I told them I saw myself standing over Oblivion’s corpse. I spoke of a green horizon, blazing to life and turning Torment to paradise.

I lied. All I see is a throne of pure fire, and me, kneeling before it. I cannot decide if my lies are a mercy, or yet another sign of my coming failure.

-Tyrel Devaroth, circa 2,300 Post Fall of Meridian

Xanala awoke, but her mind didn’t. That was the only way she could explain it. A fog rested over her thoughts, though even that was not a perfect analogy; it was not merely blocking the flow of her mind, it was actively strangling it, as if a soul burner had infused the spirits of the dead into the fog, and now the air lashed against her neck, trying to snap it. Impulses rang like drums in the night, coming from all directions, never strong enough to actually make her move, but enough to keep her distracted.

The chaos of it all was so intense it took her almost an hour after awakening to realize that she was inside a metal room, strapped down to a chair. Slowly, she gained control of her eyes, forcing them to sweep around the room rather than fix on the blue lightbulb above her.

The room was empty. A door waited behind her, but it was made of thick metal, and sealed from the inside. Other than that, there was nothing but her, the chairs, and clean white walls.

I’m in Raerok, she realized. After all that, they captured me anyway.

I gave myself to Oblivion, and he lied.

She screamed, or at least tried to. Through the mental haze, it came out as more of a grunt. Then, closing her eyes and steeling herself, she Reached for Ever.

And found nothing.

Panic rose in her chest. She pushed harder, but still there was just… nothing.

Except…

A voice, muffled and distant. She couldn’t tell what it was saying, but she recognized the timbre of it.

Oblivion was still in her mind.

Shivering, she Reached for Purity. Again, nothing. She hesitated. Then, shaking, she Reached for Void.

A sliver of something, this time. The voice, growing louder, though even now it was barely a whisper.

He will lie to you, Xanala. He wants you for your powers, to help him fulfill his foolish little prophecy. Give yourself to me again, and you will have freedom.

He will lie…

The voice stopped abruptly as the door to Xanala’s cell snapped open. A moment later, a man stepped inside. He wore a red suit with silver trim, cleanly pressed, a captain’s lapel on his left breast. His beard was short and well-trimmed, and a short Surgeblade rested at his side, the hilt embedded with a glowing blue jewel. Xanala’s eyes drifted involuntarily toward that jewel. Strangely, though she could not feel her own powers, she could feel the Surge, a pulsing rhythm in her mind. If she could just draw on it…

He will lie, Oblivion whispered. He has no power to save you, Xanala. He will lie…

She hesitated, and the man spoke before she could decide what to do next.

“Xanala. You’re awake.” He waved a hand, and the door shut behind him. Then he circled around to face her directly, clasping his hands behind his back. He leaned in close, inspecting her face, then nodded.

“Your eyes look like they’ve been through Torment, so the drugging seems to have worked. I would apologize for that, but I don’t feel I have much to apologize for after you tried to kill me.”

Xanala blinked. Tried to… kill him? She had no recollection of this man.

Unless he was referring to the battle in the Undercity. That terrible moment, when she’d lost control.

I’m a murderer now. I let my weakness own me, and lost control.

She closed her eyes. “I am sorry,” she whispered. “I…” She cut off, not knowing what else to say. If this man had been on the dronecopters, then he’d been trying to kill her. Did he really deserve her apology?

Still, she could remember the thoughts of those dying men, clearly now, without Oblivion’s influence on her mind. Their terror condemned her.

“Your apology is appreciated,” the man said. “Though it will not solve any of your problems. You’re lucky you have the scar, honestly. Anyone under Oblivion’s influence this strongly is a danger I’d usually ensure the galaxy doesn’t have to deal with.”

Xanala winced. “I was weak. I lost control. I’m sorry. Please don’t kill me. I know I’m a burner, but surely the Confederacy can find some use for me. I can summon Surges, or… something.” She wilted, realizing how pathetic her plea sounded.

The man frowned. “Interesting,” he muttered. Then he raised his voice again. “You’re not in Confederacy territory, my friend. You have nothing to fear there. I’m a memory burner myself.”

Xanala hesitated, mind still slowed from the drug, though she was getting better at fighting through that. “I’m… not on Xeredon?”

The man snorted. “No, thankfully. We might be under siege, but I’d still rather be here than in that hive of char-cursed cowards.”

“Where am I then? Who are you?”

“You are on Grahala. My name is Alaran Valeo. Before you ask anything more, though, I have some questions for you. Namely, I’d like to know how you ended up under the influence of a god I happen to rather dislike.”

***

Xanala hid nothing from Alaran. She tried, but she couldn’t. He proved early in their conversation that he was, as he said, a memory burner, and called her out every time she tried to avoid telling something. Without her powers, there was no way to conceal her thoughts, so she had no choice but to spill it all. The Testing, her father’s demotion, the betrayal, the fight, the giving in. Everything.

Alaran continued to press her to reveal why she’d tried to kill him. When she insisted she didn’t remember anything of the sort, he claimed he believed her, but continued to press anyway, recalling details from his side of the story in an attempt to jog her memory. Nothing came of it. Where he recalled her attacking in the night with mouth frothing and ablaze with Void, she remembered nothing. He seemed so sure it had happened, though Xanala still doubted. Yes, Oblivion had taken more control than she had expected. But it was entirely possible this man was lying. She didn’t know what he’d have to gain from it, but whether or not he was being honest, he certainly had some sort of ulterior motive. His eyes kept glancing hungrily toward her scar as they talked; her arm had been rolled up to reveal it while she was strapped down.

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“Strange,” Alaran said finally, just after finishing asking a host of questions about her father. He frowned. “I almost sympathize with you. Never thought I’d be able to find common ground with a Shadi, but here we are.”

“I’m not a Shadi,” Xanala said softly. “Whatever that is, I’m not it.” It seemed the right thing to say, or, at least, the thing Alaran wanted to hear.

Alaran snorted. “You don’t trust me. Well, that was apparent enough, even without your echoes. I cannot say I trust you either. Though you are right on one thing, I suppose. You aren’t a Shadi; I misspoke. You are, potentially, something more dangerous. A pure servant of Oblivion, capable only of doing his will.”

Xanala felt heat rise in her stomach, and when she spoke, it wasn’t just to please Alaran this time. “No. I don’t serve him. I gave in one time, when he caught me off guard. But he lied. He didn’t free me, he chained me. And I will never make that mistake again.”

“Your conscious mind may not,” Alaran agreed, “but I fear that, when you say he chained you, you are more right than you think.

“Oblivion has seared his way into something called your Identity, Xanala. Long story short, he has full control over you, and at least partial control over your connections to the Powers. That, I think, is why you do not remember trying to kill me. The part of you that is not controlled by him, the part of you that is in control now, was not at all active during your attempt on my life. You were nothing more than a machine in that instant, controlled completely by Oblivion.”

Xanala tensed. “I… you mean he can just…” She stared down at her muscles, beginning to tremble. “No. No. I’m free. I got away. I got away!”

Alaran pursed his lips. “You have left the heat of the battle only to enter the fires of Torment, I fear.” He shook his head. “You should have known better than to give Oblivion power. I… well, it is done. And there is still hope, I think. I hope that there is hope.”

I’m not possessed right now, Xanala thought. He has to be wrong. He has to be. She looked up at Alaran.

“You’re lying.”

Alaran raised an eyebrow. “I’m not…”

“You’re lying!”

He was. He had to be. Just like her father. Just like every searing person who had ever pretended to care. She Reached again.

This time she felt something. Distant, but there, a light shining in a void of darkness. She willed herself toward it.

And the darkness twisted around the light, snuffing it out. A voice rumbled in her mind, soft and terribly inviting.

He has suppressed your abilities. You will need me…

She almost gave in to the voice, again. She would have, if given enough time, but for just a moment, she hesitated. As she did, a bright flash of blue blazed in the room, and Xanala felt herself slam backward against her restraints, an invisible force pushing her down. As her eyes adjusted to the burst of light, she made out Alaran, glowing like a Beacon of old, a sword of pure, glowing azure crystal in his hand. He leveled it at Xanala.

“You will not Reach,” he said firmly. “If you try to access the Powers, I will kill you, scar or not.”

“You don’t control me,” Xanala mumbled. With him towering over her, she could not bring herself to do more than mumble.

“No. And I do not wish to, no matter what lies the Enemy may whisper. But I will not risk creating an unchecked servant of Oblivion by sparing you.” He relaxed. “The only reason he isn’t controlling you right now is me, Xanala. I risked myself to create a ward around your mind, even as you tried to slit my throat, all so you could have a chance of regaining your sanity. Do not make me regret that decision.”

Xanala still felt the hot fire of anger rushing through her veins, somehow far stronger than she had ever felt it, but she restrained it. She knew how to be angry without being brash. She knew how to hate the world, but not expose herself, instead plotting for years and years for a coup against it….

A coup that would never come.

The thought turned the anger to grief, and she felt her muscles relax in defeat. No coup. No new life, no freedom. It was all a lie. Always had been.

Yes, Xanala knew how to restrain anger. She had been angry with her father her whole life, but because she loved him, she had ignored it. She had hated him, but had been his pup, licking at his feet and begging for water.

No longer, she decided. I’m in this for me now. No one else.

I survive, no matter the cost.

“I apologize. I do not wish to intimidate you. There is simply too much at stake for me to be vague.” He let out a shaky breath. “But as I said, I believe there is still hope.”

“I don’t want your hope,” Xanala said. “I want to be free.”

A sad smile crossed Alaran’s face. “That is true for all of us, I believe. We forget sometimes that hope is the precursor to freedom.” He paused, face contemplative, then continued. “I can’t cast Oblivion out from you completely, not on my own, but that must be our goal. Do you agree?”

He is trying to use you, Oblivion said, his response almost immediately. Look at the way he stares at your scar…

“I don’t want to be the Endowed,” Xanala said. “I don’t.”

“You shouldn’t want to be the Endowed,” Alaran said. “It is a terrible burden. But you are the Endowed, regardless of your preferences.”

“Just because I have the scar doesn’t mean I’m the Endowed.”

“No, not necessarily. But you can wield all Three Powers. Oblivion speaks in your mind. He’s targeted you specifically, and it’s likely he’s been manipulating your father too. The Shadi are getting closer to freeing him, as the prophecies say they will when the Endowed comes. So maybe you are not the Endowed. But I believe the chances are slim.”

“I’m not.”

“Maybe. But if you are, then you will face much harder than this, young friend. The Tower is clear on that much, and it is never wrong.”

Xanala felt tears rising in her eyes, accompanied by a thick layer of despair from Oblivion within her. “I just wanted to be done.” She found her voice breaking. “I thought I could stop worrying, for once. And then…”

You’re weak. You always have been!

“And then your father betrayed you,” Alaran said. His voice was soft, gentle. The way her father’s should have been, but wasn’t. For a moment, she almost thought she could trust him.

Only for a moment.

“I know what that feels like,” he continued. “Too well. All too well.” He met her eyes. “I can help you, if you like. I can teach you how to resist Oblivion, and how to cope with what has happened to you. In short, how to be free. But I cannot do it if you do not let me help you. So, what do you say?”

Xanala held his gaze, staring into his eyes. One part of her trying to find the deception she knew had to be there. Another part of her praying that maybe, just maybe, this man was the first person she’d ever met who wasn’t a liar. Oblivion, for once, was silent, though he pressed hard on her emotions, flooding her with irrational fear that made her hands tighten within her restraints.

“What if I don’t?” she asked. What if I can’t?

Alaran’s face fell. “I… do not know.” His voice grew distant, as if he were speaking only to himself. “I cannot let Oblivion have another tool, yet he already has such an upper hand, it almost doesn’t matter…” He shook his head, straightening. “The Tower does not lie. I must be strong. I will give you time, Xanala Erdor, to decide. You will be accompanied by guards, and I will be close, but for one day I can afford to release you from your bands. At sundown tomorrow, I will have more answers for you.” He bowed to her. “It has been good to meet you; the real you, for once. I hope I can help you find the freedom you desire.”

No answer, Xanala noted. That means he probably will kill me if I don’t tell him yes.

He left, though he glanced back as he did, eyes full of concern as the door shut behind him. The terrible fear from Oblivion subsided, though it still throbbed in her chest. Xanala rested her head against the back of her restraints, closing her eyes. Twitching her finger, wishing she could run away.

Knowing that she couldn’t.