I killed a man today. Burned him to a crisp before the eyes of his subjects, all because he spoke a word out of turn. Aiedra assures me this was just.

I hate her for being right.

-Arath Dralei, circa 2,898 Post Fall of Meridian

Xanala tried to keep her eyes from drifting as she followed Alaran through the halls of the Grahalan military headquarters and out onto a gravel-covered training ground. She could not afford to let Alaran think she would try anything. She couldn’t even afford to be tempted to try anything. Her thoughts had to be as far from her plan as possible, or Alaran would catch her with his memory sense. He might catch her anyway, but she had to try.

The guards, two men in red and silver who were both laying with their backs to the wall, snapped their eyes open and scrambled to their feet as Alaran approached, saluting.

“Sir,” one said. “Sorry sir. Didn’t mean to…”

Alaran waved a hand, smiling. “No harm done.” His voice grew quiet. “We’re all tired these days. Just don’t sleep while you’re on duty at the cannons. You may leave.”

“Understood, sir.” The man who had spoken gave another salute, then walked away, gesturing for his companion to follow. When they were both gone, Alaran turned to Xanala, hands clasped behind his back.

“You’re afraid of me. I don’t have soul sense, but I can tell that much.”

Xanala snorted. “I’m not afraid.”

Alaran smiled again. “You’re a terrible liar, my friend. It’s a good quality to have.” He reached for his side, unbuckling a blade that waited there. Then he tossed it to Xanala. It clattered to the floor as she yelped, stepping back instead of catching it. Alaran’s grin widened.

“Case in point, you just thought I tried to attack you.” He waved to it. “I didn’t. And it’s yours. I figure the Endowed should have a way to defend themselves.”

Hesitantly, Xanala knelt to the floor, picking up the blade. It was still in its sheath, and she drew it out slowly, raising an eyebrow as she saw a blue Ever Surge waiting in the weapon’s hilt.

“I thought you said I couldn’t use the Powers?”

“You can’t, not directly. But you might be able to use the power from a Surge. It’s not as connected to your Identity.”

“My… Identity? You said that before. I don’t know what it means.”

“Everyone has three life forces, one connecting to each of the Three Powers. They intertwine somehow, though researchers aren’t entirely sure how it all works.

“The short of it is that Oblivion has woven a thread of power into that web — into the very essence of what makes you yourself. That affects your burning abilities by default; your Identity is strong in all Three Powers, and that’s what allows you to use them in the first place. But, depending on how deep the damage is, you might still be able to use the Powers from another source. Thus, the sword.” He nodded to it again. “Try it.”

Xanala shakily tapped her hand against the Surge, connecting to it. She felt the usual buzz against her skin as the Surge tethered itself to her. And, as it did, she heard Oblivion’s voice.

I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.

Her finger jerked away from the jewel, and she almost dropped the blade. Alaran frowned.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Xanala snapped. She winced, lowering her voice. I need to keep Alaran happy, at least for now. “Are you sure this won’t open me up to… to him?”

“It won’t,” Alaran assured her. “You might not be able to use the Surge, but it won’t make the problem any worse than it already is.”

Can you really trust him? Oblivion hissed. That Surge is his own. Open yourself to it, and he’ll have power over you.

She paused again. That was a blatant lie. She’d dealt with enough burners to know that, though Surges were linked to those who had summoned them, they didn’t allow mind control.

Also, she noted, he summoned the thing. On his own. From what she’d heard, that required intense discipline — there was a reason the stewards of Raerok had to torture burners to get them to do it. Alaran was clearly a dangerous man.

Which was why she should obey him. So, she closed her eyes, ignored Oblivion’s ranting, and Reached for the Ever in the Surge.

Blessedly, it came. Energy lit up in her veins, not nearly as much as she was used to, yet it still felt like gorging on warm food after a long fast. She sighed in relief as her skin blazed with blue light.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Alaran’s grin was back. Okron, she was beginning to hate the way the man smiled. “That’s a good sign. Oblivion hasn’t gotten too far. We might be able to expel him here and now.”

Xanala blinked. “Now?”

“Not for certain. But it’s possible. Depends on how much energy he was able to slip in between the strands of your Identity.” He paused. “But to try, I will have to use my own strands of Ever. It’s… well, I can’t say I’ve ever had it done to me, but it’s supposedly quite invasive.”

I told you, Oblivion whispered. He will seize control.

Xanala swallowed, gripping the sword a little tighter. She couldn’t afford to let Alaran know what she was planning, and this procedure… well, if it involved Ever it would likely expose her thoughts. She tensed. If she could pull in enough Ever from the Surge, maybe she could stop herself from being revealed. She raised a cautious hand…

Abruptly, her supply of Ever cut off. Alaran raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not a fool. That Surge is mine, and if you use it to attack me, I will cut off your access.” He sighed. “But I see you’re not ready for a full expulsion yet. That’s understandable.”

“Oblivion says you’ll take control,” Xanala blurted. “Is that true?”

Alaran laughed. “No.”

“Not even to fulfill the prophecy?”

Alaran actually paused for a moment, face blank, as if he hadn’t considered the possibility before. “I… no.” He shook his head. “It would be tempting, I will admit, but no. That wouldn’t work anyway.”

“But you would, wouldn’t you? If it did work?”

Another pause. Then, his shoulders slumped. “Yes. Yes I would. I’d let go the moment Oblivion was defeated, but if I had the power to stop him, any sacrifice would be worth it.” He met Xanala’s eyes. “I’ve given my life to that cause. I will give my life to that cause. I told you I would not lie to you, and so I won’t: I intend to make you the hero of the prophecy. Not because I relish it, but because it is the only hope humankind has.”

There was an intensity to his voice. A level tone of pure conviction. Xanala shivered as she studied his eyes. Behind that blue glow and his lips drawn thin, she saw blood, tears, anguish, and raw, untamed determination. Perhaps even more than she’d seen in her father.

“I don’t want any part of that.”

“I know.”

“I just want to be free.”

“So do all of us. That is why we must fight.” Alaran relaxed, that stupid smile crossing his face again. Xanala saw through it now, though. “Have I told you about my sister?”

“Why does it matter?”

Alaran shrugged. “You remind me of her. At least, the way she used to be.”

“Ah. Let me guess; she’s part of your cause.”

“She is.”

“If you’re going to manipulate me, you’ll need to do better than that.”

“If I were manipulating you, yes, I would.” Alaran met her eyes again, and suddenly that smile was gone. “Our father abused her for years. Physical, sexual, whenever he felt like it. I tried to stop him, but I couldn’t — he was a Void burner, I wasn’t. Finally, he tried to kill her. I snapped, and ended up connecting to the First Power. I had to burn him to ashes right in front of her. She was ten. It took me months to get her to speak again.

“You’re not the only one who’s been betrayed, Xanala. Don’t live your whole life alone because of something one person did. No matter what Oblivion thinks, we’re not all the same.”

He turned away. “I think we’ve done enough today. All we can, at least. You can keep the Surgeblade; I can draw from it whenever I need. You can leave, if you wish.”

Xanala hesitated, then hastily turned away. Why had Alaran felt the need to tell her that? As if knowing about another betrayal would make her any more trusting, when in reality it was just more evidence that Alaran himself would backstab her.

Yet, why did a part of her feel relieved?

She shook her head, striding away. Now that she had a Surge, maybe she could perform some experiments of her own. If she could expel Oblivion herself, that would solve a host of problems; she wasn’t sure how Larsh would react if she showed up with such a handicap.

Probably not well. Yet, they were still her only way off of this planet alive.

“Xanala?”

Sighing, she turned back to see Alaran, staring upward at the smoke-filled sky. “What?”

“Don’t let Oblivion win,” he breathed. For once, his voice had no spring to it. “Please. If not for me, if not for humanity, then for yourself.”

He fell silent again. Xanala actually stared at him for a long moment, gazing at him as he gazed at the sunset. Then, muttering to herself, she turned away. She had work to do.

There would be a crack somewhere, she was sure of it. A flaw in Alaran’s defenses. She would find it.

Then she would finally be free.

***

The day after making her decision, Ryla awoke again from a nightmare she could not remember. That was becoming more common, she realized. But, calming herself, she rose and slipped a Talar uniform from out of her wardrobe, then climbed into it.

It was bright outside; the rain from the night before seemed to have finally cleared. The sky was a warm blue, the clouds pure white. For a moment, the weather almost made Ryla feel calm.

Then she remembered what she faced today. As she did, a red line of light writhed in front of her face. It was gone a moment later, but her hands still trembled as she did up the last buttons of her uniform. She checked herself in a nearby mirror — Larsh was very picky when it came to Ryla’s appearance -- then straightened out the last few wrinkles, then marched upstairs.

She let out a relieved breath as she arrived in the kitchen; her mother wasn’t there, and the mess of splintered wood from their scuffle before had been cleaned up. Her father sat in his chair, disheveled and unshaved, eyes distant, a goblet sitting empty in front of him.

“Ryla,” he said, voice slurred. “You’re up.”

“Yes, father.”

“Are you staying today?”

Stolen novel; please report.

“No, father.”

“Ah.” He said nothing further; he just stared forward with vacant eyes. Ryla ignored him. He had chips in his blood that would alert the servants if his alcohol levels grew too high. Ryla knew because she had been the one to insist on installing them.

Ryla walked over and began preparing a meal of her own with some vitamin powder — nothing fancy; she never had time for anything fancy. “How are things, father?”

She got no reply. A few moments later, though, her father grunted and rose from his seat, walking through the door and out of the kitchen. He left both the empty goblet and a plate stained with food on the table.

He better not expect me to clean up after him, Ryla thought sourly. She sat down with own food, then began shoveling it into her mouth.

She didn’t get far before the door slid open again, this time revealing her mother. Ryla closed her eyes mid bite.

Thaus. How does she always know where to find me?

“Daughter. You look tired.”

That’s because I am, Ryla thought. She didn’t look up from her food, nor did she respond.

Her mother sighed. “The Soulcurse is hardly even present today, child. You’ll be fine.”

You always say that, Ryla thought. But she forced herself to glance at her mother. She was wearing a purple dress today, and the scars from their scuffle earlier had been healed. Wonder how much that cost. House Magala had no Purity Surges of their own, and other nobles often charged exorbitant amounts for use of their Surges. Not that price ever stopped Nythla Magala.

She does look better, though, Ryla noted. No red eyes. She hesitated, then spoke. “I had a long night last night.”

Nythla raised an eyebrow. “Larsh tells me you’ve been on leave for the last twenty-four hours.”

“I fought before that,” Ryla said defensively.

“Still. You should’ve come here earlier. We have things to discuss.”

“Like?”

Ryla’s mother smiled. “Like how Larsh is planning to train you in Void?” Ryla paled, and Nythla sighed. “Yes, I know about that. It’s not as much of a problem as you think it is, though.”

“Of course you think that,” Ryla snapped.

Nythla glared at Ryla, but continued. “Regardless, I want to speak to you about that list of challenges I sent you.”

Ryla paused, fork halfway to her mouth with another hunk of bread. She gave Nythla a glare of her own. “No.”

“You’re a memory burner, Ryla. You could beat half of the nobility out of their titles without breaking a sweat.”

“Larsh doesn’t want me to.”

“But she hasn’t forbidden you, either. Our House needs a leg up. We can’t simply wait for you to be declared heir.”

Ryla shook her head, stuffing the last of her food into her mouth, then rose. She swallowed a moment later, then spoke. “That’s your problem, not mine. Torment, it’s father’s problem, really. I’ll provide what money I can, but I’m not dueling just so you can spend more.”

“This isn’t about spending,” Nythla hissed. “It’s about security. Your brother was almost drafted!”

Ryla hesitated. “Kairus made his choice.”

“He almost didn’t have one, though. Do you think your father would survive if he were drafted? Torment, he wouldn’t even survive if just his servants were drafted!”

“And that’s his problem!” Ryla snapped.

She knew she’d gone too far, and it seemed her mother did, too, for she stepped forward. Her eyes did not hold any red light, but they certainly held plenty of anger. “Do not disrespect your father. Do you hear me?”

Ryla hesitated, then sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“If you’re sorry, then do as I ask.”

“And that’s where we disagree.” Ryla pushed past her mother. “This discussion is over. I need to get to the training ring anyway.”

“Ryla, don’t you turn your back on…”

Ryla whirled, Reaching for thoughts, burning them, then burning the resultant Ever to freeze her mother in place, an invisible wall of force pushing in on her from all sides.

“I’m in control here,” she said, voice deathly quiet. “Not you.”

Nythla met Ryla’s gaze. She was silent for a long time. “For now,” she said finally. “For now.”

Ryla huffed, then let her mother go, and stormed out the door. Thankfully, the cursed woman did not follow.

***

The training ring Larsh had requested was a strange one. Most dueling arenas were wide and open, filled with pillars and obstacles.

This was little more than a metal floor, with occasional bumps and texturing to simulate the floor of a city. At first, Ryla questioned if she’d come to the right place, but just before she was about to leave, Larsh arrived.

Any sign of the remorse the Talar leader had shown the night before was gone. Her face was hard, her lips pursed, her eyes accented with heavy makeup. She was wearing full armor, a custom forged suit, purple with gray trim, and, to Ryla’s annoyance, accents of red. The Cunning One’s colors. Purple and gray had always been the Talar colors, but Larsh had added in red upon taking the throne. A not-so-subtle reminder of her power as a burner.

And a mockery of a once-proud tradition, one that made Ryla seethe inside. She kept her face straight, though, and maintained a constant buzz of Ever in her skin. She could not afford for Larsh to read her thoughts.

Larsh swept her eyes over Ryla, nodding curtly. “You came. Good. It would have been… messy, had you refused.” She frowned. “You’re wearing a lightweight suit. I thought I trained you out of that.”

Ryla shrugged. “It’s more comfortable.”

“And it’s less effective. From now on, you will wear a full suit.”

Ryla opened her mouth to protest, then shut it. “Fine.”

Larsh smirked. “Obedience. It’s about time I got some of that out of you.”

Ryla bristled, but followed as Larsh stepped out onto the training ring, drawing her sword from a sheath on her hip, then gesturing for Ryla to do the same. Ryla did, unsheathing a Surgeblade that had been delivered to her quarters on Myridith a few hours earlier. The jewel in its center glowed with red light. Even though she had not yet drawn the Void in, she could hear voices whispering within it. Soft, but piercing, screams. She shivered.

“You hear them, don’t you,” Larsh said. Not a question. Just a statement of a fact.

“No,” Ryla lied.

Larsh smiled grimly. “Yet you knew exactly what I was talking about.”

Ryla shivered again. “I hate them.”

“Good. The ones who don’t are the ones who lose themselves.” She straightened. “We will begin soon. I hope you have spent the time I gave you to prepare. But before that, I want you to run through some exercises with Ever. I have not checked your progress recently.”

Ryla nodded. If I fumbled this, would it get me out of using Void? She met Larsh’s eyes, though, and the woman’s stony expression indicated otherwise. Bile rose in her throat.

It’s just temporary, she reminded herself. And you haven’t even started yet. Don’t be a coward.

“Basic exercises,” Larsh said, “fourth movement. Now.”

Ryla closed her eyes in response, Reaching and pulling in Ever. This particular movement called for fast Reaching — less than a second — and she barely got her eyes back open in time to throw her hand forward, lighting the air with a burst of heat, then step back, summoning a shield of plasma in front of her, as if blocking an attack from an enemy burner. She danced through the rest of the sequence with ease; she’d done this movement hundreds, if not thousands, of times.

Larsh gave only a small grunt of satisfaction when Ryla was done. “Good enough. You need to work harder on Reaching, though. In a battle between burners, the first to call on the Powers is often the victor, regardless of skill. But good enough.”

Of course I need to work harder, Ryla thought. She tensed, realizing what came next. Larsh’s face, too, grew grim.

“You are connected to the Third Power, Ryla,” she said gently. “This would have happened eventually. At least this way, I can keep you from losing yourself in the process — the way your mother did.”

“Coming from you,” Ryla hissed, “that’s little comfort.” She didn’t mean for the words to slip out, but they did.

Larsh showed no reaction to them. She just continued on. “Reaching for Void will be like Reaching for Ever, at least to begin with. Once you have successfully begun touching the Third Power, though, you must be ready. You must have your emotions clear. The more you can keep yourself rational, the less Oblivion’s taint will affect you.”

“I’m not doing this.” Ryla’s heart beat fast. Those red eyes, those hands on her throat, that wild grin on her mother’s face… “I can’t.”

“I will tolerate disobedience from you no further, Ryla,” Larsh said. “Reach.” Her voice grew softer. “You will be fine. It’s just once.”

It’s just once… Her mother said that so often. I’ll leave it behind, I just need it one more time… just once more…

Her mother never did need it. Yet, Ryla couldn’t refuse. She hoped that true necessity would make a difference. Closing her eyes, trembling, she Reached. Not for Ever, but for Void.

At first, it was just as Larsh had said. The usual thrum at the beginning came from her chest, rather than her forehead, but she felt energy moving closer, a heat that permeated more than just her skin.

Then, it changed.

The first thing she noticed was the sour taste in her mouth. It spread from there, becoming a twisting in her gut, a throbbing in her throat, a tremble in her limbs. Emotions danced freely in her chest — other people’s emotions. She felt the raw despair of a woman who had lost her child. She gasped at the ecstasy of a man nearby sucking in smoke from a pipe. And, within it all, she felt her own raw, barely-contained hatred for Larsh.

It was similar to memory burning; yet, instead of seeing and hearing, she felt. There was no logic to it. Just passion. It was overwhelming beyond anything she’d ever experienced.

That wasn’t all, though. For as she Reached she saw the spirits.

She’d known this part would come. Cyrla and the other Void burners Larsh employed had all mentioned peering into Torment as they connected to the Third Power. Yet no casual words could prepare her for this.

People — made of a red light rather than flesh, but still people — writhed in front of her. Their mouths were open in screams of pure pain, their hands clenched to their skulls. Sweat beaded on their foreheads, and blood gushed from gashes that opened and sealed seemingly at random. Flesh burned, only to be restored, only to burn again.

And the screams. She could not hear them, not directly, but she felt them. As if her chest had somehow become the instrument of her hearing. Their despair threatened to consume her. She fell to her knees, gasping, yet, somehow, despite her best efforts, she could not let go of the Power. It clung to her, refusing to leave.

I have you now, a voice rumbled, deep and rich. Your future is mine.

She looked up, desperately trying to push away the Power. To fail, rather than let it seep into her veins. Shouldn’t this be easy? It was always easy to let go of Ever. Panic rose in her chest, mixing with a thousand other emotions.

Abruptly a spirit reached for her, hands trembling. She yelped, shrinking backward…

And, finally, the Third Power was gone.

She was already on her knees, but even that was too much as exhaustion overtook her. She sank to the floor, trying to resist tears — tears of anger, tears of fear, tears of all emotions wrapped up in one. She tried to steady her breathing. It didn’t work. Had that face… had it been her uncle, expression contorted in pain? But no, that was lunacy. The Void had been twisting her mind. She closed her eyes as Larsh fell to her knees beside her.

“It affected you strongly,” she heard Larsh murmur. “A negative reaction is normal, but this… and the aura that surrounded you… strange. Very strange. But, you did well, all things considered.” She laid a hand on Ryla’s shoulder.

Ryla shook it away immediately. “Get away from me,” she hissed.

“Ryla, it would have happened eventually…”

“Don’t lie to me! I would’ve never touched it! Never!” She knew she was going too far, but she didn’t care. Adrenaline surging through her, she forced herself to roll over, closing her eyes and Reaching as she did. Though her soul was tired, her mind was not, and the thoughts flew easily through her mind, as if her anger were grease to the machine of memory burning. She sprung to her feet, renewed and ablaze with Ever. Before she could stop herself, she flung her hand forward, heating the air in front of it into plasma, then shoving that plasma toward Larsh, who still knelt on the floor.

Larsh’s eyes widened, but she reacted as if she had not been surprised at all. A red tendril of light lashed outward, slamming into Ryla’s plasma bolt. It exploded just in front of Ryla, and heat washed over her, opening up blisters across her face. She yelped, stepping back, then yelped again as a second tendril swept at her legs, knocking her feet out from under her. Her head spun as it struck the hard ground. She lay there for a long moment before she growled, attempting to rise to her feet. As she did, something pressed her back to the floor, hard — Larsh’s foot.

“I wouldn’t try anything further if I were you.” The Talar leader’s voice was deathly quiet. Though her limbs still blazed with adrenaline, Ryla immediately fell still. She heard a shriek as Larsh drew her sword, then felt a sharp point come to rest against her neck.

“I expected more of you than this,” Larsh snapped. “I can tell Void-induced actions from simply irrational ones, and that was certainly the latter. Childish, Ryla. Childish.”

“You left me no choice.”

“No choice? I gave you days to prepare. Touching Void will not kill you, but your disobedience might.” She pressed the tip of the blade in harder. Ryla winced as she felt it nick her skin, a drop of blood beading from the cut, then dribbling down to the floor.

“Consider that a warning. A last warning. I will not throw away an asset like you, but there will be… measures, should this behavior continue.” The venom in her voice made Ryla shiver despite herself. A moment later, the foot lifted. “Leave. Our lesson here is done. But you will be back when I summon you, and we will continue precisely where we left off. Understood?”

Ryla stood, rubbing her neck, and opened her mouth to protest. Then she saw Larsh’s expression, lips pursed, eyes still aglow with crimson light. Red tendrils twisted around her, not yet headed for Ryla, but there were dozens of them. Far more than Ryla had seen anyone else summon. She wilted.

“Fine.”

“It is not just fine. It is necessary.” She shook her head. “We need to be better than this, Ryla. We cannot squabble. The Destroyer comes…” She trailed off, and her eyes grew distant for a moment. Then they snapped back into focus. “You are dismissed.”

Ryla stood, pausing, debating if she should strike again. Larsh raised an eyebrow. “You are dismissed, child.”

Ryla grunted, then turned and walked away. At least it’s over. She shivered. Until the next session… The image of her uncle’s face kept flashing through her mind, no matter what she did. She was sure it had been a trick of her mind, but apparently it was one her mind was willing to continue.

Her uncle would hate her for what she had done. For what she would yet do. But he’d also hate her for having touched the Third Power. No matter how you put it, there was hate on all sides.

And only one way out.