I wonder, often, if I am wrong about my role in the galaxy.

What if the prophecy is not about me? What if I am simply arrogant? It would not be beyond me. This burden has revealed my weakness to be far more extensive than I had hoped.

There is an odd sense of comfort in the idea that I am not the Endowed, though. It would be difficult to surrender control of my destiny.

But perhaps surrender means that, for once, I do not have to do it all myself.

-Arath Dralei, circa 2,899 Post Fall of Meridian

Xanala hurriedly collected her things, which amounted to nothing more than the holoscreens she’d stolen earlier, along with a single Purity Surge. Alaran was letting her keep the holoscreens, oddly, and supplying her with the Surge — though he had warned her to study them more carefully before attempting to reverse Oblivion’s taint again.

As if Xanala hadn’t already learned that lesson.

Stuffing the last of the metal cubes into her pack, she zipped it closed and slung it over her shoulder. Letting out a long breath, she swept her eyes over the room that had been her prison for the last week.

I’m free, she told the musty carpet and sweat-stained sheets. Her bedroom on Xeredon hadn’t been ornate, but it certainly beat this. Sear you, I’m free.

She turned and stepped into the hallway, trying not to think about what she’d have to face next. The siege was still in full swing, and as Alaran had given her more details about the Talar defenses — per Xanala’s request — she’d realized why the Confederacy had been so scared of the warrior nation. Larsh’s army was massive, her navy was engineered to perfection, and her troops, despite their numbers, were all incredibly well trained.

All I have to do is surrender, though. Ironic. After all this, I end up going where I should have gone years ago. Perhaps that was where she would meet her destiny as the Endowed.

No. Larsh thinks she’s the Endowed, remember? And Torment, maybe she’s right. It’s not like I’ve lived up to the title. Either way, I don’t want to challenge her.

Her step slowed, and she glanced back involuntarily. Was fleeing to Larsh really any better than where she was now? Certainly Larsh would use her just as easily. Probably more so, Alaran had at least tried to be kind.

I don’t have a choice, she reminded herself. They’re going to kill Alaran whether or not I’m here. She continued onward.

The air grew warmer as she stepped outside, and the haze of smoke greeted her eyes, the stench of it seeping into her nose. The Talar were getting closer to Iral City; their campaign from the south had passed the equator just this afternoon, according to Alaran. Though the Talar seemed intent on conquering — rather than slaughtering — the population, the war had still lit hundreds of cornfields ablaze, sending the smoke Xanala now breathed all across the planet. There were few soldiers out here; Alaran was gathering most of his men in the Undercity below the capital, hoping to flank the Talar forces when they inevitably laid siege to the city.

I wonder if giving Larsh that knowledge would increase my chances, Xanala thought idly. She felt shame wash over her. Many would die if she did that.

But then, didn’t I swear I would survive? No matter what?

She twitched her finger, forcing herself to focus on continuing forward, step after agonizing step, her chest constricting in fear as she did. Thaus, why was this so hard?

Because you’re betraying Alaran, a part of her whispered. He trusted you, and you’re betraying him.

Just like your father betrayed you.

A streak of blue shot through the smoky sky, two more following behind, though they glowed less brightly than the first. They soared toward Xanala, and she tensed, hand tightening on the Purity Surge.

She relaxed as she saw the figure was Alaran, then tensed again as she realized he was caked in fresh blood, along with his companions. His uniform was torn in several places, and cuts and bruises dotted his skin, but the odd placement of some splotches made Xanala think that not all of it was his.

He was at the warfront, she reminded herself. That’s normal. Still, she stopped in her tracks, just a few feet away from the outer gate of the military complex, as Alaran gradually descended to land in front of her.

He frowned, but nodded to her. “So. You’re leaving.”

“Yes.”

“I see. Well, may Okron be with you, then.” He hesitated a moment, then gave her another nod, and marched forward. The other two Surgewielders landed behind him, then followed, shooting Xanala nervous glances as they did.

“Is that the girl with the scar?” one of them whispered.

“I think so,” said the other. “Looks kinda small for being the Endowed though.” He glanced backward, frowning, and his voice trailed off into incoherence as he continued onward.

Xanala hesitated. The girl with the scar? Alaran hadn’t revealed her, had he? Her heart pounded even faster, as simultaneously her chest constricted even more. She paused, trembling, then cursed and turned back around, striding as fast as she could toward Alaran.

“Hey!”

Alaran looked back, his expression relaxing a little, stopping and turning with his arms folded behind his back. Xanala scowled, but, glancing toward the Surgewielders, forced herself to stay silent until she arrived directly in front of the memory burner.

“Did you… tell them?” she kept her hissing voice low enough the guards wouldn’t hear.

Alaran frowned. “What?” He looked toward the soldiers, who were staring at Xanala, and realization dawned on his face. “Ah. That.” He nodded. “Veryn, Tirith, I think it would be best if you went inside for a moment.”

“Understood, Governor.” They continued on.

Xanala blinked. “You didn’t tell me you were Governor.”

“I didn’t tell you many things,” Alaran said. “Not because I want to hide them from you, but because you seem intent on leaving me no other choice. Now, what is this about?”

“You told them, didn’t you? About the scar.”

“I told them nothing. But you were here for several days, Xanala, some of which you spent unconscious in a cell. Guards talk. And rumors spread.”

“You didn’t stop them,” Xanala pressed.

“No, I did not. And I don’t think I should have. Whether or not you accept your destiny, my men have the right to know the truth, even if it must come to them through rumor.”

“I’m not the Endowed.”

Alaran shrugged. “Maybe not. It would certainly make both of our lives simpler.” He sighed. “If you still plan on leaving, I do not have time to discuss this further; my men’s lives are a higher priority than trying to convince you to stay.”

“They’ll die no matter what I do,” Xanala said softly.

Alaran smiled sadly. “You almost sound like you doubt that. Ah well. Our correspondence is over, young Erdor. I have a nation to attend to.”

He turned and walked away, jogging to meet up with the Surgewielders. Xanala cursed under her breath, debating if she should follow.

He wants you to save him, because he cannot save himself, Oblivion whispered. Do not trust him.

She frowned, but turned away. Oblivion was right about at least one thing: Alaran couldn’t save her. She strode back to the gate, and out of it this time, making her way down cement steps and into the streets of Iral City.

It was a dismal place; Xanala supposed that made sense, considering what was about to happen to it. Shops sat abandoned, stickers and signs indicating their closure. Others looked open, but she could see that there was no one inside through the building windows. Only a few brave souls ventured out onto the cement walkways. Even they seemed to sense the heaviness surrounding them; they kept glancing upward at the heavens. At the smoke that covered the sky.

Xanala forced herself not to look up with them. There was only one way forward for her now, and this planet’s predicament was not hers to solve.

Unless you’re the Endowed, a part of her whispered. Then it’s your duty.

She ignored it. Duty had died when her father had betrayed her.

Yet it proved harder to ignore than she thought it would. Though most of the population was inside, there were still dozens of beggars lining the streets, each bearing a sign with their predicament. Some were starving; between Larsh’s pillaging and the needs of the army, the entire city was on razor-thin rations. Some had lost their fathers, or mothers, or siblings, and needed money for some semblance of a funeral. Still others stood numb, without a sign at all, dirty and ragged.

Are you really going to join the very force causing this? the traitorous part of her whispered. Can you really justify that?

“It’s what father would do,” she said. He, at least, knew how to survive. Eyes drifted toward her as she said the words. She didn’t care. Or at least, she pretended she didn’t.

Do you really want to become like your father? the eyes asked in reply.

The question made her stop in her tracks. A passing Miradoran bumped into her, cursing, and she stumbled, but couldn’t bring herself to apologize as she stepped out of the way.

Do you really want to become like your father?

Did she have a choice?

Had she ever had a choice?

“I have a choice now,” she muttered. “To leave. And I’m making that choice, thau you!”

And still, she couldn’t bring herself to move. Her eyes drifted upward. To the smoky sky, and a red sun behind it, casting crimson shadows across the blackness. A sign of the approaching death that would swallow this city.

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Pain. Then death. Then Torment. That was the way of the galaxy. Her father had lived by that belief.

Do you really want to become like him?

“I don’t have a choice,” she whispered. “I don’t.”

She forced her eyes back to the ground, and took a few more steps forward. Then she stopped.

A mother yelled out into the street. She held a boy in her arms, caked in blood. The child was deathly pale, and Xanala could see bandages covering a gash in his side.

“Please!” the mother yelled. “He’ll die! Please!”

Xanala hesitated. Then she sighed, and reached into her pocket, retrieving the Purity Surge, then Reached for its power. It trickled into her veins, enough to make her glow visibly in the red light of evening, though it still felt like scraps to her after years of true atom burning.

Yet, it would be enough.

It took a moment for the mother to see Xanala approach, but when she did, her eyes widened in shock.

“You,” she whispered. “You… how…”

Xanala just nodded to her, then placed her hands on the boy. He shivered at her touch, but relaxed as she pushed Purity into his skin. Xanala kept her eyes fixed firmly on the wound as she healed it, envisioning the child’s skin mending, shifting back into its natural state. Within moments, it looked just as she envisioned it. Letting out a breath, she let her hand slide away from the boy’s skin.

“My healing won’t be perfect,” she said. “I don’t know exactly what the skin was like before, so I can’t reform it completely. But he will live long enough for the body to mend itself.”

She stepped away, not meeting the mother’s eyes. Nearly everyone around her had stopped in their tracks, and they stared at her with a collective gaze she could not meet.

“Endowed,” she heard someone whisper. “That’s the girl they say is the Endowed.”

“That’s foolishness,” someone else said. “She just has a Surge.” Yet they didn’t sound so sure.

I shouldn’t have done this, Xanala thought. The rumors will spread even farther. If Larsh finds out I have the scar…

“Thank you.”

It was the mother. Xanala turned, hesitantly studying the woman’s face. Tears streaked her cheeks, and the boy still looked stunned and pale.

Yet, she was smiling.

“Thank you,” she repeated. “I don’t know what to say besides that. You saved him.”

Xanala paused. Then she nodded. “I had a Surge. Wasn’t a big deal.”

The mother shook her head. “It was to me. Thank you.”

Xanala gave her a hesitant smile of her own, though it quickly faded as she turned away. She stepped forward a few blocks more, whispers following her, then stopped again.

Do you really want to become like your father? Never doing anything for anyone but yourself?

That woman’s face, streaked with tears, yet still smiling. And the boy, alive, when he should’ve died.

No, she admitted.

She turned, slowly. Moved her gaze upward to the military complex stretching into the sky.

Alaran could heal her from Oblivion’s taint. It would take time, but he was perhaps the only one who could, apart from Larsh. She hated it, and she’d been desperately trying to avoid dependence on him, but it was the truth. She sucked in a shaky breath, remembering what he wanted from her.

What everyone in Delti wanted from her.

I don’t have the strength to do this, she thought. I can’t become what the prophecy needs me to be. I can’t.

But then, did it matter? It was a prophecy. It would happen whether she liked it or not.

She took a step forward. Then another. Then a third. The people continued to stare at her, to whisper a thousand rumors, most of which she could not make out.

You are weak, Oblivion hissed. The first time he’d spoken in a long while. You will fail.

His voice was accompanied by a flood of emotion, so strong she stumbled and nearly fell. But, she kept her footing, and kept jogging forward.

I will kill you. Enslave you. Have you not heard the legends? I have destroyed six others before you.

You are weak. You always have been.

“No,” she hissed. “I am not weak. I am… I am…”

She couldn’t force the admission out of her mouth. Not yet; not with her father’s last insult still pounding in her mind. But she kept moving, rushing up the steps to the military complex. A pair of soldiers waited for her at the gate, barring her entry now that she was moving into the base and not out.

She waved a hand at them. “Alaran will want to see me. Let me through.”

The soldiers shook their heads. “That is for Governor Valeo to decide,” one of them said. “You will wait here until he has been informed of your return.”

Xanala opened her mouth to protest, then shut it. Fair enough. The soldier who had spoken turned and shouted an order to someone behind the gates. Xanala briefly saw another soldier’s silhouette as they dashed across the courtyard and into the main building of the complex.

“I at least want to meet with him in private,” she said.

“That will be for him to decide,” the soldier repeated. Xanala studied the man’s face, then sighed. She probably wasn’t to get anything else out of the man. She sat down on the ground, closing her eyes.

He will betray you, Oblivion whispered. Okron, his touch was so delicate, perfectly balanced to set her on edge. How much of her distrust of Alaran had simply been because of the dark god’s interference?

And yet, Oblivion had been right about her father…

“We’ll see,” she muttered. “We’ll see.” She began twitching her finger, pouring her focus into that movement, shutting out all else.

“Young miss, are you alright?” That was another of the soldiers. Xanala nodded, not bothering to open her eyes.

“I’m fine.”

He will betray you, Oblivion hissed.

She twitched her finger, once, twice.

He seeks to control you.

Thrice, four times.

He will destroy you!

Five times, six.

You will not serve him. I will not let you.

Power swelled within her chest, and she leaned forward, gasping, eyes flashing open. Emotions rushed over her in a wave, and her finger ceased twitching, her left hand clenching into a fist. Red light began softly glowing around her heart.

“No,” she hissed. “No!”

She threw her will against Oblivion’s, and, for once, came out on top. He screamed at her as he faded, but, with Alaran’s ward assisting her, it was easy to best him. The red light dissipated, and her chest returned to normal.

Still, she trembled. That’s never happened before. The taint couldn’t be getting worse, could it?

She suspected she didn’t want to know the answer.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” the soldier repeated. He’d stepped toward her with one hand extended to help her up, though Xanala noted that his other hand gripped his lasertip tightly.

She gave him a curt nod. “I’m fine,” she repeated. She rose to her feet, then swallowed as she saw a line of blue light shrieking downward toward the ground. Alaran.

Xanala swallowed, straightening as the memory burner struck the ground, then walked toward her, waving for the soldiers to leave. They did so silently, leaving her alone at the gate with Alaran.

The man did not look happy.

“You,” he said. “What now? Didn’t I tell you I don’t have any more time to waste?”

Xanala hesitated, mouth open, yet no words came out. Alaran’s face… the man was genuinely angry.

You are weak. You always have been.

It all came crashing down in that moment. The stress of Oblivion’s taint, constantly in the back of her mind. The weight of years spent in hiding. The pressure of knowing she was the prophesied hero who would save humanity.

Above all, the terrible wound of her father’s betrayal, still fresh, despite her best efforts to go on despite it.

She fell to her knees, sobbing. She knew she was in public, and she knew such a display of weakness was never a good idea, but she could not hold the tears in. They leaked from her eyes, liquid pain sliding down her cheeks.

You are weak.

“What did I do wrong?” The words came out in a gasp. “Why did he leave me?”

For a moment, she was alone in her agony.

Then arms wrapped around her. She looked up in surprise, tears gone for a moment, to see Alaran, kneeling beside her, pulling her tight. The anger was gone from his face.

“He’s wrong,” the memory burner whispered.

The tears returned. “No, he’s not,” Xanala said through sniffles. “Look at me. Crying. I’m weak, just like he said.”

A wistful smile crossed Alaran’s face. “I think your father doesn’t know what strength is, Xanala. We think of strength and weakness as opposites. But how can strength exist without weakness? Who is stronger than someone who acknowledges their weakness, and goes on despite it?

“No, tears are not weakness Xanala. Not all strength comes from steel or soldiers. Sometimes the greatest strength is found in someone who kneels, and cries, and doesn’t give up.”

The tears continued, but to her surprise, Xanala found that the words… helped. The words, and the arms around her, and even the tears, they all helped. They didn’t make it go away, but they seemed to siphon away bits of the pain.

I will kill you, Oblivion hissed. I will…

“Be quiet,” she muttered.

Alaran raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, I just…”

“Not you,” she said. “Oblivion. I…” she closed her eyes. “Can you really get rid of him?”

Alaran hesitated. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know much more than what’s contained in those holoscreens I gave you. But if you trust me, I will try. I promise you that.”

She met his eyes. To her surprise, she saw tears in them, too.

“You’re not the same, are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not like my father. Or the politicians. Or… anyone I’ve known.” She sucked in a breath, then stepped out of Alaran’s arms, rising.

“I’m staying.”

Alaran paused, for a moment looking completely shocked. Then he grinned, rising as well.

“I’m… glad to hear that. Your quarters should still be empty, though I…”

“I’m staying,” Xanala repeated. She met Alaran’s eyes. “But it won’t be the same as last time. I want to spend every waking hour I can finding a way to get rid of Oblivion. I understand you can’t be there all the time, but I still want you to find ways for me to train on my own.”

Alaran hesitated, then nodded. “I can do that. I should be available for a lesson later tonight.”

“Good.” Xanala paused again, a part of her still dreading the next words she would say.

You will fail, Oblivion whispered. You are too weak for this.

He was wrong. She straightened.

“Another thing. I know you didn’t start the rumors that have taken the city about the prophecy.”

Alaran nodded. “I can stop them, though. You are right, I shouldn’t have allowed them to…”

“No. I want you to help them spread, Alaran. They’re the truth. I have the scar, I can wield all three Powers. The prophecy refers to me.

“So tell them. Tell them the Endowed lives. Tell them their savior has come.

“Tell them it is I.”

There was a long pause as Alaran took in the words she had said. Honestly, she was shocked by them, too. How many times had she denounced this responsibility? How many times had she hid, rather than accept the truth?

And yet, it was the truth. And as the words left her mouth, she felt an odd sense of satisfaction for saying them. They might be true regardless, but accepting them, that was her choice. Her freedom.

This will enslave you to them, Oblivion whispered. They will use you until there is nothing left of you to use.

The woman, holding her healed son…

Good, she thought, directing her thoughts toward the dark god. I am not my father. You may have power over me now, but one day I will break free.

And when I’m standing at your gates with an army behind, on that day, you will fear me.