed. She studied Ryla with a critical eye.

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…

It took everything Ryla had not to wilt before her gaze.

Finally, Larsh turned, then gestured toward the battle below.

“Thoughts?”

Ryla pursed her lips. “Well, we should be fighting with them.”

“A memory burner cannot always be fighting,” Larsh said — though Ryla had not so much as dueled an infantryman the entire day. “Besides, you need to learn tactics, yes?”

Ryla hesitated, then sighed. “Fine.” She frowned. “I don’t know why we aren’t caving in those tunnels, frankly. If we hit them hard enough, wouldn’t the whole refinery collapse?”

“It would.”

“So… why not? It’s an easy victory.” And one that doesn’t cost any of our men their lives.

The barest hint of a smile crossed Larsh’s lips. “I suspect you know why. And it makes you uncomfortable.”

Ryla felt a chill run up her spine — not an uncommon feeling when talking with her warlord master. “We want the refinery,” she said softly. “It’s more valuable than our men.”

“Indeed.” Larsh cocked an eyebrow. “You’re not protesting.”

Ryla bit the inside of her lip angrily, restraining a retort.

You wouldn’t listen, no matter what I say.

“It is good that you care about the men,” Larsh said. “But caring for someone will not produce results, even results for their well being. The best way you can truly care for someone, Ryla, is to sacrifice. For a relationship between two individuals, that can mean time, or money, or emotional connection. For the galaxy at large, though, the cost of caring is often paid in blood.”

Ryla forced herself to keep silent. She’d heard this lecture a thousand times. Each time it went the same.

“You are to be my heir,” Larsh continued. “I have no children, and no House. When I have finished my work, I will let myself die, Ryla. It will be your job to make certain what I have crafted remains. This is why I teach you politics, philosophy, tactics, rather than just memory burning.”

“I know,” Ryla said. And I won’t be anything like you. That I promise.

Larsh glanced over at her, and Ryla cursed beneath her breath. She hadn’t been Infused with any Ever in that moment. A foolish lapse, one that could have cost her far too much. Larsh frowned.

“It is good you do not think the way I do. If all goes to plan, you will not have to make such choices when you are Cunning One. But I cannot guarantee such fortune. You must be willing to make the hard decisions, Ryla. Choices between tradition and humanity. Between safety and achievement. You have dodged these things for too long.”

She straightened. “You have been doing well in your memory burner training. You excel well above your peers, and you have almost mastered the First Power.” She turned, meeting Ryla’s eyes, and Ryla felt a sinking pit open in her stomach as she realized what was coming next.

“There is only one logical way to continue your instruction. You are Connected to the Third Power, yet you do not use that capability. It is time we remedy that.”

Ryla growled, and this time, she didn’t force her anger back. “I told you no! I’ve told you no every time, and you still…”

Her mouth slammed close, and she noticed that Larsh was glowing with blue light now. Filth! How did Larsh Reach so well without closing her eyes? She shook with anger, but the Ever held her in place, and facing Larsh’s glowing figure, she couldn’t muster enough boldness to light up with power herself.

“This is not up for debate. I understand your reservations, and they are valid. As evidenced by your… unfortunate encounters with your mother, Void is incredibly dangerous if not handled properly. But your mother is an unsupervised Soulcursed, while I am a soul burner with years of experience. I will give you two more days to prepare yourself before we begin. After that, we train.”

The hold on her mouth loosened, and Ryla let out a hiss. “And what will you do if I don’t let you?”

A distant expression came over Larsh’s face. “Your brother is in the army,” she said softly. “Should you disobey, there will be… consequences for him.”

Ryla paled. “You wouldn’t.”

“I think that, based on our previous conversation, that you know that I most certainly would.” Ryla shivered, and Larsh seemed to notice the gesture, her eyes twinkling darkly. “Yes, this will be a good way to teach you this lesson. Your moral code demands that you avoid using the Third Power. But you also feel for your brother. Will you inflict pain on him, to uphold your own sense of justice?” Larsh nodded grimly. “A perfect way to teach this indeed.”

“I won’t give in,” Ryla hissed. “Using Void is always wrong, no matter how it benefits the war. The ends don’t justify the means.”

“Then your brother will suffer.” Larsh met Ryla’s eyes. “And in allowing it, you put the ends above the means, too.” She waved a hand. “You are dismissed. Traegus is waiting for you; you’re on duty today. I have nothing further to say.”

“I’m not going to…”

“You are dismissed, child. Don’t make me question crowning you my heir.” She waved. Two guards, equipped with toxin staffs, stepped between her and Ryla. Ryla hesitated a moment, then turned and left, heart pounding.

Void. She shivered, hand drifting up to her cheek, where the cut from her scuffle earlier remained. Red lines writhed around her, and no amount of focus dispelled them.

You still have two days, she reminded herself, to find a way out of this. She threw the hood of her cloak over her head, and raced away to her ship, trying to conceal the raw panic plastered across her face.

She’d been afraid this day would come. It was time to set plans in motion.