I wonder, sometimes, if there has ever been anything but war. If the crimson Void that haunts me was ever green, as the Eternals say. Could it be that peace is a lie? Sometimes I wish it was. At least then, I would know that fighting was useless.

-Nathazar Vorcix, circa 1,300 Post Fall of Meridian

Perelor knelt in the dust, trying to find the strength to rise. The Talar would hand out Disposers soon, he knew, as Cyrla had ordered them. He’d have to rise then. Stand up and clean up the men he’d just gotten killed.

For now, he just wanted to kneel.

Things had gone so well these last few days, like rays of light peeking in as the door to a dark room opened. Now it felt like that door had been slammed back shut, and midnight reigned in his soul once more.

Okron, he wanted to rip that door off its hinges. He wanted to bask in the light and never leave it again. He wanted it so bad.

Yet, he was also so exhausted. So he just knelt, numb, eyes drooping despite the Purity racing in his veins.

“Perelor?”

His hands shook. His heart pounded. And still he felt on the verge of passing out. He hated how the worry and the tiredness mixed, on days like today.

“Perelor, c’mon.”

A hand shook his shoulder, and a glimmer of awareness returned. He looked up to see Arrus staring at him.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I’m fine,” Perelor repeated. Slowly, he stood, muscles groaning. “Where’s Ithrey?”

“Piling up the corpses,” Arrus said, voice growing soft. “Said it’s her duty, after getting them killed.”

I’m the one who got them killed, Perelor thought. Not her.

“I should help,” he said. “And…” he closed his eyes, cringing. “And we need to plan.”

Arrus paused, then nodded. “Alright.” He walked through the smoke, waving it away and coughing, until they could see the pile of bodies Arrus had spoken of. Ithrey was kneeling beside a fallen soldier just next to the pile. She muttered a prayer, closed the man’s eyes, then, with a grunt, grabbed the body and hoisted it onto the heap.

She stepped back, panting. Sweat covered her forehead. Her eyes were distant. She coughed into her elbow, stepped toward the next body, then turned before she made it there, eyes fixing on Perelor. She gave him a curt nod, frowning.

“You’re up.”

Perelor swallowed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have frozen like that.”

“That wasn’t a criticism. Just an observation.” Ithrey turned back to the fallen soldier, kneeling and closing the man’s eyes. “We all react differently to these things,” she added softly.

Perelor stood silent, watching her as she muttered a prayer, the words too faint for him to hear. Plasma and cannons still shrieked and boomed in the distance, and occasionally the smoke swirled as a fighter shot through the air overhead.

All it would take is a minute of the battle going wrong, and we’d all die, he thought. They’re fools for keeping us this close to the front lines.

But then, their deaths were the point. The camera on his head suddenly felt heavier.

“I shouldn’t have tried the titrite,” he muttered. “I should’ve known that wouldn’t work.”

“You couldn’t have predicted that.”

“Yes, I could’ve. It’s common sense; the Talar don’t want us to survive. They’re recording our searing deaths. I’ve told my men that same thing hundreds of times. I was a fool for trying it myself.”

“And the alternative?”

Perelor paused. “I don’t know. But I still shouldn’t have tried. They’re dead because of me.”

Ithrey stood, hoisting the fallen soldier, then tossing him onto the pile. “Duty,” she said softly, almost to herself, “is not meant to be light, but don’t make it heavier than it has to be.”

“It’s my fault,” Perelor repeated. It always is.

Ithrey opened her mouth to reply, then closed it, shaking her head. “You’re a strange man, Perelor Krot.” She gestured to the corpses. “Are you going to help? I wish we had more time to grieve, but we don’t.”

“The Disposers will be here soon enough. We don’t need to pile them. What we do need is a new plan.”

“The plan will still work fine. It didn’t involve these men anyway.”

Perelor frowned. “So we’re just going to pretend like nothing happened, then? Stack their bodies and go on?”

“What other choice is there,” Ithrey said softly, “but to go on?” She straightened, dusting off her uniform — a useless gesture, it was still torn in a dozen places. “Arrus has contacted his cousin. We go tonight. These men would’ve died regardless; we cannot pause to mourn them.”

Perelor opened his mouth to protest, then cursed and shut it.

Men, you are going to die.

How many times had he given that speech? How many times had he chosen not to care, only to hurt anyway when the blood spilled? And this time, he’d been so close…

Yet Ithrey was right. The plan hadn’t involved the Miradorans. Even if it had, what choice was there?

“So tonight, then?”

“As soon as the fighting has died down and it’s dark.” She paused, and for a moment her face looked utterly agonized. She studied Perelor, opened her mouth, then shut it, then opened it again. “We’ve decided you need to stay behind, though.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s easier with two people; my distraction will only require one. Besides, you can give a story to cover us. Just in case things go… wrong.”

“No story is going to excuse you,” Perelor said. “I’ve snuck around the Talar camp dozens of times. Arrus hasn’t. You need me.”

Ithrey raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said you would follow my lead?”

“To an extent.”

“Well, follow it to this extent: hang back. We’ll be fine. I’ve done plenty of stealth work, and I’d rather have as little a handicap as possible.”

“You don’t know the Talar camp like I do.”

“I don’t know a lot of places. Being able to think on the fly is what makes it stealth.” She met his eyes, and there was actual concern in her gaze. “You said you’d follow me to Torment itself if it meant finding your sister, Captain. So, follow me.”

“And if I don’t trust your judgment?”

“Then learn to.” Ithrey rose, nodding to the side. “Looks like those Disposers you told me about are here, so we can’t talk much longer anyway. Arrus and me go tonight. End of story.”

She walked away. Searing insufferable, Perelor thought.

Yet, there was still that haunted look in her eyes, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. As she marched up to the arriving Talar soldiers and grabbed her Disposer, Perelor noticed her hands were shaking.

A dozen guards? There’s no way she can pull this off. He hesitated, then cursed under his breath. “She’s not going to like this.”

He’d do it anyway. For he’d realized something as he knelt there, consumed by the echoes of the fallen. People had died because of his mistakes. That had happened before, of course, but never so directly, save for perhaps that terrible night when Eliel had been torn from him. Even that had only been separation, not death.

Flames.

Blood.

Screams.

Rubble.

And that blade…

Going forward, he’d realized, there could be no mistakes.

***

Ithrey had to admit, she was impressed with the Talar army’s ability to set up camp so quickly. Within hours of the battle’s start, hundreds of ships carrying both troops and supplies had landed in the field near the slave squadrons, and makeshift tents and barracks had been quickly constructed using metal panels that snapped together with magnets. Small cookfires flickered everywhere, servants diligently cooking bread expanded from crates of powdered concentrate that had arrived just an hour before. Atop several of the structures, soldiers knelt, snipers in their hands, sweeping their eyes over their surroundings, in case the Grahalans attempted to flank the camp. The entire setup, and the speed with which it had been created, astounded Ithrey.

Most important to her, though, was the makeshift comms tower technicians had constructed nearby. Stretching into the sky, it was one of the few structures with a blue plasma shield surrounding it, powered by a massive battery a cargo cruiser had dropped off earlier. Its antenna flashed constantly with lights of purple and green. An indication of messages received and transmitted, Ithrey knew. Yet those flashes, on then off, light then dark, still felt foreboding.

She was not ready to die, she admitted. But then, she never would be. She let out a shaky breath.

Night was setting, the red sun almost completely submerged below the horizon; only small rays of crimson light still glowed through the smoke. Ithrey had to squint to make out Arrus’ face as he jogged over to her cookfire, kneeling beside her.

They were alone, save for the Talar guards. Perelor was off burning the corpses, which he had insisted on doing himself.

You need time to plan, he’d said. Ithrey suspected the real reason was so he could be alone. Well, good. The farther he was from what was about to happen, the better.

“We’re allowed to walk into camp, yes?” Ithrey asked, eyeing a guard nearby.

“Yes,” Arrus answered. “It’s… unusual. Perelor really is the only one I know who’s actually done it. But it’s allowed, as long as we don’t trigger those chips.”

Ithrey nodded, eyes still flickering about to the guards surrounding them. Did she look too nervous? There certainly seemed to be an unusual amount of eyes on her tonight.

That’s good, she reminded herself. You’re going to be the distraction. Still, those eyes felt like bullets stabbing into her. And there would be bullets, soon.

I am sorry, Arrus, she thought. I truly am. At least Perelor would live. The more she’d thought, the more she’d realized his death was unnecessary. He would probably still die here, but this mercy, at least, she could give.

“Camp is dead,” Arrus noted. “Sounds like the Grahalans are still fighting for that outpost, so everyone’s gone.”

Ithrey nodded, letting out a relieved breath. “We’re going to want to get this done now, then. Before they return. We’ll need to move quickly; I don’t want to be there when everyone comes flooding in.”

Arrus nodded. “It’ll take time to crack the thing. But I think I can do it.”

“You think? Or you can?”

Arrus shrugged. “I really can’t know for certain until I’m there.”

Ithrey frowned. Should I hold off then? “This has to succeed. Would it help if I scouted the software beforehand? And we did this another night?”

“No,” Arrus said immediately. “Tonight is our best shot, believe me. There’s almost no guards. Even Cyrla’s gone.”

“She’ll be gone other nights.”

“She’ll be gone if we’re still alive,” Arrus countered. He shivered. “I… I’ve never seen them execute people that fast, Ithrey. If we give that woman more time, she’ll have us killed. I’m sure of it.”

Ithrey paused, considering. Then she sighed. “Alright. But we need to be careful. We can’t afford to fail.”

“I know.” Arrus glanced at the sky. “Trust me, I know.” He sat down, his hand twitching slightly. Ithrey noticed for the first time that glowing red mist was rising from that hand.

Soulcurse. She gritted her teeth. At least it wasn’t a bad one. They’d be fine.

Well, the message would be. They wouldn’t. She trembled, for a moment, before steeling herself.

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

She waited until night had fallen, then waited a little longer, then signaled for Arrus to follow her.

***

Perelor pressed himself against the wall of a nearby barracks, peaking around the corner to watch Arrus and Ithrey as they strode through the Talar camp. Ithrey stood out like a bloodstain on a white cloth in that black-and-orange uniform of hers. So far, the guards hadn’t given them much attention, but, so far, they weren’t anywhere near the comms tower.

Sear that woman for leaving me behind. His own dark blue and silver uniform blended much more easily into the night than Ithrey’s orange-trimmed Miradoran clothes. Distraction or not, she should’ve been the one to stay behind, not him.

Well, he’d followed anyway, whether or not she liked it. Now he just needed to cause a distraction, so they could get to their destination. Preferably without anyone realizing he’d been involved.

He glanced around, looking for anything that could cause such a disturbance. He saw nothing, save for a couple of grenades waiting against a crate. He frowned. An explosion would work…

He turned back to Ithrey and Arrus. They were continuing onward, though they were drawing more attention now. One guard was staring at them, a tall, burly man with a rifle on his back and a hooked nose. Perelor hesitated, then cursed as the man started walking toward the pair.

She better thank me for this. He withdrew his lasertip from his back, slid farther behind the wall, then, wincing, he aimed at the grenade, closed his eyes, and fired.

Plasma shrieked, and a moment later, white light flared, bright enough that it still blazed through Perelor’s eyelids. As it faded, he snapped his eyes back open, then scrambled away, sheathing his lasertip and shouting.

“Attack! Attack on the camp! To arms!”

Soldiers’ voices echoed his own, and Perelor waited until the smoke had cleared a little, then dashed back toward where the grenade had exploded. Trying to act frantic, he glanced toward where Arrus and Ithrey stood. They had frozen in place, but the soldier was no longer staring at them, instead grumbling as he walked toward the blasted-out ground near Perelor.

Ithrey, though, saw him. She met his eyes, shaking her head. Perelor nodded at her, motioning with his hand for her to keep moving. Hopefully she got the message; he couldn’t check, for as he waved at her a soldier fell into line beside him, surveying the blast.

“What happened? Did you see anything?”

“Just the flash, sir,” Perelor replied, saluting with his wrists crossed — the Talar way. “Nothing else.”

The man — who, Perelor noted, wore officer’s knots on his left shoulder pauldron — turned his gaze up to the sky, squinting. Then he sighed. “Back to your posts, all of you. But keep an eye out, you hear me? These Voidlings aren’t giving up easily, I’ll tell you that much.” He shook his head as he walked off. “You’d think the searing Cunning One would give us a break. To Torment with that woman.” That last part was whispered under his breath, and Perelor doubted he was supposed to hear it.

Slowly, the other soldiers dispersed. Perelor gave them a curt nod and stepped away from the explosion himself. No eyes lingered on him. He glanced to the side. Arrus and Ithrey were gone, but the soldier who had almost apprehended them was still in Perelor’s sight. It had worked.

Sear you Ithrey, Perelor thought. You better thank me when this is done.

Sliding his lasertip onto the strap on his back, he continued on into camp, fingering the dagger on his belt. That earned him some stares; it seemed rumors of what he often did with the dagger had spread. That, of course, was exactly why Perelor kept his hand on it — let them think he was simply trying to find a place to cut himself, and they wouldn’t suspect his true intentions.

I’m helping, no matter what you say. He wouldn’t let her fail. Whatever she thought of him for it.

***

“That man,” Ithrey muttered. “I ask him to do nothing, nothing of all things, and he still can’t obey.”

Please, she thought. Please go back. You’ll die if you don’t.

Arrus shrugged. “What he did worked.”

“Barely,” Ithrey scoffed. Please go back. You don’t understand…

“But it worked.” Arrus glanced nervously around them. No one had yet spotted them, crouching between towers of supply crates near the comms tower, but even with most of the army gone there were so many people milling about the camp that an encounter could happen at any moment.

The comms tower was completely unguarded now; the clearing surrounding it was lit by ethium lamplights, but no one stood there. However unoriginal Perelor’s tactic had been, it had worked unnervingly well.

“I should probably go to the tower alone,” Arrus said. “The distraction is done, and you’re wearing a Miradoran uniform. I’m at least in Talar clothes.”

“They won’t arrest you, then?”

“Oh, no, they’ll still arrest me if they find out I’m unauthorized. It just might be harder for them to realize that. Still, you can follow if you want.” He sighed. “Or not. It’s not like you can take on the entire army.”

Ithrey hesitated. “If we contact Alaran, you’ll be fine. How confident are you that you can do that?”

“Fifty-ish percent. I’ll know as soon as I try to log in.”

“And if that fails?”

“I trigger an alarm that gets me executed.”

Ithrey paled. “We can’t take that chance.”

“I can, and it’s only me doing the illegal part.” He gave her a wistful smile. “I didn’t tell Perelor on purpose, he’d never let me do this. But I have to take this chance. For the galaxy, right?”

Ithrey hesitated, then cringed, nodding. She reached into her uniform and handed him the recording disk she’d stolen earlier. He slid it into a slot in his holoscreen. “For the galaxy,” she said. She frowned. “You still should’ve told me at least.”

“Yeah, probably should’ve,” Arrus admitted. He swallowed again, wringing his hands together. Then he stood. “Wish me luck.”

“Luck is an illusion. But may God Above bless you.”

“I don’t know what religion that’s referencing, but I’ll take it.” He sucked in a breath, then slipped out from between the crates, falling behind the wall of a nearby building, then slowly striding out into the open, as if on a leisurely walk. Ithrey made her way through the crates, keeping her head just barely above them to keep her eye on Arrus.

It seemed to work; if anyone was watching, they thought nothing of a lone man in Talar robes. Ithrey’s heart pounded, and she expected something to go wrong at any moment, but the boy went completely unperturbed until he arrived at the comms tower, then set his holoscreen against it.

Ithrey swallowed. Please let this work. Even from a distance, she could still read the worry on the boy’s face. A boy, she reminded herself. No seventeen-year-old should risk himself like this.

Yet, here they were. So, slipping behind the cover of a barracks, she watched as Arrus began his work. His eyes were fixed on the holoscreen for several minutes, but then they darted to Ithrey.

It’s working, he mouthed.

Oddly, despite their impending death, Ithrey felt pressure drain from her, and she couldn’t help but smile. At least it had worked. In moments, the galaxy would know where the Endowed was. The Seekers, the Confederacy, the other nations, someone would surely help.

Arrus would die, she would die, but Alaran would live.

She was so caught up in the feeling of triumph she almost didn’t notice the red, glowing eye that lit up in the darkness behind Arrus.

***

Perelor slipped around a corner and into the alleyway behind Ithrey just as her eyes widened. She stepped back, gesturing wildly at Arrus.

For a moment, Perelor cocked his head, confused. Then his own eyes widened as he saw the Voidling.

He opened his mouth to shout a warning, but it was too late. A tendril of black mist slammed into Arrus’ side, throwing him away from the antenna. He yelped as he crashed into a nearby crate.

Ithrey stepped back, muttering something Perelor couldn’t hear under her breath. Perelor hesitated, the Voidling’s red eye seeming to bore through his skin. Through all of him. Then, growling, he ran forward, unsheathing his lasertip from his back, drawing in Purity from his Surge.

His glow drew eyes. Talar soldiers pointed toward him, and several unsheathed blasters. In the back of his mind, Perelor felt their echoes as they stared at him, waiting for the order.

I know some of those guards, a part of Perelor thought idly. They know I wouldn’t try to escape.

Okron, even knowing that, they’re afraid of me.

“Voidling!” he yelled. “Voidling in camp!”

The shout didn’t draw their eyes to the creature — only the glow of its red eye kept it from blending into the night, while Perelor’s bright white radiance made him stand out. Still, it confused them enough to keep them from shooting, and that was all Perelor needed. As they stared, he shifted his muscles, then jumped as far as he could with the added strength.

It proved to be quite the leap. He soared through the air, a shooting star of alabaster brilliance, before crashing into the black mist of the Voidling.

The Voidling’s ethereal body hissed as Perelor struck it, dissipating along with a sizeable chunk of Perelor’s own energy. The singular red eye of the creature shrunk backward for a moment.

But only for a moment. Shrieking, it threw three tendrils at Perelor at once.

Instinct kicked in, and Perelor slashed through two of the tendrils in a wide sweeping motion, but even instinct couldn’t block three at once. The last blow hit him squarely in the chest. He grunted as he slammed into the ground.

“Voidling!” he yelled again — though it came out as a rasp this time. He rolled and sprang up into a crouch — just in time to avoid a tendril that rammed into the ground where his neck had been just moments before.

“Voidling!” It came out as a proper yell this time. “To arms! Voidling in camp!”

Plasma shrieked as the Talar soldiers, finally, seemed to understand what they were seeing. The Voidling screamed as bolts of fiery orange slammed into it, crackling as they burned away its misty form. It wasn’t enough to truly damage the creature — the Powers were the only proper way to fight a Voidling — but its one good eye darted toward Perelor, then back to the soldiers, then back to Perelor. Perelor rose to his feet, drawing in more Purity, falling into a battle stance.

Retreat. Please. He didn’t know if he could fight this thing — weakened or not — if it kept going.

This will not be our last meeting, a voice said in Perelor’s mind. Oblivion has plans for you, son of Rion.

Another round of plasma slammed into the creature, and it screamed a final time, its gaseous body shooting off into the sky, the red eye following it.

Perelor stood his ground for a moment, watching the crimson pinprick of light, until, finally, it was distant enough he could no longer spot it. Then, at last, he relaxed, just as Ithrey stumbled to a stop behind him, breathing heavily.

“I should have expected that. But of course I didn’t. Ugh. I should’ve known!”

“Nothing you could have done,” Perelor said softly, though his gaze was still fixed on the patch of sky where the Voidling had vanished.

Oblivion has plans for you. What was that supposed to mean?

“Captain! Are you alright?”

Cursing to himself, Perelor shook himself out of his stupor. Talar soldiers were approaching, fully armored, sweeping scopes through the night as they searched for the escaped Voidling. He gave them a curt nod.

“I’m fine. The creature left before it did much damage.” He froze suddenly, cursing under his breath. “Arrus!”

“I’m fine,” a voice said from behind him. “Well, mostly fine. Actually, how are we defining ‘fine’? Cause I might not be fine.”

Perelor cursed again, turning. In the darkness, it took him a few moments to find Arrus, but eventually he saw him, laying face up on top of the contents of a crushed crate full of bread powder. He was gripping his right arm, which was swollen and bruised. Perelor rushed over, hoisting him to his feet and out of the rubble.

As he did, Arrus muttered something under his breath. Perelor frowned.

“What?”

“It got my holoscreen,” he whispered. “Destroyed it before I could send the signal.”

Thaus. Perelor had to keep himself from saying the curse aloud. If Arrus’ holoscreen was destroyed… well, Perelor honestly wasn’t sure how he’d acquired the thing to begin with. There was certainly no easy way to replace it.

And that Voidling’s going to let Cyrla know what we’re doing. He was almost certain that was why it had fled. Cyrla probably couldn’t punish them without revealing the creature — probably — but the plan had backfired. Horribly.

Just like you thought it would. Just like it always does, a part of him whispered. Remember what happened the last time you tried to escape?

Cringing, he pushed that part of him back, steadying his trembling hands. This had been risky. He’d known it. Besides, he wasn’t dead yet.

Still, standing in the chill air of night, surrounded by Talar guards, he doubted again.

Forward, he reminded himself. Forward.

Even as he thought that, a purple-clad soldier stepped toward Perelor, nodding to him. He tensed. So soon? Surely news hasn’t traveled that quickly.

“Captain Krot,” the soldier said. “I came with a message. Shal Cyrla wishes to see you.”

***

Perelor knew he should’ve felt nervous as he walked into Cyrla’s metal-plated tent. He’d just tried to escape. Sure, the attempt had been promptly foiled, and to an outsider it wouldn’t even look like he’d tried anything, but the truth of his intentions remained. If the Talar nobility found out about this, Larsh herself would likely get involved.

Yet, he just felt… numb. Tired, and drenched in sweat. But mostly numb. He’d known this would likely fail. He’d deal with the consequences, the pain. If there was one thing he knew, it was how to suffer.

Still… if they kill Arrus… oh Okron, I’m a fool for doing this.

He pushed past guards who watched him with wary eyes, then nodded to Cyrla as he took a seat across a violet-wood table from her.

“You called for me?” he asked. For once, he did not avoid meeting the woman’s eyes, even though they glowed crimson. He was too drained to fear that red light.

“I did,” Cyrla said. “I suspect you know why.”

Perelor said nothing in reply. Cyrla waited for a moment, lips pursed. Then she snarled, leaning forward.

“How long do you think I’ll play this game, Krot? You blew up half a dozen supply crates. You snuck into camp to send a message to our enemies. How long do you think I’ll go without reporting you?”

Probably not very long, Perelor thought. He kept his face calm. There had to be some way to twist her words, some way out of this. He at least had to try. “Those are bold claims, Shal Tarval. What evidence do you have to back them?”

Cyrla scoffed. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the login to the database, boy. And who do you think sent the Voidling? Yes, I’m willing to admit to that. It won’t be long before the creatures are more common.” She leaned forward. “But most importantly, Krot, I have the cameras.”

Perelor felt blood drain from his face. “Those only run during raids,” he said. It took effort to keep his expression neutral, and he suspected he was, at least in part, failing.

“That’s what we tell you,” Cyrla said. “But that’s not the truth. They’ve been running the whole time, Perelor. Not just when you’re fighting. It took little effort to find you and your friends discussing your plans. How do you think I knew where to put the Voidling to begin with?”

Perelor’s heart pounded. A way out. Some loophole exists, you just have to find it. For Arrus. “Larsh won’t let you kill me,” he said. “Or Ithrey.”

“But she would let me kill your friend with the Ever Surge,” Cyrla said. She leaned back. “It doesn’t matter, though. You see, you’re wrong. Larsh ordered Ithrey’s execution just minutes ago. Three dozen lashings. The guards are after her now.”

The words took a moment to set in. Then, cursing, Perelor shot to his feet. “No,” he hissed. “You… you can’t.”

Except… they could. And they would. Dread crept up his spine.

Cyrla chuckled. “You would think that, after five years, you would know our limits better. We can kill her, Perelor. We are killing her.”

He stood still for a moment, trembling. Watching it all burn.

Never learn a soldier’s name…

No. He would not return to that life. He turned for the door, ignoring Cyrla’s growl. “You can’t stop them,” she said. “The order has already been given.”

He pushed out of the tent anyway. The two guards at the entrance gave him quizzical looks, but he marched past them.

Flames.

Blood.

Screams.

Rubble.

And that blade…

It was all falling apart again.

“No,” he muttered. “Not this time. This time I try.” He broke out into a run.