Whatever burden you carry, carry it with purpose.

-The Rift Code, Proverbs

The trek back to camp would be a long one. Perelor hadn’t realized just how far he’d wandered into the city until he’d started his journey back. Considering how fast this planet rotated — Arrus had said something about twelve-hour days — it might be sunrise by the time he arrived. He’d certainly been gone far longer than he was supposed to, and Arrus would be certain now that Perelor had self-harmed. Ah well. He always found out, one way or another. And Perelor continued doing it, one way or another.

He’d just hit the border between the streets and the forest when he heard a twig snap behind him. Without thinking, he ripped his lasertip from off his back and whirled toward the source of the sound. He stopped himself from hitting the trigger instinctively, though he twisted behind a tree in case his potential enemy wasn’t so generous.

He focused on the surrounding echoes. It was more difficult without closing your eyes and intentionally focusing, and it was even more difficult for him now than it had been years ago, but he was able to pick out a frightened jumble of thoughts nearby. A man in Grahalan red and silver robes, though unarmed. Perelor vaguely recognized the thin strands of gray hair on the man’s arms. Hesitantly, he stepped forward until he could see the other slave with his own eyes, then lowered his lasertip.

“N523. It’s you.” He frowned. “How long have you been following me?”

“You could at least care enough to learn our names,” the Grahalan grunted.

“No names in my camp,” Perelor said. “And you’re dodging the question. You followed me.”

“Your proof?”

“That you just happened to bump into me several hours from camp?”

N523 hesitated, then shrugged. “Well, that’s proof enough I suppose. Not that it matters. You aren’t doin’ what I thought you were.”

“Which is?”

“Pretty much anything besides… that.” A look of visible disgust crossed his face. “Torment. I don’t even think the pits of the Tomb are that harsh.”

“It’s an Ethean warrior’s ritual,” Perelor said, tensing. It didn’t truly matter if his men knew what he did, or how much of a wreck he was, but it made him uncomfortable. Better to craft a lie, just a small one. “I don’t do it very often, and only when I have enough charge in my healing Surge. Keeps me resistant to pain.”

“I’ve met my fair share of Etheans,” N523 said. “None of them were that strange. Of course, they also asked me my name, so I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Can we get to the point? Why are you here? You should be resting. They only give us six hours, you know.” He met the man’s gaze, the barest hint of amusement crossing his lips. “No time for grump sleep.”

No smiling, his thoughts hissed. Not in this place. You have no right to smile, when you will live and he will die.

“I’m not a grump,” the man said, folding his arms. “Though I do like extra sleep…” he shook his head. “But it doesn’t matter why I’m here, and I wouldn’t tell you even if it did matter.” He hesitated. “Unless…”

Perelor snorted. “Unless what? No more riddles. And let’s get moving. We need to be there by sunrise, and that’s not far off.”

N523 hesitated, his eyes suddenly growing dark, and Perelor instantly understood. He’d seen those eyes many times before. On men who had all died at Talar hands. And one man, whose foolish plan had lost Perelor the last family he had.

“You want to escape, don’t you?”

N523’s eyes widened briefly, and he had to fight to get his face back under control. “No. I…” he sighed. “Ok, fine. I thought maybe you knew a route, and that’s where you were headed.”

Perelor raised an eyebrow. “You think after five years of staying put I would just happen to leave the night you get here? Also, I don’t know any such route. It’s not like this is my home, either.”

The man blinked. “You’ve been here… how long?”

“Rumor hasn’t gotten around yet, I see. Five years. Long years.”

“Etheri Almighty.” He shook his head. “Five years of that… that… that Torment.” His usual flippancy faded into a haunted rasp as he said the last word. “How did you survive?”

“Healing Surge, mostly.”

“Well, yeah, that. But how… how did you stay sane?”

I didn’t. “Forgetting,” he said instead. It was close enough to the truth.

“And you’ve never thought about getting out of here?”

Perelor snorted. “Every day. I’m just not foolish enough to try it.” He motioned toward camp. “I wasn’t joking when I said we needed to get moving, soldier.” He turned, expecting the man to follow. His cover was blown, after all. Surely he wouldn’t be…

“We could try it tonight.”

Perelor stopped, raising an eyebrow. “You want to die now, huh?”

“I want out of here,” the man snapped. “Grahala is about to fall under siege. I need to be there, to protect my family.”

“It seems you already failed at that.”

“Bold words, coming from an Ethean.”

Perelor winced, remembering his own father’s charred eye sockets. If you could go back, a part of him thought, and have a chance at saving him, wouldn’t you take it?

He knew the answer. He would do it in a heartbeat. And fail again, all the same.

“I told you that you’re going to die,” Perelor said. “I meant it. You can hasten it if you wish, but don’t expect me to take part.”

“Fine, maybe not tonight,” N523 continued. “But if we prepared enough, we could get out.”

A plan, Crelang’s voice whispered. All we need is a good enough plan.

Growling, Perelor unsheathed his dagger and threw it in one fluid motion. The blade whizzed past N523’s face, slamming into the trunk of a tree beside him. He blinked.

“Preparation is an illusion,” Perelor hissed. “Something will go wrong. It always does. I won’t risk my life on this again.” He stepped toward N523, baring his lasertip, memory flashing through his mind. “Never again.”

N523 shied back for a moment, trembling. Then he met Perelor’s gaze, and his expression softened.

“So you have tried it.”

“Once.”

“And you failed.”

Flames.

Blood.

Screams.

Rubble.

And a blade, he so desperately wanted to thrust through himself…

“What do you think?”

“We won’t fail this time.”

“They all say that. And then I watch them die. Twenty-three mutinies during my time here, and every single one has ended on the whipping platform.”

“I’m going to die anyway.”

“And I’m not. And that’s how it is.” Perelor stepped back. “Follow me to camp. Or don’t. Heavens know I’m too tired to care.” He started to walk away, and got several meters before N523 called after him.

“Darian.”

“What?”

“Darian. That’s my name.”

Perelor was silent. Behind him, he saw Darian sigh.

“Thought maybe that would awaken a little humanity in you. Ah well. I shouldn’t be surprised. The Talar are good at beating that out of us.”

“Yeah,” Perelor said. “They are.” He closed his eyes, and for a moment, he actually considered helping the man. His father would like that. He’d always loved stories of honor and bravery. He’d like real-life examples of it even more.

But, he’d also made Perelor swear an oath. And that was more important than any mere slave. He let out a long breath, then continued toward camp, not bothering to look and see if N523 was behind him.

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Never learn a soldier’s name. Never care. That was his motto now, forged to keep him from agony far worse than that of a dagger scraping down your arm.

***

Half an hour later, Perelor slipped into a sandy trench, wincing as the sun began rising above the horizon, spraying colors across the sky. He leaned his head against the sand, closing his eyes, then frowned as he heard voices beside him. Had the others not gone to sleep? Fools. In a battle, exhaustion would kill you as surely as a plasma bolt. He could only afford to stay awake because of his Purity Surge.

He sighed, opened his eyes, and turned toward the sound. There, he found a familiar sight: Arrus, leaning over a warmer, the flames from the canister casting shadows across his smiling face as he told the other slaves a story.

“Myridon, his name was,” Arrus was saying. “He was a Talar, actually.”

“So he was a searing Voidling?” one slave huffed.

“Not in those days,” Arrus said. “In those days, the Talar were still warriors, but they were not tyrants. For in those days, there was a greater enemy.”

“Oblivion,” another slave whispered. She was a young girl, no older than her late teens. One of her arms looked like it had been hit by a plasma bolt, and she was curled up in a ball, staring at the ground, her eyes wide. Shock, from seeing the carnage. It was common here, and it usually resulted in death for the victims. It was a miracle she’d even survived one battle.

“Yes. Oblivion. God of death, wielder of the Third Blade, slayer of Vertras. The Enemy of all mankind.”

“We know who Oblivion is,” the slave who had called the Talar Voidlings said, snorting.

“Perhaps you do,” Arrus said. “But have you ever seen his fiery eyes stare into your soul? Heard his voice, as loud as an asteroid crash, as harsh as the shriek of a supernova?”

“If I had, I’d be dead,” the slave muttered. “This story is stupid. I should be sleeping.”

Arrus shrugged. “Sleep is good. Stories are good, too. Up to you.” He cleared his throat, then continued. “One of Oblivion’s most powerful servants, Skleptar, messaged Myridon’s high commander. He told the Talar soldiers posted on Eratallik that if they surrendered, they would be spared. But, if they did not, they would die with the Erak’sai, their bodies ripped to atoms.

“For one hour Myridon’s superiors argued, trying to find a way out of their predicament. They messaged Etheri, but got no reply. They called Exilis himself, and still, nothing. Their comms had been jammed, and not even their memory burners could contact the Goddess. Finally, as the fleet of the Khazath bore down, they had to choose.

“At first, they thought they would surrender. After all, they had so few ships. To win against such a force would be unheard of. But then, Myridon made his own decision. And he stood before his comrades and declared it to them all.

“‘I am no mighty man,’ he said. ‘But I have my valor, and I will keep it. And if I must die, I will die well! For Torment awaits all men, save those who defy it.’

“And then he said no more, and flew to fight the enemy. Yet, before he was even within his own weapons’ attack range, he was slain, his cruiser blown apart by a laser.”

There was a pause. Then the huffy slave blinked. “That’s it? That’s the end?”

Arrus shrugged. “I thought you said you were going to sleep.”

“Well now I wish I had. That’s seriously the end?”

Arrus smiled, then leaned forward, hands on his knees. “For Myridon,” he said. “But not for the story. You see, Myridon’s men saw him die. And as his ship fell from the sky, they made their own decision. To die well, as he had.

“And they did die well. Out of a thousand men, only twenty survived, and there was great mourning in Talar for the loss of them.

“But they won. Launching a counterattack, they punched through the shields of the Khazath flagship, and blew apart its engines. The rest of Oblivion’s fleet scattered, and the last of the Erak’sai were saved. It is said the blood of that nation runs in the veins of millions, all because of Myridon.”

Arrus sat back, a satisfied grin still plastered on his face. “The end.”

Perelor had inched closer to the men as Arrus spoke, and he frowned. Arrus did this a lot. This tale was his favorite, and slaves ate it up. They ate any story up, every time. It seemed hope was more important than sleep to those who were, in essence, already dead.

It was false hope, though. Only Torment awaited these men, both in the afterlife and before.

“Huh,” the huffy slave said.

“Huh what?” Arrus asked. “Was it confusing?”

“Just huh,” the slave replied. “Wasn’t confusing. Except for the moral, I guess. I can’t seem to figure it out, but maybe I’m just too tired.”

“As you should be,” Perelor said, clearing his throat. “You all were supposed to be sleeping.”

Arrus sighed. “You didn’t order us to sleep.”

“I shouldn’t have to order you. It should be common sense.” He shook his head. “But if you don’t have that, I’ll order you to do it. All of you, get what rest you can, and pray we don’t get called on until you get enough of it. Arrus, we need to talk.”

Arrus frowned, but did not protest, instead gesturing for the slaves to lie down. Perelor made sure they all at least closed their eyes, then stepped out of the trench, walking a few meters over and gesturing for Arrus to follow.

“It was just a story,” Arrus grumbled.

“This isn’t about the story,” Perelor said. “I still don’t like it, but I won’t reprimand you for that. It’s… other things.”

“Ah. Found something in the city?”

“Not really. But N523 followed me. Tried to talk me into escaping.”

“Think he might try a rebellion then?”

“Not sure. Just keep an eye on him, and I’ll do the same.”

“Got it.”

There was a long pause. Perelor twitched, unsure how to bring up the next thing he wanted to talk about. Arrus raised an eyebrow.

“You’re going to go after data again, aren’t you?”

Perelor relaxed. “Yes. How’d you know?”

“You’re not that sneaky. I see the scars on your arm; you didn’t heal them all the way. And whenever you harm yourself, you eventually end up trying to find her again.” He met Perelor’s eyes, his eyes wide with concern. “I told you to tell me if things got bad.”

Perelor grunted, but was otherwise silent.

“You can’t just ignore it. It’s getting more frequent. I’m worried.”

More silence.

“Perelor, please.”

Perelor just straightened. “What I do with myself isn’t your business.”

“Maybe not. But your safety is.”

“Safety?” Perelor shook his head. “We’re at war. Safety flew out the hold years ago.”

Arrus turned, his gaze intense as he tried to meet Perelor’s eyes. Perelor did not turn, though, instead keeping his gaze firmly on the slowly vanishing stars.

Eliel had liked the stars. They’d used to stargaze, every time the slave masters were gone. He remembered once, after a beating he’d earned by memory burning too visibly, when the only way she could get him to go to sleep was to look at the stars.

I will save you, he told the heavens. I just need a little more time.

“If you’re going to try and get data again,” Arrus said finally, “at least let me come.”

Perelor growled. “No.”

“But…”

“It’s easier with one person. No. I’m not risking you, not for something like this. You deserve better than that.”

“I… well, thanks, I guess.” He frowned. “You’re sure it’s easier alone, though?”

“Positive.” That was a lie; Arrus was far better with computers, and he needed that. But it was a lie he could get away with, and it kept Arrus safe, so he didn’t care. The teen boy seemed to accept the answer, his shoulders slumping. He, too, turned his gaze to the sunset.

“Well. Good luck, then. And I’m always here, when you realize you need it.”

There was another long silence. Perelor almost debated leaving, and laying down himself. Etheri knew he could use the sleep. But he didn’t. He just kept staring at the stars, remembering Eliel’s voice.

“There are thousands of planets we haven’t seen. Millions, probably. Every time we look outward, it seems there are more of them. Meridian explored so much, yet it’s only a small fraction of what could be…”

She’d closed her eyes at that, and the soft night wind brushed her hair across her face, hiding tears Perelor knew were there.

It was too much for her, the burden of the Endowed. He knew it, and she knew it. That was why his father had made him swear his oath.

And inevitably, he’d failed. His jaw tightened, and he started to turn away, memory once more becoming too painful.

“Do you believe in the prophecy?”

“What?”

“I’ve never asked,” Arrus said. His voice was soft, almost reverent. “You said your sister was the Endowed, so I assumed you believed. But sometimes, I wonder.”

“The scar was there, on her back. I saw it.”

“The scar has been there before,” Arrus said. He turned. “You knew her, Perelor. Is she really the one? Who will save us? From Larsh, from Oblivion, from all of this?”

Perelor’s mouth opened to rebuke him for even asking this, but then, he hesitated. Turned again, toward the stars, remembering the girl who had loved them. The girl who had been anything but a warrior.

“I don’t know,” he said finally, shutting his eyes in shame. “I just don’t know. But… she’s my sister. And I swore an oath. So, for me, it doesn’t matter.”

“I know. And I do want to help. You’re not forcing me into anything by bringing me along.”

“I know. But I still want to do this alone.”

“Why?”

Because I have to prove I can, Perelor thought. Because every time I see the night sky, it’s as if my father is staring at me with a thousand charred eyes, screaming at my failure, demanding I do better.

Because if I rescue her, but can’t protect her, she dies.

He said none of that. Just shook his head. Arrus sighed, but nodded.

“I see. Well, I’m going to get some rest, like you said. Don’t do anything stupid, please.”

“No promises,” Perelor said. A slight grin crossed his face. “At least not by your definition of stupid.” The grin faded as he remembered who he’d learned that phrase from.

Arrus shook his head, placing his hand on Perelor’s shoulder. “You’re a good man,” he said.

“No, I’m not,” Perelor whispered.

Arrus didn’t contradict him. He just clasped Perelor’s shoulder a little tighter, then let go, descending into the trenches. Perelor’s eyes followed him involuntarily. If anyone was a good man, it was Arrus. He was as kind as his father was cruel, perhaps more so. If Perelor did eventually find Eliel, Arrus might be the only person he could trust to help him rescue her. He knew he shouldn’t be excluding his friend from this, and he didn’t know why he insisted on it.

Because you’ve given up, a part of him whispered. If you truly wanted to help her, you would have escaped years ago.

He winced, because that part of him was right. He was a coward, staying here in the slave camps, watching men he couldn’t save die, and stealing data tapes that meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.

He had given up. And yet, as he stared at the fading stars, he realized he also hadn’t. For if he’d truly stopped caring, the dagger on his belt would have killed him long ago.

He was a coward, yet a warrior still. A wretch, yet still filled with hope. Broken, yet still clinging to life.

Too tired to think any further, and without Purity to burn away his exhaustion, he sat down and let his thoughts slow, staring onward as the tapestry of stars expanded into a flaming horizon.