Who am I?

That, I think, is the ultimate question of our age. One even I cannot answer.

-Arath Dralei, circa 2,897 Post Fall of Meridian

“Bombers! To cover!”

Xanala’s heart pounded as she scrambled away from the ledge she’d been standing on when the soldier had cried out. In the distance, a thunderous explosion rumbled, and streaks of purple shot through the red-tinted sky. Xanala twisted toward the nearest door, then cursed as she crashed head-on into a soldier running in the opposite direction. They tumbled to the ground as another shriek split the night, closer this time.

“Off me!” Xanala shouted, desperately pushing a limb out of her way, then jumping to her feet. She ran around the corner and into the doorway, then immediately slammed it shut behind her.

As she did, she couldn’t help but glimpse the city outside, buildings smoking, towers crumbling. And flames. Flames everywhere.

She shivered. I need out. Fast.

***

Later that night, Xanala awoke abruptly, slamming her hand against the holoscreen alarm by the side of her bed. The thing was louder than she’d thought it would be. Hand trembling, she waited, expecting guards to barge in, or the lights to suddenly turn on. Something.

You must learn to hide, her father’s voice whispered. Anyone, and I mean anyone, will kill you if they find out what you are.

Trust no one.

She twitched her finger, heart pounding. No reaction came, though. She let out a relieved breath. Maybe this would work. She scooted out of her bed, slipping over to the door of her newly assigned quarters, peeking through the crack at the hallway outside.

The lights were on, but she saw no flickers of motion. She waited, counting two minutes under her breath. Still nothing.

Alaran still hasn’t found out. Good. She let out a relieved breath, then knelt beside her bed.

She’d left the Surgeblade underneath it; she’d been tempted to sleep with the weapon, just in case, but then she’d realized how suspicious that would look. Now that it was dark, she withdrew the weapon, closed her eyes, and Reached. There was a moment of pause — Reaching seemed to require more mental exertion than it had before — but a second later she was glowing softly with Ever.

Then, she Reached again. Not for the Surgeblade this time, but for her own abilities.

Nothing came — at least, no additional Ever. She felt a straining, as if her mind were pushing up against a wall of tightly stretched cloth. She could sense it giving way, could feel the air of the room behind, but couldn’t quite get it to snap. Maybe if she pushed a little harder….

I can free you…

She shivered. No, not yet. She reached into the pockets of her robes, gripping the holodiscs that waited there, along with two display holoscreens — in case one of them broke. She’d swiped those from the military library earlier, every one she could find on the mechanics of Identity and wards.

Now, Three Gods willing, she was going to escape. She’d need to find a Purity and a Void Surge, if she could; she wanted access to all Three Powers before showing up at Larsh’s camp. But for now, the Ever Surge would be enough to get her out. With half of their soldiers at the warfront, the watchmen here were scant, and over the last week she’d found dozens of viable escape routes. If all went well, at least one of them would work.

Slowly she cracked the door open, still looking for guards, still finding nothing. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the worry off her face and strode through the hallways.

Night was at its peak, and she’d heard soldiers earlier whispering about a skirmish to the south, so, hopefully, the building would be near empty. If not, she’d just have to act natural and pray that no one recognized her; she wasn’t stealthy enough to get out by sneaking around. Rounding a corner, she tensed as she saw a soldier leaning against a wall, but he only nodded to her, then breathed in the cigarette in his hands. As Xanala passed him, his eyes glazed over and he purred softly.

Not much discipline around here, Xanala noted. Hardly an eye rested on her as she made her way to an elevator, then stepped inside. Alone, she ascended toward the higher floors, where she knew the landing pads were.

She waited as the elevator pushed against her feet, closing her eyes, trying to steady her breathing. Everything was silent, even Oblivion. It was unnerving.

The elevator clicked open, and she stepped out into a similar hallway as the one she’d just left. There were a few more soldiers here, but no one questioned her as she found a map, then wound her way through the corridors and out onto a landing pad.

All but one stall was empty, but that one ship — an old cruiser with the paint job peeling off — would do. Xanala barely knew how to fly anyway, so this might actually be better than a fighter. She released a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, shot what she hoped was a subtle glance behind her, then made her way through the shadows and up to the ship’s cockpit.

It popped open easily, and with the boost of a touch of Ever from her Surge, she was able to soar up and into the seat with no problem. Glowing with just enough Ever to light the area a few feet around her, she squinted at the control panel. It looked easy enough. A switch to start the engine, an automated take-off protocol, and a simple set of levers for controlling the vehicle after that.

This might actually work.

Except there was still one problem. She closed her eyes, trembling slightly as she reached into her pocket and retrieved the holoscreen from earlier — the one that, she hoped, would teach her how to expel Oblivion.

She shrunk down into the seat of the cockpit, carefully moving the device to ensure that no one could see its glow from afar, then began watching, playing the audio through an earpiece she’d also stolen from the Grahlan Archives. The night air felt colder as she surfed through videos on Identity theory and Split Power theory, stealing glances constantly to ensure she was still alone. Finally, after at least an hour of searching — though it felt much longer — she found what she was looking for.

Expelling Power-Based Soul Control, it was called, and as she watched, it seemed to describe her condition well. According to it, someone — in this case Oblivion— had merged a part of their own soul with Xanala’s, but in a parasitic way, allowing them to extend themselves into Xanala and control her intentions. Alaran’s ward was the only thing shielding her from that.

“The ward is only a temporary measure,” the holoscreen said, “as the person who initiates it must then constantly fight the original perpetrator for control, and the victim is completely subject to the will of the person who warded them — a detriment to both participants. A full expulsion is recommended. It’s difficult, especially if one is not a burner. It’s also risky, as the process, if done incorrectly, can deepen the problem.”

Xanala frowned, pausing the holoscreen. Her heart beat even faster in her chest.

She’d been right. Alaran could control her. For all his talk of helping her, and all his words about the greater good, he’d still lied. Her hands trembled.

He could be influencing me right now… That wasn’t likely, though. Steadying her breathing, she continued watching the recording.

The ritual seemed fairly simple, though, to be honest, Xanala had no idea if it would seem that way when she attempted it. She had to use the Ever from the Surge and infuse it into her soul, flushing out Oblivion’s corruption almost like water washing a dish. The recording recommended using multiple Surgewielders, working in tandem, but Xanala didn’t have that luxury.

The recording ended, leaving her in darkness, save for the soft light of her blue glow. Instinctively she drew in more Ever from the Surge, casting azure light across the cockpit. Breathing in, she peeked over the edge of her seat, checking one last time to ensure she wouldn’t be disturbed.

There was no one.

It was time.

She drew in all the Ever she could from the Surge. It was a strong one, and the intensity of the light almost blinded her as she stared at her arms. The guards would certainly see that. She needed to hurry.

Closing her eyes, she Reached, not for any of the Powers, but for the web of her own soul.

At first, she felt nothing, but within a few moments, she felt a soft prickling in her chest, something the recording had said she would feel. The prickling started in her forehead, too, and on the back of her neck, then spread from there into her veins.

As the recording had also said, the prickling feeling on her chest was… different. Sharper, and more painful. It was there she would have to target with her Ever.

She let out the breath she’d sucked in. Then, gritting her teeth, she willed all the Ever she could into that one point.

The prickling intensified, and, for a moment, she felt the strange sensation in her chest match the feelings in her neck and forehead. Her veins throbbed, and her skull ached, but she let out a long breath.

Then, abruptly, her glow vanished, and agony like she’d never felt before slammed into her.

I have you now. Oblivion’s voice was louder than it had been before. Not just in volume, but in the way it resonated within her, her very heartbeat seeming to sync with the rise and fall of his voice.

Red light suddenly burst alive in her chest, then spread through her veins, lighting up her arms, her legs. Her eyes. It cast crimson shadows on the fallen holoscreen beside her.

Without her willing it, her leg moved.

No! Panic rose in her mind. But only in her mind. Everything else felt numb, like a foot you’d slept on for too long — except across her entire body. No!

She tried to push against Oblivion, Reaching, slamming the force of her will against his. It was like trying to push a planet with her shoulder. Instead of helping her resist, she found her willpower burned out, and as she fell back in exhaustion, Oblivion took complete control. He forced her to stand, then hop down from the cockpit. She could hear soldiers rallying, too, though the sound was duller than usual, as if she were underwater.

No… Her protests were weak, and they did nothing. Oblivion forced her to jump downward, and though she still felt the shock of her feet striking the pavement, it was dwarfed by the raw fear pounding through her mind.

Oblivion fixed her eyes on the Grahalan soldiers. They were grouping into a squadron, and several pointed and yelled as Oblivion closed Xanala’s eyes, lighting up with Void. The tingling numbness Xanala felt intensified as he threw his hand forward, burning the magical energy.

Time seemed to slow. Tendrils shot out from Xanala’s hands, twisting toward the soldiers.

No. I will not be a murderer. Not again!

Yet Xanala’s cries were only a whimper, and they did nothing. The tendrils slammed into the soldiers chests, throwing them backward, then reared upward, reaching for their necks…

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Then blue light washed over Xanala. The tendrils puffed out of existence as a blazing figure slammed feet first into the cement. The fall should have snapped Alaran’s legs like they were made of powder, but he hardly seemed to notice the force of it, instead leaping for Xanala.

You, Xanala heard Oblivion hiss. I will enjoy killing one of you. He lashed out with Xanala’s hands, throwing tendrils toward Alaran, pushing far more Void into powering them. This time, though, Alaran didn’t vaporize the tendrils but abruptly shifted himself in midair, throwing himself feet first into Xanala. She felt the pain that opened across her chest as his boots crashed into her ribs, and the breathlessness that followed as she rolled across the cement, cuts and bruises opening all across her skin.

Fool, Oblivion thought. He didn’t seem to even notice Xanala resisting him anymore. He stood, raising Xanala’s hands, letting go of Void and instead burning Purity. Strangely, as it raced through Xanala’s veins, it didn’t glow white, instead emanating a dark black. I will make you suffer for that.

I will make you all suffer.

Oblivious to any of it, Alaran whirled around. Oblivion slammed Xanala’s hand against the floor, and the cement flowed into her skin — a poor imitation of titrite, but still more protective than any natural armor could be. It flowed across Xanala’s face just as Alaran unleashed a hail of plasma. The Purity-infused cement sizzled as it absorbed the blows.

The bright light of the superheated air still blinded Xanala, though, and for a moment Oblivion stood still. One crucial moment.

Ever slammed into Xanala’s forehead — not a plasma attack, but raw Ever, still completely in its ethereal form. It strained as it pushed against the titrite helm covering her, hissing and churning like blue mist.

What is he doing? she thought.

Yet even as she drifted, confused, she felt Oblivion thrashing violently against the Ever, and she understood.

He’s trying to ward me again, she realized. Hope surged in her, and, letting out a mental growl, she attacked Oblivion with all the willpower she could muster.

It wasn’t much, not against the cold, intense power he had acquired over her. But, pushing with all her might, pain screaming at her from the exhaustion of it, she held him back, for one, crucial moment.

The Ever broke through the helm, the titrite dropping back to the ground as cement. Blue light blazed in Xanala’s veins.

The last thing Xanala saw was Alaran, landing beside her, face tight.

Even in blackness, she trembled at the fury on that face.

***

She awoke to find herself again in chains. To find herself, once again, alone. Dark metal walls greeted her on her sides; she had been chained to the back wall standing up, cuffs holding her limbs up in several places. Her mind was foggy again, so they must have drugged her, too. Beyond a pneumatic doorway, there was nothing else in the room.

She closed her eyes, almost too tired to do what she knew she had to. Almost not wishing to know. But, sucking in a deep breath, she Reached.

Nothing. The same nothing she’d felt earlier, before trying to reverse Oblivion’s taint.

Before failing.

So he’s warded me again. She wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. Oblivion wasn’t controlling her, but…

Stop it, she chided herself. Alaran might’ve been able to control you, but he didn’t. It’s… she swallowed, too proud to admit it, even in her head, then winced. It’s better than Oblivion. It’s not perfect, but it’s better.

There was a problem now, though. The chances of Alaran giving her another Surge to work with were about the chances of a river running through Torment. Her avenue to Talar, and survival, was gone.

You really are weak, Oblivion whispered.

She tried to think of some other way, some hope, but drugged and exhausted, she didn’t even know where to start. Leaning back, she sagged in her chains. Closed her eyes again.

Sleep came. With it, nightmares.

***

She stood atop a balcony. The same balcony where she’d stood just days ago, watching the sunset. Had it been just days? How long had she waited in that cell, chained and unconscious? She didn’t know, and as she gazed at the horizon, the thought slipped away like water down a pipe.

Soon, though, the sunset was not what she was staring at. Screams, soft at first, slowly grew louder, and she turned her eyes down to the Grahalan city below.

Flames and smoke covered it. All of it. Fighters dashed about, just barely above the buildings, firing indiscriminately into the city complex. The town had not been evacuated, and bodies flew everywhere, many raining down into the streets below. People ran everywhere, yet nowhere was safe. Ash and embers cascaded downward. The ground shook as towers collapsed.

Above it all, a giant battleship, with clean, purple-painted trim, waited like a shark in the sky. Xanala had never seen the ship in person, but she recognized it.

The Talar flagship. She stepped back reflexively. She had only been three when Ethea had been ransacked, but schools always played recordings of that day. It was a warning, they said.

A warning against what Xanala saw now.

Realizing where she stood, she turned to flee. Yet, even as she thought it, her muscles locked in place. A voice, rich and deep and terribly familiar, echoed all around her.

The Final War comes. You cannot stop it.

“You,” she hissed. “Get out of my head!”

You will die here. Alaran knows this; he has seen his own death in the Tower. Yet, you do not have to die.

“I’m not falling for this again. I have a plan. It’ll work.” It has to.

A long pause. Then a chuckle.

We shall see. When Alaran is dead, and you watch this very scene unfolding before you, we shall see.

Her eyes involuntarily flicked upward, then widened as she saw a Talar fighter shrieking toward her. Adrenaline raced through her as its blasters lit up, then fired.

Heat, terrible, burning heat, washed over her. After that, nothing.

After the nothingness, pain.

***

Xanala’s eyes shot open, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her breaths so rushed she hardly took in any air. Her vision was speckled with black dots at first, though as she forced her breathing to steady, they gradually faded back into color.

As they did, she tensed. Alaran was sitting across from her, lips pursed, leaning forward to inspect her intently. His eyes were filled with anger.

“You’re awake.”

Xanala winced. Part of her wanted to close her eyes, and avoid this, but she was still in the cuffs from before, so there was no way to run. She swallowed. “I am.”

“You almost killed several of my men.”

“That was Oblivion.”

“Working through you. Not much difference, the way I see it.”

“There is a difference.”

“Maybe. But I still should kill you.” He sighed. “You’re lucky you’re the Endowed.”

Doesn’t feel lucky, Xanala thought. But she fell silent. She did not think it would be best to test Alaran’s patience.

Alaran rose, clasping his hands behind his back, pacing. “What do you expect me to do, child? I can’t kill you, you’re too important. But you aren’t leaving me another option.”

“You could’ve started by not mind-controlling me.”

Xanala regretted her words immediately. Alaran’s face tightened, and he whipped around to face her again.

“Did you even listen to the recordings you stole? Yes, I can control you, at any time I want. But have I ever used it?”

“How would I know?”

“Oh, you would know, girl. If I were in your position… bah!” He waved a hand. “You’re lucky you’re the Endowed.”

“Well I wish I weren’t.” Anger welled inside Xanala, and despite the part of her that screamed for her to avoid Alaran’s anger, she kept going. “And if you had been given the scar, you’d wish you weren’t either. Do you have any idea what it’s like to have him in your mind all the time? Do you have any idea what it’s like to know that if anyone, anyone at all, found out about you, you’d either be killed on the spot or dragged into a war against a searing god? Do you have any idea?”

She was shouting by the end, shouting like she’d never shouted before, and to her surprise, when she was done Alaran actually stepped back, face falling. He opened his mouth, shut it, then turned away.

“No. No, I suppose I don’t.” He slid back into his chair, paused, then nodded. “And there’s only one way to remedy that. What is it like, Xanala?”

Xanala snorted. “Do you really expect me to believe you want to know?”

“Regardless of what you believe, I do.” He sighed. “You’re the Endowed. I like it as little as you seem to, but regardless of our preferences, we have to work together. A lot more than our well-being depends on it.”

“Why should I care about that?” Xanala knew she should have calmed down by now, but a part of her just kept going. “The world has done nothing but spit on my face and kick me down, over and over and over. Why should I care about saving people I hate?”

To her surprise, Alaran was silent for a long moment. “I think you do care,” he said finally. “You’re just scared to admit it.”

Xanala snorted. “I think you don’t know me very well then.”

“Maybe,” Alaran said. “Maybe.” He paused, tapping his finger against his leg. Xanala’s own finger twitched violently, though it didn’t seem to make any difference.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of silence, Alaran rose. He closed his eyes, lighting up with Ever, then snapped his fingers. Xanala’s cuffs all released at once, and she had to slam her hands against the wall to keep from sliding downward. She frowned.

“What’re you doing?”

“Releasing you,” Alaran said. When her frown deepened, he only shrugged. “I can’t keep you here against your will, not forever. I won’t be releasing the ward on you — I doubt you’d like that much anyway — but you’re free now. I’d kill you, but you’re the Endowed, so…” he shrugged again, sighing. “There’s nothing I can do to help you if you don’t want to help yourself.”

“You’re just going to… let me go?”

“I don’t hate you, Xanala. Hopefully, this proves that to you, even if you don’t want to embrace your destiny.” He smiled sadly. “And, frankly, I don’t have enough time left to deal with you if you’re not cooperative. This entire planet is under siege, and as a Grahalan leader I’m not under any illusion that I’ll be spared when it falls. I’d rather spend my energy trying to save as many of my people as I can, rather than keeping you prisoner.”

He rose, stepping through the pneumatic door. Hastily, Xanala scrambled to her feet.

He’s actually letting me free. I can go to Larsh. I can escape the siege! She needed to move fast, she decided, before he changed his mind.

Yet strangely, she hesitated as Alaran’s figure stepped out in the hallway.

“Why?”

She cursed herself for asking. She didn’t need to know why, and she certainly didn’t want him questioning his decision. Alaran turned back, though, his eyes solemn.

“Because it’s the right thing,” he said. He shook his head. “Maybe you’ll understand that, one day.”

He turned the corner and vanished, leaving Xanala alone.

Free, but alone.

***

Alaran rested his head in his hands as he walked away from the cell. That girl was barely clinging to sanity. Perhaps it was Oblivion’s taint, perhaps it was trauma, perhaps it was both, but regardless of the cause, he couldn’t trust her.

Maybe she isn’t the Endowed, he thought. Things would certainly be easier if she wasn’t. Many had been born with the scar, none had yet fulfilled the prophecy.

Yet, if she wasn’t the prophesied hero, why had he seen her when he’d visited the Tower of Foreseeing? Why could he not shake that image of her holding a glowing silver sword to the sky?

They will come to you, the True Eye had said. You will not have long, but you must prepare them.

They will face more than you ever could.

He sucked in a breath, continuing away from the cell. He had done all he could. Maybe the girl would come back, and take her place. Maybe not. But he had done all he could.

It would be enough. It had to be.