I have seen my fate. I have felt it. I know why I will do what I will do.

But oh God Above, why must I do it?

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

Ryla watched as the strange Ethean slave — Perelor, she assumed — ran, ducking into a narrow alleyway. She shook her head. Coward. She’d saved him and his men two times today, and all he could do was cry?

Turning, she swept her eyes over the street, making sure no snipers waited for her. She was carefully and steadily burning Ever, creating a field around her that would push against any unexpected plasma attack, but it never hurt to be careful.

Fortunately, there was no one; she’d taken care of the nearby Grahalan force earlier. In fact, most of the enemy resistance in this area had been quashed. Once the Surgewielders had fallen to Ryla, and their weapons had been recovered by Vyrus’ men, they hadn’t stood a chance. This should have been an easy battle for Arrus.

Yet, there had been the Voidling. And Arrus, though alive, was badly injured. She made her way over to him, hoisting him to sit beside the wall of a nearby building. He winced as she moved him, but no groan or murmur escaped his lips, despite clear fractures in both his legs. Her cousin was a far braver person than he gave himself credit for.

“Ryla,” he gasped as she began inspecting the wounds. “Good timing.”

“Good eyes,” Ryla corrected. “I’ve been watching you since I got done dealing with the Surgewielders.” She met Arrus’ eyes, forcing a playful smile onto her lips. “Hiding in a building, huh?”

“New girl’s idea,” Arrus chuckled. “Backfired awfully quick when that… thing came, though.” He frowned. “Are you alright?”

Sear him, asking her if she was alright, when he was the one with the broken leg. “I’m fine,” she lied. In truth, her mind was still racing, clawing toward any way out of Larsh’s ultimatum.

But, right now, her cousin needed her. One of the few family members who had ever cared. She stood.

“Where’s your Captain?” Supposedly, the man had a healing Surge, though she didn’t know his name.

Arrus frowned. “Oh. Where is Perelor?”

At that moment, another slave approached, a red-haired Herreon woman in black-and-orange Miradoran robes. She was unscathed, though the faint glow of Purity on her skin told Ryla that she likely had not been moments before. She gestured to Arrus.

“May I?”

Ryla stepped aside, letting out a relieved breath as the woman knelt beside Arrus and healed him. Well, mostly. She managed to get the fractures, but the cuts and bruises remained, her Purity spent before she could fix the more minor details. She rose to her feet at the same time as Arrus, then stepped away, muttering to herself. Ryla caught something about a plan, but nothing else. The woman’s eyes were wide and she was trembling; Ryla couldn’t help but wonder if the battle had taken her sanity along with her captain’s. Also, how did she have a healing Surge? If she remembered correctly, only Arrus and Perelor were allowed Surges here.

No matter. She was just here for her cousin. The rest… well, there was nothing she could do. Yet.

If you ally with Cyrla, you could get Arrus out of this hole faster…

She ignored the thought, turning to Arrus. “Hunker down. You’ve done enough today.”

Arrus winced, trying to rise. “Shal Cyrla said…”

“I’ll take care of Cyrla.” The words came out as a snap, and Ryla forced herself to relax. “Sorry. That wasn’t because of you, it’s just… been a long day.”

Arrus chuckled dryly. “That it has.” He reached out, giving her a hug. “I’m going to help the others, and find Perelor. Thank you.”

Ryla squeezed him back, then let go, but her eyes followed him as he wandered off towards the mangled corpses of those fallen to the Voidling.

He was a good man. She wished he wasn’t so insistent on staying here, rather than swearing to her as a slave to House Larsh. But then, his persistence was what made him a good man.

When Larsh is overthrown, she noted, you could dissolve these squadrons with a wave of your hand. Arrus would never have to bleed a drop again.

That thought, and the thought of her brother, drove her forward. She turned, lit up with more Ever, then shot into the sky.

It was time to meet with Cyrla.

***

Flames.

Blood.

Screams.

Rubble.

And the blade…

Perelor’s hand twitched toward the dagger on his belt. The dagger he’d never once given up, even when Talar guards had tried to yank it from his beaten hands. Even when Larsh had ordered him to stop using it, he had defied her. It was the one time he’d ever gotten her to cave.

Yes, even when he so desperately wished he could throw that dagger as far away from him as he could, he kept it on his belt. Never more than an arm’s length away, in case he needed it.

He needed it now. His hand kept twitching toward it as he trembled, his back against a cement wall, his eyes closed. He prayed no one had followed him. Prayed no one could see the tears streaming down his face. If no one was watching, he could use the dagger, and those tears would cease. The pit in his stomach would turn numb.

Flames.

Blood.

Screams.

Rubble…

Memories writhed in his mind. Dina, his friend, blown to bits because, in his haste, he hadn’t summoned a large enough shield. Arrus’ mother, sliding to the ground in much the same way as the blade that had just slid across her throat.

His father, staring up with charred eye sockets. All dead, because Perelor was too weak.

It was too much; he did not care if Ithrey herself was watching. He ripped the blade free, and began to cut.

***

Ithrey had seen carnage many times, and she had seen it long before the invasion on Mirador had claimed so many of her friends and so much of her peace. Yet there was something different about the wreckage caused by a Voidling.

It looked much the same. As she stepped into the shop, she found broken chairs, crushed tables, and, strewn among them, equally crushed and broken people. Still, shaking and shocked, she let her eyes dart about the rubble, searching for any hints of movement from the fallen.

There were none.

If Alaran were here, they would have lived..

Her shoulders slumped. She looked behind her, at the towering buildings that flanked her on either side. She felt so small sometimes. Today more than ever. All her planning, all her knowledge, and it had barely been enough to keep her alive. No, it hadn’t kept her alive. The Talar memory burner had done that.

So unbearably small.

Just find your way to Alaran, she reminded herself. He’ll handle it from there. There was no time to worry. Only time to plan.

She turned away from the ravaged restaurant, folding her arms behind her back and pacing back and forth across the street. She tried to keep a careful eye on their surroundings — who knew when an ambush could strike — but thankfully, it seemed the battle had moved to other corners of the city. Slowly, her mind wandered.

She couldn’t decide if she’d been too brazen when she’d disrupted the Talar comms. She didn’t like Perelor calling her out, but the man had a valid point; if she pushed Cyrla too hard, she’d end with her neck in a noose. Still, she saw no other way to keep her men alive — and that did matter, whatever Krot said.

Perelor. She felt indignant anger rise in her throat as she thought of him. Shouting at her as if she’d committed some unforgivable sin for succeeding at something he was too afraid to attempt. They would’ve lived, if not for the Voidling. All of them. That was far more than he could say of his own work.

She’d need to deal with him. The man couldn’t have much sanity left; that outburst of his proved it. Would she have to kill him? She didn’t relish the idea, but the man was effectively a Talar agent.

No. I’m not that desperate. I could try appealing to Honor. He is Ethean… doesn’t behave like it, but he is.

“Ithrey!”

She turned, bracing herself for more harsh words from Perelor, but to her surprise, she saw the young Talar boy, the one who wielded the Ever Surge, rushing toward her. Arrus. He was not wearing the blade, and he still had a nasty bruise on his forehead, but he seemed well enough that Ithrey dismissed the idea of healing him further, just in case Perelor’s ranting had some truth to it. Leaving the smaller wounds might make the lack of larger ones less suspicious. His eyebrows were creased, and his hands shook, but she could see a glint in his expression. A curiosity that his superior so distinctly lacked.

Perelor was concerned about this man, Ithrey noted. They seemed familiar with each other. If I can convince him, maybe the captain will follow.

“Hey,” Arrus said. His hand shook, and his cheeks kept twitching randomly, though his eyes were sharply focused on Ithrey. He extended out his hand, swallowing. “Name’s Arrus Yral. I don’t think we got a proper introduction.”

Ithrey took the hand, twisting it firmly — a Talar greeting. “That we did not. Name’s Ithrey Valeo. High General of Mirador.” She winced. “Well, I was.”

Arrus seemed unimpressed by the title, letting go of her hand, his expression unchanging. Odd. “Listen,” he said. “I want to apologize for Perelor’s behavior. He’s… well, he’s not the most stable, for one. But he’s not usually like that.” He smiled wryly. “Even if someone’s trying to take over.”

Ithrey snorted. “I’m not trying to take control. I simply want to make a more efficient…”

Arrus raised a hand. “We don’t need to pretend. It’s happened a couple times before. Honestly, I’m less surprised you’re trying this and more surprised Perelor cares.” He met her eyes. “Though that brings me to my real question,” he continued, voice growing softer. “What happened? He was ordered to kill you.”

Ithrey raised an eyebrow. “Would you have preferred he followed through?”

“I’m not saying that,” Arrus said hastily. “But… well, people have tried mutiny before, but none of them have had a healing Surge. And Perelor didn’t react to any of them like he is now, either.” He twitched uncomfortably. “So who are you?”

Much more forward than Perelor, Ithrey thought. And much more naive. The boy was actually waiting expectantly, as if she’d just tell it all simply because he’d asked.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

She hesitated. What do I tell him? Not everything. But he seems earnest. Maybe…

“I seek the Endowed.” She regretted the words the moment they slipped out of her mouth; she should have planned when to reveal that, not just spat it out. But, thankfully, Arrus’ eyes widened, and he perked up.

“So you’re after Perelor’s sister then?”

Ithrey frowned. “I… who?”

“Oh, right, he probably hasn’t told you. Eliel Krot, she’s Perelor’s sister. She’s the Endowed. At least that’s what he always says. He’s looking for her, do you…”

The boy was speaking faster than Ithrey could process, clearly caught up in his excitement, but Ithrey placed a hand on his shoulder, and he halted.

“Eliel who? I don’t know any Eliel.”

“His sister,” Arrus repeated. “She declared herself the Endowed.” His face fell. “It was a while ago, and Perelor hasn’t seen her for a few years, but it has to be her. Do you know where she is?”

His sister declared herself the Endowed? There’s more to this man than I thought. “I don’t,” Ithrey said flatly. “Probably, at least. Slow down, and tell me more.”

He shouldn’t have told her anything; the boy barely knew her name. He told her everything regardless. How Perelor’s sister had declared herself, how it had resulted in Larsh attacking Ethea, and how both of the Krot siblings had been enslaved and eventually separated.

“He doesn’t like to talk about that night,” Arrus finished. “But he’s been looking for her since. Stealing datatapes, and such.” He blanched as he realized what he’d just said. “But, er, don’t tell anyone I said that…”

“Don’t worry,” Ithrey said idly, mind racing. “I, for one, won’t be reporting anyone to the Talar.”

Is there a way to use this?

And could his sister actually be the Endowed?

She suspected the answer to the second question was no. According to Arrus, Perelor’s sister was older than the man himself was, and Perelor couldn’t be younger than twenty-five. Alaran had spoke of the Endowed as a young girl. The rest of his description had been vague, so it was possible they were the same person, but not likely.

Yet, regardless, the answer to the first question was a resounding yes.

“I think,” she said to Arrus, “that I need to talk to Captain Krot.”

***

Ryla’s eyes drifted toward the fighting on the far side of the city, well away from her, but tempting nonetheless. She wished she could lose herself in the contest, rather than do what she now had to. Red lines of light kept flickering around her, too many to ignore, and she shivered.

Allying with a Void burner, so I can get away from using Void. What has the galaxy come to?

What have I come to?

A mess, she knew. She’d have to make compromises to fix both the galaxy and herself. It was something she’d always known, even if she hadn’t wanted to admit it.

She turned her gaze away from the fighting, and back toward the Talar encampments on the other side of the city. Burning Ever, she raced toward them, the wind whipping against her face. The Talar ships headed toward the fighting steered well clear of her, and within moments, she was falling toward the ground, burning more Ever to gradually slow her descent, until her feet sank softly into the loose ground.

It did not take her long to find Cyrla; the woman kept a giant flag with her House runes flying over her hut. She noticed most of the nearby tents were empty; it seemed the other slave squadrons were also recording.

Do I really want this?

She hesitated, then steeled herself. If she went through with this, she’d just have to kill Cyrla, too; it wouldn’t be hard, after she had control of the rest of the nation. If she went through with it.

She arrived at Cyrla’s makeshift hut, hesitated again, then, scowling, knocked. There was a hasty clatter inside, and then the door cracked open. Cyrla blinked in surprise. Her expression quickly morphed to contempt, then to an open, inviting smile, all fast enough Ryla barely caught it.

Filthy politicians. Dealing with Cyrla would be a nightmare.

“Shal Magala! I did not expect you.” She stepped out of the hut, slamming the door shut behind her. “What bring you here?”

She smiled again, and, her gut sinking, Ryla realized the woman knew exactly why Ryla was here. Well, best to get right to it, then. She cleared her throat.

“I’m here to discuss your… offer.”

Cyrla raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I’m not saying I’ll take it,” Ryla said. “I just want to talk. That’s it.”

“I see,” Cyrla said, her smile not falling one bit. “Well, we can talk then. What is it you wish to know?”

“How?”

“Excuse me?”

“How do you plan to get rid of Larsh? How exactly do you think you can pull that off?”

I’ve been trying for years, she added silently. And nothing has worked. Nothing will work.

Nothing, at least, that I can do on my own.

“That,” Cyrla said, “is not information I can give you unless you join us.”

“Us. So there’s more than just you.” She already knew about Traegus, but it occurred to her at that moment there could be even more than the two of them.

“A few more, yes.”

Ryla studied the other woman’s face. “Who?”

“That is another thing I can’t tell you.” Cyrla shook her head, still smiling, but clearly annoyed. “You really should just commit, my friend. There is very little else I can tell you. What I have told you is risky enough.”

“I’m not committing yet,” Ryla growled. “I told you that.”

“You did.” Cyrla snorted. “But you’ve decided already. I see it in your eyes.” She leaned in close, closer than Ryla would have usually felt comfortable with, studying Ryla. “She asked you to start studying Void, didn’t you?”

Ryla paled. “I… how?” she hissed.

“You wear your emotions more flippantly than you realize,” Cyrla said simply. That stupid grin still sat plastered on her face. “I don’t even need my powers to read you.” She turned away. “When you are ready to admit defeat, tell me. I, of all people, understand why one would want to avoid wielding the Third Power.” She opened the door, slid inside, then shut it, all before Ryla could respond.

Ryla stood gawking at the door for a long moment, then huffed. That hadn’t helped anything. How was she supposed to back a mutiny if she didn’t even know what the plan was?

It was always a risk, she reminded herself. This is just a little more of a chance.

Was. She was thinking as if she’d already made the decision, she realized. That filth Cyrla was actually right about her. Okron, she hated the woman. Waltzing about wielding Void was bad enough, but she had to go about wearing that insufferable smile, always reminding everyone of her power…

She’s my only way out of this, though.

Growling, she turned away, mind still racing. To overthrow Larsh, or obey her and risk insanity?

Okron, why couldn’t she just decide? Usually she was excellent at being impulsive. Yet today, with both options terrible as they were, she was freezing up.

There was one other place that might help her, though. She hated it. But it always gave her a sense of clarity. She closed her eyes, refreshing her supply of Ever with the thoughts of nearby soldiers, then rose back into the sky to find her personal cruiser.

***

The tiny reserve of Purity in Perelor’s Surge ran out, and he dropped the blade, burning the last of it to seal the wound on his arm. At least, part of it. Dozens of smaller cuts still dripped blood onto his uniform. He hadn’t bothered to try and keep the cloth clean; it was already soaked from the fight with the Voidling.

He leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. He’d stopped sobbing, finally. That was good. He’d already made a fool of himself, but at least they hadn’t caught him crying. If he waited long enough for his Surge to recharge, he could heal his wounds, apologize to Ithrey, and pretend this never happened.

It won’t work, though. That Voidling is still out there. That much he was sure of. The creature would be weakened, but not dead. And even a weakened Voidling would kill him easily, now that he couldn’t memory burn.

Not that he didn’t deserve death, pitiful wretch he was.

Hands still trembling, he groaned, hauling himself to his feet, steadying himself with one palm against the wall until his legs fell still enough he could stand. He crouched, picked up the dagger on the floor, dropped it, then stilled his hands enough he got the weapon back into its sheath. A bit of his Purity had replenished, and he used to seal the gashes that were bleeding the worst. His head still swam from the blood he’d already lost, but at least the problem wouldn’t get much worse now. He could find some dirt, or some other source of carbon, and use his Surge to make more blood later.

He sucked in a deep breath, then started walking toward the others. Then stopped abruptly as Ithrey rounded the corner.

He didn’t recognize her at first, in her ruffled black-and-orange uniform, and instinctively his hand snapped to his side, ripping the dagger back out of its sheath, the blade still dripping with his own blood. He held it out in a trembling hand, then, realizing who it was, he cursed and stuffed it back on his belt. A moment later, Arrus stepped out behind Ithrey, wringing his hands behind his back. Something the boy often did when he was nervous.

“You,” Perelor grunted. “What do you want now?” Part of him knew he should apologize, but he was startled enough he didn’t care.

“Ithrey has a proposition for you,” Arrus said.

“For the both of you,” Ithrey corrected. “Though Arrus has already accepted.” She met Perelor’s eyes. “I want you to help me — help all of us — escape.”

Perelor growled. “I told you, woman…”

Ithrey raised a hand, interrupting him, eyes ablaze. “I’m not doing this for me. And I’m not doing it for you, either. I’m doing it because I have been tasked with saving the Endowed. She’s trapped here, on Grahala, with my brother.”

Perelor had already opened his mouth to shout another angry retort, but as Ithrey’s words set in, his anger died on his lips. “The Endowed… did you say a she?”

It can’t be. I’ve waited too long. It’s never going to happen, don’t get your hopes up…

“My brother describes her as a young girl,” Ithrey said. “I don’t know how young he meant, in truth, but he said it was a girl. With the scar.”

“It might be your sister,” Arrus said. “It really might be, Perelor!”

Perelor tensed, heart pounding. “I… are you sure?”

“I am.”

Perelor seized Ithrey’s shoulder. “Your brother, you said. Do you trust him? Is my sister safe with him?”

Ithrey shook his hand aside. “I trust my brother more than anyone I’ve ever known. I’d trust him to keep her safe more than even myself.” Her voice softened. “But I must warn you, this girl may not be your sister. I was not give don’t have a very thorough description…”

Perelor ignored her, eyes whipping to Arrus. “Is she lying?”

“I don’t think so,” Arrus said. “I mean, I can’t read echoes, but… well, she seems earnest. I really think it’s her, Perelor. I can’t think of anyone else it could be, at least. You said Eliel had the scar, right?”

“Yeah,” Perelor said softly. “She did. She did have the scar.”

He stepped back, excitement mixing with shock mixing with fear. They were telling the truth. They had to be. Arrus wouldn’t fake him out, not with something like this, that much Perelor knew. And Ithrey… well, having to save the Endowed was a burden Perelor could sympathize with. It would certainly explain her intensity.

He had a chance. No more looking, no more uncertainty. He had a real chance. He’d prayed for this day for five years.

Except…

Flames.

Blood.

Screams.

Rubble.

And that blade, calling him, whispering terrible things….

“You said we needed to escape?” he whispered.

“Yes,” Ithrey replied.

“And the Talar would chase us,” he muttered.

“Probably.”

Excitement. Shock. Fear. Fear, most of all.

Okron, he was so very broken. Would he really be able to help? Or would he just get in the way, as he had that terrible night, five years ago, when he’d tried to escape the first time?

“What do you say?” Arrus asked. His eyes were alight, alive. More so than they’d been in years. He had hope again.

Hope like Perelor had once had, all those years ago.

“I…”

Flames.

Blood.

Screams.

Rubble.

Could he really risk failure? Could he really risk his sister dying, all because he’d made a mistake? Like he always did?

He turned away, cringing.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Arrus frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” He shook. “Please leave. I… I just need a moment. To myself. Please.”

Ithrey nodded, walking away, and Perelor did not miss the disappointed shake of her head. Arrus stared at him, crestfallen, for a long moment, but eventually he, too, slinked away. Leaving Perelor alone.

Alone, to his thoughts. Such a dangerous place to be.

He looked to the heavens. There was only smoke there, but he knew that beyond that smoke, there were stars. And beyond the stars, his father.

“When did I go wrong?” he asked. “Did I die all at once? Or was it little by little, chunks of me breaking off until there was only this left?

“Why can’t I be who I want to be?”

There was only silence in reply.