They shall kneel to the Trett, and the Trett shall kneel to them, and together they shall master all power.

-Excerpt from The Book of Eternity

Xanala Erdor trembled, and she hated herself for it. There was no reason for her to be afraid. Her father had taken care of everything, the way he always did. The props were here, the stage had been carefully set, and the actors were perfectly manipulated into place; all she had to do was provide the power for the lights, and the performance would proceed as planned.

And still she shook. Though it was not cold, ice crawled up her spine. Though the inside of the hover car was well-lit, she saw shadows everywhere.

Hesitantly, she began to twitch her finger, moving it back and forth, back and forth. She poured her focus into that movement, forgetting everything except that singular muscle. It worked. Not well, but it worked.

“You shouldn’t be worried.”

Her father, Lyrus, leaned against the seat across from her, one eye barely cracked open. Even half asleep he was an imposing man, muscular and tall, clad in the flowing white silk robes of the Second Masked Warrior. Those robes, and the title associated with them, gave him incredible power within both the Confederacy and the Church, more power than some planetary governors. He would use that power today, to kill a man. A Surgeblade waited at his hip, the jewel in its hilt full of white light.

“We’re headed to Raerok,” Xanala said defensively. “What do I not have to worry about?’

“Everything,” Lyrus replied. “You’re not a burner while you’re in that building, not until I say so. You are my daughter, here on a routine visit with me to investigate an escaped prisoner. Understand?”

“I… understand.” Xanala swallowed. “You know I’m not good at lying.”

Her father’s other eye cracked open, and he raised an eyebrow. “No, you’re not. But you are today.” He closed his eyes again, and his tight expression told Xanala there would be no further discussion of the matter. Xanala’s anxiety was irrelevant, as far as Lyrus was concerned. Restraining a sigh, she moved her gaze to stare out the thick glass window on the carriage’s side.

They were in Xeredon’s Undercity, below the capital of the International Confederacy, where leaders of most of the galaxy’s nations met in a tenuous religious alliance facilitated by the Church of Meridian. The Undercity, though, was far from any such politics; it was an ancient, buried place, deep beneath the planet’s main metropolis. It was dark here — few lights still worked after so long — but she caught glimpses of abandoned buildings, made of cement hard enough to last millennia, not decorated or embellished, but still firmly there. It was the bones of a civilization. The bare minimum needed for humans to survive, but a bare minimum that had lasted long after the rest of ancient society had decayed.

Supposedly, this place had been built as a massive bunker, designed to keep a few survivors safe in the case of an attack by Oblivion’s avatar. Xanala shivered as she imagined the sheer destruction the god must have caused to merit such drastic action; the Undercity was vast, even by modern population standards. Whatever the Void was — a god, like the main body of the Church claimed, or a man, like the Talar asserted — it had terrified these people.

And you’re the Endowed. If Mother is right, you’ll have to face this threat one day. That thought made the brief flashes of the ruins even more intimidating.

They sat in silence for a long time before Lyrus shifted, eyes opening again. “We are almost within range of Raerok’s receptors,” he said. “I want to review the plan before we arrive.”

Xanala straightened. “We’re here to expose Veridon Elnith,” she recited, “and, ideally, get him executed for treason against the Church.”

“And the crime he has committed?”

“Freeing a burner.” Xanala frowned, and Lyrus, seeing the downturn of her lips, snorted.

“He is not our ally, Xanala. The only reason he advocates for the legalization of burning is so he can cover his reputation after that fiasco with his son.”

“I know. But… we’re also killing another burner to do it.”

“An unfortunate casualty. But you cannot change the world without casualties, daughter.”

“I… you’re right. I’m sorry.”

The conversation continued as they went over the specifics again — for the third time today. The basic idea wasn’t too complicated: Veridon had secretly freed a burner, and was purposely sabotaging the search to find the escaped captive. Lyrus, using his authority as a Masked Warrior, would commandeer the investigation, and then he and Xanala would find, corner, and kill the burner, who would, undoubtedly, have evidence on his person condemning Veridon. From there, it would be easy to have their rival hanged.

Simple, brutal, effective. This plan had all the signature marks of her father’s work, and when her father planned something, events always seemed to shake out the way he wanted them to. Xanala would be a fool to question this course of action.

Yet, silently, she did so anyway. Veridon had threatened to publicly expose Xanala and Lyrus’ plans for a coup, and she knew logically that, for that threat, he would have to die. But she also disagreed with her father about Veridon’s intentions. From her limited interactions with the man, he appeared to genuinely believe in the cause of freeing burners, even if he wanted to do so through peaceful means, rather than a coup.

And, somehow, he knew about her scar. He’d made that very clear when he’d spoken with her father. But, unlike most Confederacy or Church officials would, he hadn’t condemned her, hadn’t called her a creature of the Void. Instead, he’d encouraged her father to have her go through the Testing.

She has a chance, he’d said. Would you deny the galaxy its chance for salvation?

Unfortunately, he misjudged both her and her father’s sense of honor. To pass the Testing, Xanala would have to kill all three Masked Warriors — her father included. And she would not betray her family.

So, she would help her father kill Veridon. Helping him eliminate an opponent was the least she could do, after all he’d suffered to keep her alive.

Lyrus cut off the conversation as they entered the range of Raerok’s comms readers. After that, it took them around an hour to reach their destination. The Undercity had at least a dozen distinct layers, stretching further and further into the planet’s crust. Raerok, the prison they were headed toward, was in the deepest layer, nearly a mile below ground level. The city’s illumination grew even more sparse as they descended, until, finally, they rounded a corner, and were suddenly blinded by the lights of the prison, its white, chrome walls glimmering despite the shadows. A few minutes later, they landed on a cement pad outside the complex.

The carriage doors slid open. Her father stepped out, then gestured for Xanala to follow. She did, though her heart pounded even faster in her chest. They were greeted by a man in a thick white coat, a bulky plastic mask covering his features, cloth-like carbon fiber armor covering the rest of his body. Veridon, their ultimate target, and the overseer of Raerok’s operations. A Surge sat clasped to his belt, glowing blue, and a troupe of six Eliminators waited behind him, armored in thick metal, wielding toxin staffs and heaving oversized cannon blasters on their backs — equipment designed especially to kill burners.

To kill people like Xanala.

“Lyrus,” Veridon said, crossing his hands in a salute. “I did not anticipate one of the Masked Warriors involving himself in this. I appreciate your concern for our well-being, but I must assure you, this is not a situation dire enough to justify such a risk.”

“Anything involving the Powers is my concern,” Lyrus said coolly. “I have lived for that cause, and one day I will die for it.”

“But to die here…”

“If I die, then it is the will of the Tower. Let me be blunt. I am no coward, and I will not back down on this. That is my final word.”

“I… see.” Veridon shot a glance at Xanala, and she could see the panic in his eyes.

He knows what we’re doing here. We’ll have to be careful. Hopefully Dad placed those bribes well…

They began walking as the two continued talking, discussing the details of the case and the current command structure of the investigation. The Eliminators fell into a march behind Veridon and Lyrus. Xanala had to resist the urge to glance backward at those Eliminators. They’d kill her, one day.

But not today. Dad has taken care of it. Relax.

It was easier said than done. She found herself twitching her finger again, even faster than before. What if one of the guards had faked the bribe? There were few here on Xeredon who were truly religious enough to turn Xanala in for that, but they did exist…

Trust Dad. He’s never failed you before.

Veridon’s eyes suddenly swiveled toward Xanala. “And your daughter? Is this necessary?”

“She is my heir,” Lyrus said. “She needs to learn.”

“Becoming a Masked Warrior is not hereditary.”

“Which is why this is even more important.”

“Does she think that?” Veridon met Xanala’s eyes. There was pleading in them. His eyes kept drifting to the arm with her scar, the one that marked her as the Endowed.

He thinks I might not agree with Dad’s plan. Rightly, to an extent. She hesitated for a moment, then hardened her expression.

“I want to be what my father is,” she recited. “It is a sacred duty to defend the virtue of the Powers.”

It was an excuse, of course. Xanala would never become a Masked Warrior. Passing the tests required for that would be impossible as a burner. But for now, pretending to that ambition would draw eyes away from her. For, if the right eyes fell upon her, she’d end up here, rotting in a prison cell, until finally she starved.

They arrived at a gateway into the complex. It was flanked by a half dozen more Eliminators, whose eyes followed the group as the doors snapped open, let them through, then snapped closed. They passed through three more layers of those doors, each guarded by a half dozen more Eliminators, until finally they emerged into a white hallway. Even more guards patrolled this part of the prison, some dressed in Eliminator’s garb, but more dressed in white suits, holding trays filled with jewels that glowed with white, blue, and red light.

Surges. That was the main purpose of Raerok: capturing burners, then forcing them to summon Surges. It was a terrible practice, though, admittedly, it kept society well supplied with the artifacts.

“If you are both determined to assist us,” Veridon said, “then come. We will discuss the missing atom burner.”

“Lead the way,” Lyrus said.

They followed the white-masked man down the hallway, and through a maze of similar hallways, passing through several more guarded doors. Xanala noticed that each hallway had scores of cameras on the ceiling, as well as remotely controlled guns waiting to fire downward on the hallway’s occupants. Those guns and cameras became even more common as they passed through the prisoner’s areas, hallways lined with sealed, square cell doors. A screen on the front of each door showed the prisoner inside. Some of them were asleep, but most sat curled into balls, some shocked, some crying, some scratching at their own skin and mumbling to themselves.

Xanala felt the prisoner’s emotions as she passed, an ability granted by her connection to Void, the Third Power. All around her was hunger, fear, anger. Despair, most of all. It was almost too much to stand. Her eyes followed the door of one particularly broken man. The screen on his door was dark. They’d left him in that darkness for days.

I could free him. All it would take is a single second of closing my eyes…

Lyrus nudged her, and she moved her gaze away from the prison cell. She was here to lower suspicion. As far as the Eliminators behind her knew, she thought that man was unholy. And though she could break him out, it likely wouldn’t last.

It was logical to abandon him. And, as her father had taught her, logic was the only constant in the galaxy.

They rounded a corner, then stopped. This part of the hallway was not white, at least not completely; char marks streaked across the walls and floor. There were holes in the ceiling where guns and cameras had been, and one of the cell doors lay thrown off its hinges.

“He escaped here,” Veridon said. “He’d successfully burned in the past, but never this strongly, and we’d thought raising his drug dose had stopped him.”

“He was acting.”

“Probably,” Veridon admitted. “He’s managed to avoid our sight so far. He’s not in someone else’s cell, either, we’ve checked all the cameras a hundred times over. But we do know he hasn’t left the compound.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“Absolutely. He has chips in his blood. He can’t leave the compound without us noticing, unless he’s willing to boil himself to do it.”

“He might manage that, if he’s a memory burner,” Lyrus noted. “But you’re probably right. He hasn’t left the prison — yet.” He hesitated. “Who is this man?”

“His identity is irrelevant, sir. He’s a burner.” That statement was posturing on Veridon’s part. In more private circles, he consistently insisted that the events of the Imperial Age had been misunderstood, and that burners were not inherently corrupt.

“Yes, yes, I get the religious side of that question,” Lyrus said, waving a hand. “But people are predictable, and there is a chance I know him. Who is he? Where is he from?”

Veridon’s mouth opened, but no words came out, and he looked conflicted. He could see that they were maneuvering him into a trap, though he clearly did not know how to escape it. Finally, he spoke.

“It’s the diplomat, sir.”

Lyrus raised an eyebrow. “The one from Herreon who betrayed us? Ireo?”

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Yes,” Veridon sighed. “Him.”

Xanala briefly remembered the incident. A Confederacy diplomat, working closely with the Church in Herreon, had been caught atom burning a few years back. It had been a huge scandal. Big enough Xanala had been on edge for weeks afterward, and her father had been even angrier than usual. Things like that reminded him what he was risking, keeping Xanala alive. He always kept his word, though, sacrificing more and more to keep her powers secret, directing his anger toward the Confederacy rather than her.

“Ireo,” Lyrus said softly. “I knew him.” For a moment his eyes were almost mournful. Then they hardened. “He’ll know about the precautions, then. He won’t try to leave the premises, not without deactivating his chip.”

“Those chips are impossible to deactivate,” Veridon said stiffly.

“Not without boiling his own blood, as you said, but he is an atom burner. If he were a memory burner, too, he could do it. So we at least know he’s not hiding any abilities with the First Power. He’d have used those by now, if he possessed them.”

“He could still be hiding that,” Veridon said softly.

“He wouldn’t. I know Ireo, and the man is impulsive. It’s a wonder he’s waited this long.”

“He is not a man,” Veridon said. “He is a thing.” His voice was bitter, and he was clenching his jaw. He seemed to hate saying those words, even if he didn’t mean them.

“Religiously speaking, you’re right,” Lyrus said. “But thing or person, he will kill us all the same.” He straightened. “I’m leaving. I believe I can track him down, but I do not wish to be weighed down by your staff. They have failed for long enough.” He gestured to Xanala. “My daughter, however, will accompany me.”

“A child?” Veridon said, eyes widening. “You’d take a child with you to this?”

“She needs experience,” Lyrus said. He didn’t elaborate any further. Instead, he waved to Xanala, who followed him as they exited the room.

They strode down the hallway, Xanala having to almost jog to keep up with her father’s swift pace. When they were out of earshot, Xanala spoke.

“Do you think he’s dangerous?”

“He’s an atom burner. Of course he’s dangerous. That’s why I brought you, and paid the guards bribes so you could use your powers if necessary.”

“I’m not sure I can handle a full-on duel, Dad.”

“Not alone, no. But there is only one way to gain experience.” He paused, then continued. “If the battle permits, I want you to be the one who strikes the finishing blow.”

Xanala paled. “What?”

“Ireo will be dead by the end of this. If possible, I want you to kill him. It will be a good lesson. We will not succeed in this coup without you shedding blood. And yes, that person may even be innocent. Lives are the currency used to pay for change, and though we should not relish it, coins are made to be spent.”

Xanala paled further, but nodded. No use in arguing with her father, especially not when his logic was so clear. She began twitching her finger again. She channeled her anxiety into it. Twitch the finger enough, and maybe she wouldn’t have to kill Ireo. It wasn’t a rational thought, and most of her knew that, but somehow it made sense to the worried part of her.

They wove through the hallways, her father taking winding, confusing pathways, and Xanala swore they were passing cell blocks they’d already been to. They also passed several spawning cells, where burners were tortured until they summoned Surges. Most of those rooms were closed, but one was not. A pale man waited in it, eyes rolled up into his head. He looked as if he hadn’t eaten for weeks, bones stabbing at his near-fleshless skin. Xanala shivered, looking away.

Finally, Lyrus stopped, arriving at a cell block that tapered off to a dead end. He folded his arms behind his back, pursing his lips, nodding slowly. Then he raised his voice, addressing the workers and guards bustling nearby.

“Leave us.”

A few heads cocked in confusion, but everyone obeyed. One did not simply disobey one of the Masked Warriors, especially not in the middle of Raerok.

That left them alone. Save, of course, for the burners waiting in the nearby cells. Xanala’s eyes flickered to the doors. It was silent, but she still felt as if she could hear the captives moaning behind them. They were dangerous, if her father was to be believed, most of them had been driven so feral they’d kill Xanala in a heartbeat for a chance at escape.

“He should be here soon,” Lyrus whispered.

Xanala frowned. “He’s coming to us?”

“He is,” Lyrus said. He smiled. “Ah, Veridon. Predictably, foolishly altruistic. And poor Ireo, always looking out for himself. So simple to manipulate. He really should have let someone else out. I hardly had to pay the atom burner anything.”

Xanala’s eyes widened as things came together. “You hired Ireo, didn’t you? You knew he’d be the one Veridon let free, but you convinced Ireo to double-cross him.”

“I did,” Lyrus said, chuckling softly. “You’re getting better at understanding these things. Ireo, beaten as he was, turned out to be an easy sell-out. All I had to do was promise him a ship to Talar, and he agreed to help us.”

“But we’re not going to,” Xanala said, voice growing quiet as she realized the actual plan. “We’re going to kill him.”

“Yes,” Lyrus said firmly. “I needed to make certain that, when we did dispose of him, he’d be carrying evidence incriminating Veridon. He should have that now. Furthermore, I needed to make certain he’d meet us in a very specific place, so that you could use your powers while fighting him.”

Xanala lit up. “I can use my powers here?”

“I told you I paid bribes. Within sight of this hallway, and this hallway only. And be careful. I paid off or threatened all of the nearby guards, and had the cameras switched off, but I couldn’t get the whole complex secured. If enough guards get involved, you will be exposed.”

Xanala nodded. “I understand. I’ll be careful.”

“Good. Now, be quiet. I do not want Ireo overhearing.”

They fell silent, and Xanala felt a slow twisting overtake her stomach. Another betrayal, and another murder. All in the name of the coup that would make burning legal again — an act that would itself cost many lives. Her father insisted that the change would be worth the price.

But she wondered, sometimes. Was this really what she was supposed to do, as the Endowed? Kill some, so that others might live?

You can’t defeat Oblivion without your powers, she reminded herself. And that’s if the prophecy is even real. And if it’s not, then you have no reason to feel guilty.

“Prepare yourself,” her father whispered. “He’s nearby. I can sense him.” He drew his weapon, a wicked, midnight-black sword. To Xanala’s surprise, a Surge waited in its hilt, not a Purity Surge, like usual, but a gleaming red Void Surge.

Immediately, she felt Oblivion begin whispering in her mind. His voice was deep, rich, the way it always sounded to her. Her father claimed everyone heard a different voice when wielding Void, and that it likely wasn’t Oblivion speaking, just one of his lesser servants.

Xanala knew, though. Somehow, she knew this was the Enemy himself.

He will betray you, the god whispered. Even now, he considers it, the thought of your corpse rolling through his mind. It would be so liberating, he muses, to be free of you…

She ignored him. Accusations like that were baseless. Really, for being the god of deception, Oblivion wasn’t very good at lying.

Ah, but you will see….

“You snuck a Surge past him?” she asked.

“Of course I did.” Her father snorted. “I was trying to trick Veridon, not be a fool myself.” He licked his lips. “His desperation is strong. Ireo always was a passionate man…”

Xanala’s hand began to quake again. A burner, headed straight for them, who they were about to double cross. She’d been trained for a confrontation like this, but she knew full well the actual thing would be different.

The lights, suddenly, went dark. For a moment, there was only a single crimson bulb in the corridor. The Void Surge whispered again in Xanala’s mind, the voice of Oblivion even more clear now that the distraction of her sight was gone.

Kill him, girl. Before he kills you…

The darkness fled as quickly as it had begun, replaced by a man, emanating bright white light as he stepped around the corner. His face was disheveled, his eyes wide and bloodshot. She recognized him from photos her father had shown her just hours ago.

Ireo.

“Lyrus.” His voice was a rasp, and his eyes darted nervously down to their weapons. “You’re here to kill me, aren’t you? Veridon warned me about this. Told me you’d betray me. I didn’t believe him.” He chuckled, a laugh that went on far longer than it should have. “I didn’t really believe you, either. Hard to believe in anyone, after… after…”

His eye twitched, and he stared down at the floor, silent, mouth hanging open in a half-smile. Lyrus turned to Xanala, giving her the barest hint of a nod.

Now, he mouthed.

They stepped forward, and as they did, Ireo looked up, his expression turning to ice. “So be it,” he whispered. Then he slammed the palm of his right hand against the metal wall.

Immediately, the substance of the wall began to flow away from its frame, grinding as it moved out of the structure and into Ireo’s skin, forming into a glowing, heavenly suit of armor around his chest, then his stomach, then his arms, then his head. He continued to speak, his voice still audible as usual despite the armor.

“Everyone wants to kill me these days. Everyone, everyone, everyone.” He laughed again. “Maybe it’s time I return the favor.”

Lyrus’ eyes darted down the hallway; he was assessing their escapes, Xanala knew. Those were important when fighting an atom burner, especially in such a close space. After a brief look, he closed his eyes, and Void exploded from his Surge, expanding into the air, then doubling back and rushing up his arm, making his figure glow crimson. His countenance shifted, Oblivion’s taint on the Third Power taking hold of his personality.

Growling, he attacked, tendrils of crimson light writhing from the fingers of his right hand, spirits of the dead manifested into the physical world. In his left hand, he held his sword to the side, another red spirit of light forming around the blade. That soul twisted until it was shaped as a razor-sharp edge — a Souldagger, capable of cutting one’s very spirit, severing their connection to the physical world. As he summoned it, the tendrils rammed into Ireo, temporarily pushing him backward. Lyrus turned to meet Xanala’s eyes.

“What are you waiting for?” he hissed.

He whipped back to face Ireo, summoning more tendrils. Ireo was starting to bat them away, the Purity he wielded temporarily boosting his physical strength. That was what Purity did, allowing one to change the makeup of their own body, making it stronger, faster, or even allowing them to fuse metal armor into their skin. In such tight quarters, with no way to avoid a melee fight, Lyrus would lose to Ireo. The Void Surge was powerful, and Lyrus was skilled, but even together they were no match for an atom burner.

Nevertheless, Xanala stood frozen, the anxiety back, her finger twitching back and forth, but to no avail.

Is he sure he blackmailed the guards properly? If he didn’t…

Her heart pounded. The voice whispered.

Does it matter? I can save you. I can free you, Xanala. All you have to do is kill a man who hates you anyway…

She trembled. She felt as if she were being watched. She always did. When your entire life was a lie, there was nothing you feared more than someone else watching you.

And Okron, the voice was tempting. It touched on her emotions, a delicate ethereal push, a quiet ecstasy that moved her toward giving in. For a moment, she actually debated obeying, killing both Ireo and her father, then running to Talar…. to freedom…

But no. She could not hurt Dad. Dad had always been by her side.

She swiveled towards Lyrus and Ireo, who still dueled fiercely, neither yet able to gain an advantage on the other. Her father was running out of time, though — his glow had visibly faded, and his supply of Void would not last much longer.

For an instant longer, she hesitated still, the voice of evil incarnate taunting her. It had changed its tactic.

If he dies, it whispered, you die with him. Even if he is the man you think he is, he cannot conceal you if he is a corpse. Fear accompanied that whisper, irrational, unnatural fear. Give in, and I will save him.

That strategy was too much to resist. She closed her eyes and gave in, Reaching for Void.

The voice flooded her, screamed at her. Became her. Emotions, mostly pain, ran through in a rush, a rush that drove her to her knees, but she survived it somehow. Red light ran outward from her chest, exploding from her eyes, radiating from her body. The hallway was suddenly bright, too bright to see properly. Ireo and her father stepped back, both temporarily shocked by Xanala’s now blazing body.

Xanala, however, did not hesitate, not anymore. The voice inside her, the voice that was her but was not her all at once, pushed her to act. To destroy. She raised her hand, pulling spirits from Torment, forming them into tendrils of concentrated, Reanimated mass in the physical world. It wasn’t particularly difficult. Tendrils were the most basic construct one could make with Void, and Xanala had always been a prodigy with the Third Power. The spirits, fresh from the afterlife, shrieked in protest as Xanala directed them toward Ireo, but they writhed at his chest all the same, slamming into his titrite armor. He flew backward, crashing into the wall. The sound rang across the hallway. In the distance, alarm bells rang.

I’m going to need to finish this, Xanala realized. Now. If any of the guards her father hadn’t paid found her, it was over. The fear within grew, but instead of freezing up, she simply let Oblivion’s voice smother it, change it. The terror morphed to fury, and she leapt toward Ireo, throwing more tendrils toward him, pummeling the man with nearly a half dozen strikes. Still, he managed to stumble to his feet. She summoned more, and threw those forward, too. He rose again. She drew even more. He was nearly on his knees now. More.

Finally, he collapsed. Snakes of red light slithered around his limbs, pinning him to the ground. Xanala stepped toward him, extending out her hand, summoning another spirit from Torment, forming it into a long, wicked blade in her hand. A Souldagger of her own. She rammed it into Ireo’s helm. The two Powers hissed as they struck each other, and the armor exploded, revealing the man’s face beneath it. His eyes were wide with panic.

Do it, Oblivion hissed. Save your father. Save yourself.

His voice propelled her forward, pushing her arm forward almost without her choosing. But a part of her, the part that was still herself, hesitated again, staring into Ireo’s wide eyes.

You are the Endowed, it said. You are supposed to be better than this.

It was such a small sliver of conviction. She’d never really believed she was the Endowed, and even if she was, she certainly didn’t believe she’d ever live up to the title. But today, that thread of compassion was enough to stop her from murdering her opponent. Her hold on the Third Power slipped, and the Void suddenly fled from her flesh, leaving her feeling drained, her heart sinking in her chest. Soulburning was not a kind process to one’s emotions.

However, losing her Void left her open to Ireo. She was standing atop him, and as the tendrils vanished he stood up with sudden force, launching her into the air. She hit the ground rolling, and groaned. She managed to rise to her knees just in time to see the atom burner rushing toward her, fists drawn back, a killer’s glint in his eyes.

Before he could arrive, however, a tendril of red Void lashed around his neck, still exposed from Xanala cracking his helm. It squeezed, and there was a sickening crack as bone snapped violently. Ireo tumbled to the ground, face twitching for a brief instant before falling still.

There was a long moment of silence. Then Lyrus let out a long laugh. It was a mirthless, dark laugh. He strode to Xanala, smiling, though his eyes had real anger in them. He grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet, snorting, shaking his head, biting his lip in frustration.

“Sometimes I wonder,” he said, “what your mother sees in you. You have a long way to go before you are ready for this rebellion.”

There was venom in the words. He meant what he said. Xanala closed her eyes, trying to bite back tears. Thankfully, she succeeded, for a few moments later, Confederacy guards rushed onto the scene.

They inspected the corpse, found a vocoder linked to Veridon hiding in Ireo’s pocket, and ordered his arrest. Then they attended to Xanala and her father. They did not seem to notice the subtle signs of Xanala’s Voidburning, nor her scar. Not today.

One day, they would. She closed her eyes as, hours later, they finally left Raerok in a hovercar. At that moment, she made a decision, a terrible decision, but one she had needed to make for a long time.

Her father was right. She’d been a fool, and it had very nearly cost her. She would never let herself hesitate like that again.

The Confederacy had kept her in chains her whole life. She intended to break those chains, if she could, by helping her father take control of the Church by force. But one freedom she would keep, whether she succeeded with the coup or not: her life was her own. She would fight for it, no matter the cost. That was the cold determination her father had, that gave him such success. A skill he was trying to teach her.

And the prophecy?

Her hand drifted involuntarily toward her scar. For a moment, she questioned her decision.

Then she scowled. “To Torment with the prophecy,” she whispered. Aloud, so that the gods, all three, could witness this oath. “You have beaten me down for too long. I owe you nothing.”

She leaned against her seat, letting out a long breath, the weight of years of expectation lifted off her chest. She smiled. Was this what freedom was like?

Deep inside her, so deep her conscious self didn’t notice, Oblivion’s voice rumbled.

Good. You are almost ready…