“Once the site of the cataclysmic battle where Laogoth the Destroyer was vanquished, Kaado has been a safe haven for thousands of millennia under the Order’s keen stewardship.”

—Dyarch Revli Toorkis in a speech praising the Order of Riiva

With a deep breath, Zaina took a look around, wondering what pulled her away from the strands. There was nobody there, except for the derisive woman, who was still leaning against a nearby tree without a care in the world.

I doubt she gives enough of a shit to interfere. I wonder what that was?

Zaina shook her head and tried again. Was there another layer she needed to bust through or something? It didn’t make any sense. Then again, none of this did. She was trying to become a mystic sword-fighter of some kind, if she understood correctly. Maybe an unorthodox solution was required.

The layers peeled away one by one once more, leading again to the strands beneath everything. She wanted to try something different, so this time she shouted.

“What are you?”

There was no reply.

“Where am I?”

Nothing.

“I don’t get it—Gir said once I found the strands, I’d know what to do.”

She thought back. How had she summoned her cipher?

I made a wish—I think. It felt like a wish.

That’s right—lancer magick was predicated on the power of wishes. At least, that was how Gir had put it. Maybe she could make a wish now?

“I—I wish to be shown my magick,” she said sheepishly, each syllable feeling more awkward and futile. She shook her head. No, that wasn’t right. There were words she was supposed to know at first, right? Her head hung in defeat for a moment.

Then, she had an idea. Her gaze rose to the strands above her, and she reached her hand out toward the infinite, welcoming light. Gir had told her to act with purpose—to know what she wanted to do. There was one wish she knew.

“I wish my heart was a weapon,” she said, her voice resolute.

The strands glowed all around her. Their brilliant energy gathered in her outstretched hand and formed a blade. Her fingers wrapped around the handle—it was warm to the touch and fit her grasp perfectly, as if it had been waiting for her to summon it again.

The blade was a thin layer of bright green energy, with a white guard and pommel and a black grip. She waved the sword around, impressed by its silence—it looked sharp enough to cut through anything.

Now she had to figure out how to take her cipher to the real world. She stared at it for a while, not wanting to leave lest the blade get left behind. Instead, she closed her eyes, becoming one once more with her meditating self; then, in sync, her eyes opened, and she was back in the real world, sitting cross-legged. There, in her grasp, was the cipher.

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She grinned from ear to ear—she was so proud of herself in that moment that she didn’t even bother to bask in the woman’s reaction, whatever it was. Zaina was unable to peel her eyes away from the glowing weapon in her hand.

She triumphantly stood and pointed the blade’s tip toward the sky. “I did it! I did it!”

The woman turned toward her, blinked a few times, and then turned back to her vis-screen without another word.

Zaina glared. She expected a shrewd remark or some retort—somehow, apathy was worse.

“What’s your problem?” she asked.

“Hm?”

Zaina stood up. “I said, what’s your problem? I get that you’d rather be out there, but—look, you could help me get through this faster and then get back to whatever you were doing before.”

The woman didn’t even look her way. “Why do you think you deserve help? Figure it out. I did.”

“Let me guess—no one wanted to teach you because you’re a half-heretic?”

The woman looked up from her vis-screen, her piercing eyes daring Zaina to continue.

She did exactly that. “If that’s the case, then how is what you’re doing any different? Why aren’t you trying to be better?”

The woman flipped the screen off and turned toward Zaina. With daggers in her eyes, she said, “I am being better. My mentor actively didn’t want me to be here. As for me? I just don’t give a shit one way or the other. No one helped me. You might think there are people who’ll have your back, but when it comes down to it, no one’s going to help you. You’re on your own, kid. So stop complaining and figure it out yourself or get the hell out of here. Got it?”

Zaina released the cipher, and it was pulled from existence by the strands—she caught a glimpse of them in her peripheral vision, but was too steamed to appreciate their beauty. Instead, her fingers curled up into a ball, her fists shaking from disbelief and seething anger. “Gir wanted to help me. He didn’t care about this.” She pointed to her eye. “I didn’t think you would, either.”

The woman’s glare wavered, and she sighed. “You hungry, kid?”

Zaina gave a sigh. As much as she wanted to take this woman to task, she was hungry. “Yeah, I could eat.”

The woman turned and started walking away. “Hope you’re a good cook.”

“Wait, what—”

Zaina was shocked into silence as her mentor walked away, happily getting away with not even doing the bare minimum. This wasn’t how she pictured the Order of Riiva. Even someone who had to understand some of what she was going through—another half-heretic—hated her for no reason.

Zaina shook her head, trying not to dwell on any negative thoughts. A wave of exhaustion overtook her, starting in her legs and moving all the way up into the back of her neck. Apparently, soul-searching had taken a lot out of her. She trudged into her shack for the day.

With a sigh she collapsed onto her bed. Her first day probably couldn’t have gone much worse, and she was looking at an uphill battle. Still, she’d made up her mind—this was her calling, and she was going to answer it no matter what.

Zaina was on the verge of falling asleep when a sharp, ear-splitting boom ripped a shriek from her throat. She covered her face as fragments of the wall shot through the air. Once everything stopped falling, she glanced over. An entire section of her home was gone. She scrambled off her bed and raised her hands, ready for a fight.

Four figures awaited some twenty feet from her destroyed hut. Two were scholars and two lancers. Zaina squinted—one of the scholars was Elest Vae. The other she didn’t recognize. Neither lancer was familiar either.

Elest pointed a finger. “There’s no escape, Zaina! Come out now!”

There was no point in fighting. She stepped out of her hut, arms raised and heart pounding, wondering if they were going to kill her. Elest pointed a bony, long finger.

“Yes! Yes, that’s her! That’s Zaina Quin!”

The other scholar, an elderly female Raolgrian, floated forward and said, “Zaina Quin, by the authority invested in me as Scholar Suprema of Enforcement, I, Tu’Lest Velan, hereby place you under arrest.”

Zaina froze. What—for what? “What the hell are you talking about? I haven’t done anything. What am I under arrest for?”

Elest Vae kept spouting off nonsense. “Thought you could get away with it, you scheming little monstrel? Well, we saw right through you! Your foul master wishes to strike a blow against the Order, well it is struck—but you, his acolyte, will suffer the punishment!”

Zaina made no motion to struggle as the two lancers surged forward and placed on her another set of uncomfortable, segmented wrist restraints. High Scholar Velan floated closer.

“You, heretic, are under arrest for the murder of High Scholar Ardo Nash.”