“Visions and dreams are fickle and unreliable. You may as well put your faith in children’s stories.”

—Famed scientist Joni DiJaniari on lancer magick and visions

Zaina’s eyes opened, back in the real world. What was that? Was that supposed to happen? She opened up the vis-screen once more.

Well, now that last option makes a lot more sense.

Zaina tapped the option for Common Interpretations of Visions and another screen appeared. The vis-glyph’s voice sparked to life.

“Hello, Zaina. You have selected the module for Common Interpretations of Visions. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” she grumbled.

“Affirmative. To best help interpret your experience, I’ve been programmed with this list of common and uncommon experiences. Please, refer to it and take your time.”

Now more words appeared on the screen in three columns—the first was fairly short, and featured phrases describing potential experiences; next to that was a tiny column with either the letters C, U, or HU written within. In the third and longest column was a brief description of the phrase in the first column.

Some she was able to rule out based on the phrase; waterfall bath, sunset showdown, and soaring skies didn’t come close to fitting the description. Others required the description be scrutinized, such as: out-of-body experience (which didn’t qualify because your vision-body was supposed to be present, or at least somewhere, during the experience), self-death (which didn’t mention resurrection), and falling into darkness (which also didn’t mention resurrection).

The closest one Zaina found after about an hour of scrolling was a module called body reformation. The description read: any experience in which one’s body is destroyed and reformed, often in bits and pieces.

She tapped it. It was marked with a U, which she guessed meant uncommon. Not much about her experience as a lancer seemed common anyway. The next page opened with a handful of lists. One was titled Symbols and Their Possible Meanings, and Zaina tapped it to bring it to the forefront. It listed a few ways one’s magick might manifest itself within the vision—for example, one might be destroyed and reborn in fire, signifying proficiency in thermomancy. Whatever elements were involved with their reconstruction were the answers to their wish—their path.

Zaina took a deep breath and thought back to the strange experience. What stuck with her most were the vivid sounds—the fact she had heard the entire reformation process in such vivid detail and heard voices speaking to her indicated sanamancy. When her body was reformed, it was also infused with shining energy—it wasn’t fire, she was sure of that, which removed thermomancy as an option. It had to be sanamancy or phosmancy, or both.

Is that—light? Or maybe energy? And what even is sound—vibrations or something, right? I should probably look into that.

Zaina spent a good portion of the night reading about phosmancy and sanamancy. She didn’t try anything yet—there was time for that tomorrow.

By the time she fell asleep, vis-screen still open, the sun was only an hour from rising. She dreamed of being a lancer—wearing armor like Gir’s she traversed the stars, casting down evildoers with her cipher and the magick of starlight.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

-

Zaina woke up far into the next day. When she groggily stumbled outside, the woman was waiting, leaning against a tree facing Zaina’s hut. The woman seemed a little more annoyed than usual.

“Up late last night?”

“Yeah, with my teacher.”

The woman’s eyebrow rose. Zaina raised her wrist and pointed to the vexicon.

The woman chuckled. “Yeah, you’ll be High Lancer material in no time.”

Zaina’s eye twitched. “Well, whatever I achieve in my career, it’ll be no thanks to you.”

A more serious expression came over the woman’s face. “Oh, I’m sorry, was I supposed to achieve something for you?”

“No, but doing your job would’ve been nice.”

The woman glared. “My job here is to babysit you. Anyone who’s experienced Riiva can become a lancer on their own—I’m proof of that. You’ve had everything you needed the moment you stepped foot on Kaado. Don’t act like you needed my help holding your hand to show you how to use a fucking vexicon.”

“Your job was to help show me what all of this means! But, guess what, I already did that on my own. Looks like I don’t need you anymore.”

“Oh, is that right?” the woman asked. “You think you’re ready for missions, then? Should I recommend you?”

Zaina’s neck was on fire, burning with seething anger. This woman wasn’t going to teach her anything—there was no more sense in sitting around here, trying to figure this all out for herself. Experience was the best teacher, her father had always said.

“Yeah,” she said, “you know what? Go ahead. Put us in for whatever kind of mission you want. Bring it on. I’m ready for anything.”

“Oh?” The woman crossed her arms. “You think you’re ready for when we drop into Telgemor, to turn the tide of the civil war against the rebels? Or when we’re the lone lancers on a high-value transport in pirate-infested lanes? Or when we—”

Zaina didn’t have the patience for a lecture from her. “Yes—whatever you were going to say next, yes to that, too. Whatever missions we get will teach me more about being a lancer than you, so yes to whatever the fuck it is.”

The woman’s lips curled into a half-smile. She almost looked a little softer in that moment, but it passed quickly. She turned and said, “All right, then. I didn’t think you’d stick around this long, but here we are. At least we’ll be out there doing nothing instead of here.”

With that, the woman left. Zaina shook her head and walked back into her hut. She tried the magick chant she had learned for phosmancy: “I wish to bend starlight.”

The corresponding rune on her strand-glove glowed to life, a light-blue circle surrounding a curved symbol with two accent marks. A screen of radiant light emanated from the rune and curled into an orb around her fist. It twisted into itself, growing and shrinking as it pulsed. Her hand was warm, but not hot—her finger twitched, and the bubble of light dissipated.

Much like summoning her cipher was at first, magick was draining. Oddly enough, her stamina improved the further she pushed herself. After three hours, she was able to summon light orbs with no problem.

She wiped sweat from her forehead and glanced upward; a massive panel on Kaado’s surface was shifting to block sunlight, allowing for a proper simulation of night. She yawned—maybe she was finally getting used to life here.

I think that’s enough for today.

After a meager dinner, Zaina laid down for the night. The moment she closed her eyes to sleep, dark whispers gnawed at her brain; they emanated from beyond the door—beckoning her. A scratching noise came from outside—and then from the other side of her door.

Zaina’s heart was beating manically. There was a killer on the loose—were they coming after her next? She wanted to pull the blanket up over herself, but something drove her to get out of bed. She was a lancer now—well, on her way to being one, at least—and she had to deal with this herself. She raised a hand to massage her temples—the voices reminded her of when she was near the Eldritch.

No. It can’t be that.

She grabbed the strand-glove off her nightstand and slipped it on her hand. Then she crept toward the door, slowly grasping the handle. The scratching intensified—it sounded like a desperate, silent animal, or something unfriendly that wanted in. The whispers grew louder, coalescing into a chorus. Zaina closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Now or never.

Zaina slammed the door open with a jolt and stepped outside—in one hand, she summoned her cipher, and with the strand-glove, she created another glowing orb of energy. Its illumination wasn’t as powerful as she hoped, but it helped her make out a figure beside the treeline. They were cloaked, their face covered by a hood and obscured by shadow.

Zaina gasped. Right there, in the figure’s hands, was a black sword—the fang of a heretic.