“The first thing you will learn about the Marked upon spending time with them is that they act close enough to ourselves as to be unnerving at first; despite their lack of need for food, they still enjoy eating it; despite their lack of need for sleep, they still partake. Most of the time I spend with them is so alike time spent among the non-Marked as to be indistinguishable. I went hoping for accounts of dark rituals and demonic sacrifices, but instead found harvests turn to feasts and the throes of the ordinary.”

—Castre Follin, famed explorer, in his book, The Great Enclaves: Six Adventures from Castre Follin

Zaina sat in the pilot seat of the tiny, cramped ship the Strato had arranged for her short journey. The ship itself was orb-shaped with stabilized thrusters, but being that it was barely fifteen feet tall, the interior was lacking. The ship’s closed door was directly behind the only other interior space onboard, a small storage closet.

Everything except her lancer beacon and vis-screen was placed in a makeshift compartment beneath the closet. The surface was then covered with trash—if Sivanya felt inclined to search the ship, it would look like someone had been living there for a few days.

Smells like it, too.

It was time to get this over with. Her eyes fell to the plain white sleeves covering her arms, then glanced toward her armor under a pile of garbage—she felt exposed, further fueling her uncertainty. The sooner she met Sivanya, the sooner she’d have a clearer sense of where this mission was headed. “You about ready, Gizmo?”

Gir’s glyph, connected to the ship’s two-panel console via three wires housed in its central hub, hummed and replied, “Yes, Master Zaina.”

“Please don’t call me that,” she said, wishing she had the old Gizmo back. Sure, he had his quirks, but he was much less cold.

“Affirmative. Preparing for launch sequence.”

Zaina sighed, wondering what he’d been doing that entire time. Her curiosity got the better of her. “So, what took so long?”

“Stealth on the way out of the Deonago Navport is imperative on this mission, Master Zaina,” Gizmo replied. “The target could potentially track this ship on its way out and back in. I was creating a set of false credentials for use on our way out of the atmosphere. Then, once we are comfortably out of range of any planetary sensor equipment, we de-cloak and enter with our real credentials.”

“Smart,” she said, “but also, please stop calling me that.”

“What would you like to be called?”

“Zaina works fine.”

“It is customary for glyphs to show respect and defer to their assigned lancers in all matters,” Gizmo replied in its cold, monotone voice. “Are you sure you would not like an honorific attached to your name when I address you?”

“No need—Zaina works perfectly. I’m not your assigned lancer, I’m your partner.”

Gizmo whirred for a second, then said, “There is no distinction.”

“The distinction is that a partner is on equal footing. Equal say, equal respect. So I’ll call you Gizmo, and you can call me Zaina. Okay?”

“Very well,” Gizmo said. “Zaina, the launch sequence has been prepared. On your command, the ship will ascend beyond the upper atmosphere of Vyzria.”

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

“Well?” she asked. “What are you waiting for? Punch it.”

“Punching,” Gizmo chirped. The ship’s thrusters hummed to life, and Zaina jerked in her seat as they rocketed into the sky. A moment later the ship’s ascent stabilized.

Gizmo beeped and said, “We will be out of range of any potential sensory equipment available to the target in one minute.”

“All right, good,” she said.

This particular minute was excruciatingly long. There was enough time for every terrible scenario to go through Zaina’s head, from the ship failing and exploding in space, to crash landing, to being immediately found out by Sivanya and killed.

Finally their ascent slowed, and the weightlessness of space fell over Zaina. The ship hovered in place.

“When are we going back down?” she asked.

“Protocol on credential cloaking dictates that a waiting period of at least thirty seconds is necessary after de-cloaking,” Gizmo dutifully recited. “Enemy sensors may be fooled, but those monitoring the sensors may be alerted to see an entry so quickly after an exit on a low flight-traffic world, such as Vyzria.”

“All about the protocols now,” she said. “Let’s give it forty seconds to be safe.”

“Affirmative, Zaina.”

Zaina sighed and leaned back in the pilot chair. Time stretched out in moments like these. It was calm in this cramped ship, and she had no idea what to expect when she stepped out of it. An old friend’s words of wisdom came to mind.

I have to trust myself. Riiva chose me for a reason.

Gizmo snapped her out of her reverie by announcing, “Forty seconds have passed. Re-entry sequence ready at your command.”

“Hit it,” she said.

“Hitting,” Gizmo replied. The ship lurched again, this time downward. “The ship will land in one minute and five seconds.”

Zaina closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, trying to clear her mind of all distractions. While the ship was hurdling toward the ground at ungodly speed, she tried to find a measure of inner peace.

I’ve come all this way. I’m a lancer—I can do this.

“Twenty seconds until arrival,” Gizmo said. “Upon landing and de-powering the ship, I will enter low-power mode as dictated by protocol.”

Despite her disappointment with the new Gizmo, the idea of being truly alone filled her with a sense of dread. The last time she was alone on a mission was back home on Demelia—and that wasn’t exactly a rousing success.

Then again, I was facing the Eldritch. Much tougher odds.

Whether she was ready or not the ship’s descent jerked and slowed to a crawl as they neared the ground. The three landing prongs released with a hiss and a screech, and the ship rocked as they touched down.

“Goodbye, Zaina,” Gizmo said. “I wish you the best of luck on your mission. Travel west to reach the enclave from our landing point. I will be here when you need me next.”

Without waiting for her response Gizmo powered down. Every light on his metal body flickered and went out. Zaina took a deep breath in the darkened cabin.

Showtime.

She hit the door release button and once more stepped foot on Vyzria. Instead of the mountains of Deonago she found herself in a lush, green forest with gentle blue skies overhead.

Zaina took it all in for a moment. It looks so much like home.

The cool, sweet-scented breeze invigorated her lungs. By the look and sound of things, she had this part of the forest to herself. There was no movement except bushes and leaves swaying in the wind.

“West,” she said. “Which way is west?”

Zaina frowned. Should’ve packed a fucking compass.

She considered waking Gizmo up, but ultimately decided to take her chances. She didn’t know if long-range scanners could pick up a glyph, so she erred on the side of caution.

I guess I’ll pick a way and walk.

She surveyed each direction, but no particular path called to her. She closed her eyes.

Trust yourself.

She spun a few times in a tight circle and then stopped. She opened her eyes and walked in that direction.

Only a few minutes had passed when commotion reached Zaina’s ears—the rustling of footsteps, hushed whispers, the snapping of fallen twigs.

She sighed. Looks like I’m not alone.

“Is someone there?” she asked, giving them a chance to be honest. Dead silence was the only response, so she continued. “I know someone’s there. I could hear you.”

A few harsh whispers, almost like an argument, came from behind a patch of nearby trees. Then, after a moment of silence, someone stepped out to greet her.

It was a young, human woman with short, dark brown hair swept to one side and green eyes. Her skin was pale and contrasted well with her shadowy cloak. In her right hand was a fang, blacker than night and sharp enough to match a cipher. She was marked on the left side of her neck and her lower cheek.

For a moment, the sight of the woman’s fang gave Zaina a powerful urge to summon her cipher. Bad memories swirled in her head—Beni and Ovela, two people she’d trusted, both wielded identical black swords. Zaina resisted by clenching her fist.

“Well, hello,” the woman said. “And who might you be?”