“Were it a different time I would’ve taken your head for the mere utterance of that name.”

—High Priest of Byzon Gralfer Junderwaithe to Brunda Balforam, in reference to the Eldritch

“The Eldritch?”

The Raolgrian rubbed his chin and said, “Yes. It used to travel from world to world creating heretics, bestowing those it deemed worthy with the mark to bind them to its will. However, the last time it was seen, it attempted to destroy a world called Symerda in similar fashion to what it’s doing here. That was five hundred and thirteen years ago, if memory serves.”

Zaina shuddered, wondering what about her was worthy to that monster. “What the hell is it?”

The Raolgrian gave the spit another turn and said, “No one knows for sure. Most believe it to be a cosmic spirit of some kind—a primordial entity having existed before the beginning of time. It predates the Synatorium, as well as the Order of Riiva.”

Zaina gulped. That didn’t sound good. “What—what does it want?”

Gir’s long, sliver-like pupils were focused elsewhere. “We aren’t sure. It hasn’t been seen since the Crisis on Symerda. A High Lancer gave her life to drive the Eldritch back, but its goals were never understood. Her name was High Lancer Ela Artfor, a true hero through and through. As for the Eldritch, many believed it died those five hundred years ago. I did. It seems the Order, and some within the Synatorium, did not, and they stayed vigilant in their defense; now their wisdom has paid off.”

Cautiously optimistic, she asked, “Do you—do you think if we kill the Eldritch, it’ll get rid of the mark?”

Gir’s head swayed back and forth, and a sharp sigh released from his lungs. “I’m not sure if killing it is even possible. Only two weapons in recorded history have harmed it, both at the Crisis on Symerda five hundred years ago—the cipher of High Lancer Ela Artfor, and the Origin Warhead.”

Zaina’s stomach sank. Not a comforting answer, but at least it was honest. “But—isn’t that why you’re here? To defeat it?”

“Well,” he said, “yes and no. It’s unlikely I’d be successful if I tried to take the Eldritch on directly. That’s why I’ve brought this.” He pulled a small, black cube out of his pocket. It had a single, ever-present red light on the side facing Zaina. “This is the Origin Warhead, the weapon that thwarted it five hundred years ago.”

“What?” Zaina recoiled, stumbling over her thoughts. “A bomb? You have a bomb?”

In a matter-of-fact tone, Gir replied, “The Origin Warhead isn’t a bomb—it’s a terraforming device. It was originally designed to prepare barren worlds for future habitation. But when the Eldritch’s attack caused cataclysmic damage to the atmosphere and climate on Symerda, the warhead was brought along in hopes of stabilizing the environmental catastrophe over the course of a couple millennia. Unfortunately, High Lancer Artfor perished in the blast after fighting off the Eldritch.”

Zaina blurted out, “A—I’m sorry, what? A couple millennia? What—why would the Synatorium do that? Why haven’t they—well, tried something else?”

Gir pulled the meat from the flame and leaned back as it cooled. In a low, clicking voice, he said, “It’s not like they can send a traditional army to fight it. They tried a few thousand years ago—it didn’t end well. The Synatorium has done all it can. They helped the Order develop a galaxy-wide detection system—hence my timely arrival—and they supply the Origin Warhead and assist however they can in planetary evacuations and resettlement.”

“But still—thousands of years?”

Gir gave a knowing nod, his lips pursed in frustration. “The Order and Synatorium are both keen on long-term planning. The Origin Warhead isn’t a miracle worker.”

For a few awkward moments, Zaina was at a loss for words as her mind tried to process everything. After taking a deep breath, she asked, “So—if a High Lancer was able to hurt it before, why didn’t they send some kind of—I don’t know, High Lancer squadron?”

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Gir lifted the hunk of meat and offered some to Zaina, but she declined, hardly able to stomach its foul odor. With a shrug, his jaw unhinged, and he dropped the entire chunk of meat into his mouth and swallowed it whole. Then, with a sigh, he leaned forward and said, “The Order’s High Scholars can be a bit too risk-averse. On some level, I get it—there are only so many lancers, and every mission is a gamble. This one’s an especially bad bet. That’s part of why I volunteered to come alone—perhaps it was to test my skill after nearly a decade, or maybe I want to see how I measure up against some of the legends.”

Zaina sighed, pondering the situation.

“So,” Gir asked, “what would you like to do, Zaina Quin?”

Her mouth opened, and words nearly spilled out. Her first instinct was to say, “I need to get to my family.” After all, that was all she ever wanted—a normal life with her family. But the words wouldn’t come out; they were stuck on the tip of her tongue. The thought of her family reminded her of her father and their last conversation. He had asked her the same thing, and she still had no idea. There was less pressure then, but the paralyzing doubt was the same.

In a defeated tone, she said, “I—I don’t know. What should I do?”

“I cannot answer that. It is for you to decide,” Gir said. “I could take you to the Order, and after your lifespan is restored, see that you’re transported to your family on Demori. There you could try to have a normal life despite the mark. Or, we could go to the Order and see to your induction as a lancer, where you would be trained to harness your power. Or, you could be exactly what you are now: a citizen of the galaxy. You could make a new life for yourself—somewhere. The mark does complicate your path, but—”

Waving all that aside, she said, “What about the origin thing—what about the Eldritch?”

“I’ll take care of all that. My ship can take you to Kaado immediately.”

She crossed her arms. “And what about you?”

Gir shrugged. “I’ve had a good, long career as a lancer; your journey is only beginning.”

Shaking her head, she replied, “No way! I’m not leaving you to die. That thing tried to kill my family. It’s trying to destroy my home, and I’m not running away from it.”

A deep sigh released from Gir. “The Eldritch is extremely dangerous. I’m not sure I can, in good conscience, bring you along.”

“Look, if you’re trying to martyr yourself, tell me,” she shot back.

Gir frowned. “It’s not that.”

“I survived it once, didn’t I?” she said, pointing to her eye. “Why can’t I again?”

Gir raised his arm, and a bubble of water slowly emerged from his palm; it hovered over the fire and then fell, extinguishing it with a sharp hiss. “It may not be so simple the second time—the Eldritch doesn’t give up easily. For now you’re holding it at bay. As you get closer it may become too much to resist. I’d hate to see you corrupted like your former friend.”

Frustrated, Zaina stared at the crimson shimmer coming off the smoldering coals. It seemed like yesterday she was content in a small backwater world, and now—all this? Could she hold off the beckoning darkness within?

Her hands clenched into fists. Whatever was inside her, it wasn’t her, and she wasn’t ever going to let it win. “I’m not leaving if it means you’ll die. Especially not after you saved my life. I can do this. Plus, you never know—you might need my help.”

The Raolgrian shook his head and said, “Your heart is set on coming with me, even knowing you may fall prey to the Eldritch’s influence?”

Zaina gave a curt nod. This planet was her home—she was determined to save it.

“Very well, then. That is your choice, as a citizen of the galaxy, and I am honor-bound to respect it. I’ll take you with me to investigate and plant the warhead, but if we encounter the Eldritch, I need you to promise me you’ll run.”

“Right.” A fire burned in Zaina’s guts. She’d help Gir—as he helped her—and get payback on the Eldritch for ruining her world.

Gir chuckled and said, “You’re braver than I was. I didn’t want anything to do with any of this when I had my encounter—I was going to renounce after my first day. My mentor stopped me and convinced me to stay. What she said stuck with me: ‘The slowest death is that of a hero’s heart unfulfilled.’”

Changing the subject, she asked, “So, what’s your plan, then?”

Gir scratched his chin and said, “For now, I think we should sleep. You’ve had a long day. I have more environmental samples to collect, and a few preparations to make for the descent—the sooner we get down there, the better. I’ll try to answer any questions you have.”

Zaina extended a hand and said, “Thank you, Gir. For everything.”

He smiled and returned the handshake. “No need for that. Saving lives is part of what being a lancer is all about—or at least, it’s supposed to be. All I ask is that you pay it forward when it’s your time.”

She smiled and stood. “Do you have a tent?”

The Raolgrian smiled and curled into a ball. “I’m fine here.”

“It might rain.”

“I like the rain. And I’m a heavy sleeper.”

After shrugging, Zaina set up her tent. Kitali followed her in once it was complete. Rolling out her blanket and un-pressing her foam pillow, she made a decent bed for herself and the limphor. With a yawn and a stretch, Zaina plopped down next to Kitali, already curling up beside the pillow.

Zaina softly stroked the limphor’s hair. “Goodnight, girl.”

Kitali snuggled closer and groaned to announce her contentment. Zaina pored over her conversation with Gir—she had answers, sure, but hardly comforting ones. She wanted to help Gir save Demelia, but then what? The option to go home to her family, to live something close to what she’d lived before, was right there: everything she’d ever wanted. It was tantalizing, but—what if this had all happened for a reason? What if she was meant for more, and her purpose in life was staring her in the face for the first time?

Zaina stared up at the tent’s ceiling until she drifted away.