This time our failure must be taken as final. The prophecy is not what we thought it was.

We need access to the True Eye. Whatever the cost.

-Aiedra Okron, circa 3 Pre-Imprisonment

The Grahalan sunset was beautiful, Xanala had to admit. The red sun blazed against the black clouds as it spread across the horizon, like a drop of glowing blood splattering against the ground. The wheat fields turned a dirty gold in the dim light, pushed back by the wind that blew against Xanala’s face as she leaned against a balcony, staring outward past the outskirts of the Grahalan capital city and out at the distant edge of vision. It felt strange, not to see any mountains there, blocking her view. It felt even stranger that she could stand here so openly, with sleeves rolled up to her elbow, her whole body visible to anyone who looked up at the tower she stood on.

She was not really in the open, of course, Grahalan guards in red and silver flanked her on either side — guards Alaran had flatly told about her powers. Guards who could turn her in at a moment’s notice, or just slit her throat themselves. She had no power to resist; her burning was stifled, just as Alaran had said it would be.

It seemed she could never truly be free. And that was why she stood on the balcony. Pondering. Planning.

“The Talar have this planet under siege, you said?” she asked the guard nearest her. She did not meet his eyes.

“Yes, my lady.”

“Do you think you’ll win?”

A long pause. “I hope so,” the guard finally said.

So you won’t. If I stay, I die. That was problem one with Alaran’s threat — for it was a threat, disguised as an offer. Problem two…

There has to be a catch if I follow him, she thought. There has to be.

She already knew part of that catch. Alaran might be offering to train her, but he was, at his own admission, a Seeker of the Light. She still wasn’t sure exactly what that meant — Alaran had been vague at best — but she knew enough to deduce that if she followed this path, and Alaran got his way, she would come face to face with Oblivion.

And yet, she’d already fought the dark god, in a way. She’d lost. Horribly. But she had fought him. She could feel him even now, murmuring in the back of her mind, only a murmur, but there.

Is there any way out of the prophecy? The Tower was always right. She’d known it logically her whole life — every child on Xeredon was told about the Tower — but she’d never internalized until she’d found herself standing here, realizing that, as hard as she’d tried to avoid facing her fate, she’d arrived at it all the same.

If I do follow Alaran, he’ll eventually want me to do the Testing.

To face my father.

She felt her chest constrict with rage, and simultaneously she felt her stomach sink at the thought of having to kill him. She still loved him. And she still hated him. Running from his physical presence had done nothing for that.

She forced herself to focus. The siege. That was what mattered, not Oblivion. She began fleshing out the idea forming in the back of her head, the one that might actually get her out of here alive.

“Young miss?”

Xanala shuddered as she felt a hand touch her shoulder, and instinctively she Reached for Ever. Nothing came, of course, save for a deep humming within her chest, and the sound of wailing in her ears. Side effects of Oblivion’s taint, according to Alaran. Cursing, she pulled back her hand into a fist, then whipped around…

Then relaxed. It was just one of the guards. He caught her fist even as she stopped swinging it; he was a burly man, Xanala wouldn’t stand a chance against him even if she tried to fight back. He eyed her warily; Alaran had also told the guards that Xanala was not to be trusted. Not in full, at least, he’d said. Not yet.

“You were standing there a long time,” the guard noted. “I could hardly even see you breathing. Your eyes just kept staring… I couldn’t tell if you were blinking. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Xanala snapped. She yanked her hand away from the guard. The guard grunted. Xanala winced as she turned away. She was going to have to learn to be far more diplomatic if she wanted to stay free.

That was her goal, she decided. Freedom. It had always been her goal; she’d just been fool enough to think that her father could give it to her before. And now…

Well, now trusting anyone seemed like a bad idea.

Just because someone can’t be trusted doesn’t mean you can’t predict them, though. Another of her father’s sayings. She hated thinking like he did. But, in this, he was right.

Alaran could help her get rid of Oblivion’s taint; that seemed to be all he cared about. She wasn’t sure how to get away from him after that, but once she had her powers, it would become easier. That was the logical first step.

Do you really think he won’t use you? Oblivion whispered. He is just like your father. A man looking to further his own goals, with a powerful tool placed in front of him.

It will be even worse, when it happens again.

She should’ve been able to ignore him. Yet, with him so firmly in the back of her mind, and with that delicate touch on her emotions, so brilliantly subtle, she felt herself shiver. What could this man do? If he could hold back Oblivion’s chains, what was there to stop him from chaining Xanala himself?

I can stop him, Oblivion whispered. All you have to do is undo his ward.

She wasn’t sure if that was true. She couldn’t even be confident that Alaran was telling the truth, and that he had put a ward in place. She knew nothing. What did one do when one knew nothing? If you knew something, you could at least take the next logical step; that was what her father always did. But when you had no information at all…

The wind whipped against her face. In the distance, darkness crept forward as the red sun sank into the ground. Xanala’s thoughts stilled for a moment as she stared at the sunset. It was truly strange, how amazing it looked, even as the cold crept up her skin.

A part of her wanted to act, right here, right now. To lash out. She’d spent her whole life waiting.

Yet, she needed to wait. Any path she took now led to death or worse. And the only way to buy more time was to give in to Alaran’s demands.

She closed her eyes. Breathed, breathed out. Then, opening them, she turned and strode away from the balcony, back into the tower. The guards followed her, frowning, but silent. Xanala stayed firmly ahead of them, not daring to look back, not daring to question herself, until she arrived at the door to Alaran’s chambers — or, at least, where he’d told her they would be. Before she could hesitate, she rapped her knuckles against the wood, hard.

There was a momentary pause. Then the door swung open.

Glowing with blue Ever, Alaran waited behind a desk, holoscreen projecting a map of Grahala in front of him. There were red splotches on the planet’s surface where the Talar had conquered. Almost half of the image was crimson already, and Alaran stared at it with circles under his eyes and a blank expression on his face.

Yet another reason to do what I must. She straightened, head held high.

“I don’t want to train with you,” she said, raising her voice as much as she dared. “I don’t want to be the Endowed. And I certainly don’t want anything to do with this war.”

Alaran frowned, rising from his chair, but Xanala wasn’t finished.

“But the alternatives are worse. So I will train with you. I won’t like it.” She met Alaran’s eyes, pouring as much defiance into her expression as she knew how. “And I won’t trust you. If you try to make me do anything I don’t want to, I’ll do what I must to survive. But I will train to get Oblivion out of my mind. If only because I have to.”

She fell silent, trying not to tremble, trying not to shrivel up and hide as Alaran stared her down. Would he be angry? Her father would be furious, if she’d spoken to him like that. What was she thinking, she wasn’t in a position to negotiate! She should’ve run, should’ve hidden…

To her surprise, a grin broke out across Alaran’s face.

“Well then,” he said, “we have a place to start. When do you want to begin?”

Xanala hesitated. “Now,” she said finally. If she had to wait to reclaim her powers, she at least wanted to wait as little as possible.

Alaran’s grin widened, and he shut off the holoscreen, stepping around the desk. “Then now it is.”

Xanala followed him as he stepped out of the room and walked down a nearby flight of stairs, finally letting herself think through the final bits of her plan. It was a simple one.

Get Alaran to trust her. Get him relaxed enough she could slip out of his fingers. Then, she would flee to Talar. They were going to win anyway. Besides, she’d promised herself she’d survive.

No matter the cost.

***

Ryla stepped into the hold of her cruiser, sighed, then shut the door behind her. She unbuckled her blade from her hip, setting it against the wall, then sunk into one of the leather couches within the room — this ship was not only decorated, it was gravity controlled. A luxury only people like Larsh could afford.

She let herself sink into the couch, trying to relax. Her racing mind did not calm, however, and sleep evaded her as surely as if she were trying to chase the horizon. Finally, she heard a stir, and turned to see the door opening again to admit Naidi.

She was caked in ash and dust, but she already had a wet rag and was wiping it off her face as she saw Ryla. She grinned.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“Oh good, we’re leaving. I really didn’t want to spend any more time in that blasted, dusty place.

Ryla shrugged. “Orders are orders.”

“Still, I hate it.” Naidi shut the door behind her, then began stripping off her carbon fiber battle armor, revealing a much more ornate orange outfit beneath. Ryla rolled her eyes, but smiled. Naidi waited in the background for the entire battle, and then it turned out she’d been secretly playing dress-up the whole time. Typical of her, really. It was both incredibly annoying and incredibly endearing.

“You and your fashion.”

“Hey, I didn’t grow up with any money. You were rich in your childhood. You can’t complain.”

“No,” Ryla sighed. “I suppose I can’t.”

Oh, if only my childhood was as pleasant as you think it was…

The ship took off a few moments later, though Ryla could barely feel it through the gravity suppression. She could hardly feel when it jumped between worlds, either. Ryla’s ship was one of the few of its kind to have survived the Fall of Meridian. As such, it used technology no modern Surgetech could replicate. The gravity suppression was one of those pieces of tech, as was its wormdrive, which allowed it to skip to a wormhole wherever it was. Perfect for spying. Larsh had often sent Ryla on missions to jump to a planet, posing as a merchant ship mid flight. Ryla would read some important officials with her memory sense, and then jump back.

How often she’s used me. Kairus is right; I need to make that end.

She leaned back again, falling silent. Naidi sat down beside her, clearing her throat, with a distinctly uncomfortable frown on her face. Ryla raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Did you figure it out?”

Ryla snorted. “Figure what out?”

“The decision.”

“I’m not trying to decide anything.” Thaus, she’s not supposed to know anything.

“I’m not dumb. I know you. You fight when you’re stressed. It’s a weird coping mechanism, but that’s what it is. What’re you worried about?”

Ryla hesitated, then sighed. “Larsh wants me to use Void.”

“She’s asking again?”

“Yup.”

“Didn’t she promise not to?”

“It’s Larsh. Keeping promises isn’t exactly her forte.”

“Wow.” Naidi paused, then awkwardly cleared her throat again. “What’re you going to do?”

Ryla was silent. She should have come up with a lie, but she couldn’t think straight enough. Besides, she felt too strong a hate for Larsh to pretend she wasn’t glad to have the woman gone.

You’re thinking like you’ve already made the choice again.

“You’re not going to join Cyrla, are you?” Naidi hissed. “Ryla, she’s a Void burner!”

“Not so loud,” Ryla whispered. “This place is bugged.”

Naidi cringed, then leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Listen, Ryla, I know you hate Larsh, but…”

That whip, coming down on her uncle’s back… “Hate is too weak a word,” Ryla muttered.

“Still,” Naidi continued, “you can’t overthrow her. Heavens, that’s exactly what she did that caused so much chaos! And you know Cyrla would be even worse.”

“Then I’ll kill Cyrla too.”

Naidi raised her own eyebrow at that. “And take the throne for yourself?”

“Yes,” Ryla said. When Naidi frowned, she rolled her eyes. “It’s not as if I can do any worse than the current leaders. Besides, this is all if I join her. I haven’t decided, so don’t worry yet.”

“It’s way too late for me not to worry,” Naidi said. She took a deep breath, then sat back. “Please don’t. You’re the only friend I have here. The last thing I want is for you to get hurt.”

“Too late for that,” Ryla said softly. “Way, way too late. I’ll make what decision I have to, Naidi. But I appreciate your advice.”

Naidi opened her mouth to protest further, then closed it, shaking her head. “Well, I’m not dumb enough to argue with you. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

Do any of us, really? Ryla thought. But she accepted the silence that followed until they slid to a stop at their destination — Myridith, the largest city in the Talar Empire. As usual, it was raining outside, and Naidi quickly said her goodbyes to Ryla as she rushed off toward a hovertram filled with guards who would escort her back to the nearest military base. Normally, Ryla would’ve been with her.

Today, though, she allowed the rain to soak her skin, let go of the First Power, and began the long trek toward the place where her uncle had died.

It was night here, and she passed only a few others as she made her way through the puddle-covered streets. She was still in her uniform, and once a hovercar stopped to offer her a ride, but she declined.

It took nearly two hours of walking before she arrived at her destination. She realized during that time that her two days were almost up — she’d spent nearly the whole time awake, running on Adrellian booster shots and anxiety. Both sources were failing, and by the time she awoke, Larsh would be waiting for her.

The Void would be waiting, too.

She stopped as she came to the place she’d been looking for. An empty square. In its center, a cement block rose just above the ground, a segmented metal whip waiting on a metal rack atop it.

She was not attempting to use her soul sense — she never used it on purpose — but she felt as if she could hear her uncle moaning from Torment. Red lines of light writhed around her. Slowly, she sat down on the tile ground, folding her legs beneath her.

It had all happened so quickly, that day. Her mother screaming as guards tried to pull her away. Her uncle, shouting as he interfered.

And then they’d come here, where her uncle had taken her mother’s punishment. Where he’d died.

Ryla’s mother was as good as dead now, too. Her uncle’s sacrifice had saved the woman from the Talar, but not from her Soulcurse.

I need help, she thought. She didn’t know if her words were directed toward her uncle, the Endowed, the Goddesses, or all of them. She didn’t care enough to decide. I don’t know what to do.

She sat there for a long time. For once, her mind was completely still. There were no people around to shout or scream. No gunshots in the distance. Even the echoes were easy to ignore. There was just the soft patter of the rain against the ground, and her. She looked up at the dark clouds, raising a hand to shield her eyes against the falling water. Skyscrapers stretched toward those clouds on all sides, glittering with thousands of tiny lights. Each light, she knew, was a home. A person.

There were so many, all different. Yet their fates might all hinge on her decision today. With her anger fading and exhaustion setting in, she felt so terribly small.

“I thought I might find you here.”

Ryla didn’t have to turn to know who was speaking. She tensed.

“You tracked me. I thought you said I was free until tomorrow.”

“I said you could do what you wished, not that I wouldn’t watch you.” As if that settled the matter, Larsh walked over, sitting down beside Ryla and staring at the cement block. At the whip. As if she were some close friend, trying to comfort Ryla.

Filth. He was my only friend, not you. Filth!

She said nothing, though, and kept a trace of Ever running through her skin. Now more than ever she did not want Larsh reading her thoughts.

“I know this must be difficult for you,” Larsh continued. “Know that I would not require this of you if I did not have to.”

“Then why do you have to?” Ryla muttered. She didn’t mean for the words to come out. They did anyway.

“The Destroyer comes,” Larsh whispered. Then, she rose. “I am sorry. I thought it would be better if I came here, but I see I was wrong. I will see you in the morning.” She hesitated before adding, “I don’t intend to let what is happening to your mother happen to you. There are ways to control Void properly.”

“Leave,” Ryla said. She kept her eyes on the sky. Why, of all times, did she feel the need to pretend now? It wasn’t as if she actually cared.

Sure enough, Larsh slinked away a moment later. Leaving Ryla alone again, save for that awful whip.

As she disappeared, a decision finally came. If Larsh actually believed there was a way to control Void, then she was already deep within the clutches of Oblivion’s corruption. And anyone Oblivion touched deserved to die.

So, she decided, she would kill Larsh. Then Cyrla. Then she would turn the Talar army on anyone else who dirtied themselves with the Third Power. Whatever the cost, she would not let another family crumble like hers had.

Anger, hatred, fear surging, she stood up, retrieved her holoscreen from her pocket and called Cyrla. Her uncle might not approve, but he was dead.

There was only one way to truly avenge him.

***

Time passed. Hours, minutes, Perelor didn’t care. Time was all the same since losing Eliel.

Torment, his life had fallen apart so quickly after that day. Or maybe it had fallen apart before then, and the removal of that last support had simply hastened an already inevitable fall from grace. All he knew now was that once he’d cared, and that now he couldn’t even if he tried.

To try. To try was to fail. To fail was a sin.

He sat down, resting his head in his hands. Trembling.

I thought all I needed was a chance to save her. That the moment she returned, everything would fall back into place. And yet…

And yet, he had a chance now, and he wasn’t taking it. Because to try was to fail, and this failure would be the greatest of all sins.

Was that why he had spared Ithrey? Because it was easier to let her live than accepting the truth that he couldn’t face his sister anymore, even if he found her?

Why couldn’t he just be the man he once was? Why did the scars hurt so bad, even after the wounds themselves had long since healed?

He slid his fingers apart, looking up at the sky. It was growing dark again; here at the pole of the planet it did that fast. No stars had appeared in the blackness, but he knew they were there.

“I wish I had more time,” he told them. He swallowed. “But really, I wish I was with you already. I wish I didn’t have to fight to be with you. I wish none of this had ever happened. I wish we were back on Ethea, and that Larsh had never invaded, and father had never died, and…”

And what would he have done, if none of this had ever happened? Fought pretend duels, until he died and went to Torment anyway?

“You’re supposed to beat Oblivion,” he whispered. “End all suffering. I just don’t know if anything can end mine.” He let a tear drip down his face. “It hurts. It hurts just to wake up sometimes. Why does it have to hurt so bad?”

The tear turned into multiple, and sobs racked him again. This time, though, he simply let them come. He didn’t have the energy to resist them. He just sat there, crying, for minutes on end.

Then, as quickly as they had begun, the tears stopped. And, strangely, the knots in his stomach seemed to untwist as they did. Not all the way, his heart still pounded, and he still shook from blood loss, but somehow things felt a little more manageable. A little more clear.

Pain or not, he realized, fear or not, there was only one way forward.

Groaning, he stood up. Stared at the stars, for a few moments longer. Then, fixing his eyes forward, he started back toward the other slaves.

The battle had moved far from here by now, and so the surviving members of the squadron had set up camp here, a small ethium cook fire in its center, roll up cots sprawled all around it. The bodies of the fallen lay in a pile a few blocks down.

There were so many dead. Not just here, but all across the galaxy. And, he realized, he had a chance to help them now. If he saved Eliel, she would save the galaxy.

He could not afford to believe otherwise.

He found Ithrey and Arrus sitting on their cots, legs folded beneath them. Ithrey was talking to him, but Arrus had already seen Perelor. Perelor sucked in a deep breath, trying to stifle his worry.

Flames.

Blood.

Screams.

Rubble.

And only one way forward.

He stepped up to Ithrey, who had now noticed him too. She paused mid-sentence, raising an eyebrow. Perelor cleared his throat, then spoke.

“If you’re after the Endowed, I’m yours.”