“You call that magick, I call it…impressive.”

—Pirate Captain Deangra Hewquest upon surrendering to High Lancer Ela Artfor

The pod lowered into the planet’s gaping pit. A spiraling stripe of shining green miasma ran down the walls, filling the tunnel with heat and the odor of sulfur—both of which seeped into their vehicle. Offshoot caverns twisted into darkness.

Zaina wiped sweat from her forehead. The whispers intensified as they continued deeper beneath the surface. It took all her willpower to ignore the scratching voices. She needed a distraction but was unsure how to breach the subject she wanted to discuss.

“So,” she said.

“So?” Gir asked.

There was no point in subtlety. She turned toward him and said, “Is there any kind of lancer power you can teach me that’ll help if we’ve got company down there?”

Gir’s head rocked back and forth. “Given the strength of the foes we may encounter and the timeframe we’re dealing with, it’s unlikely.”

Not satisfied, she pressed further. “You said lancers use magick granted to them by Riiva—what is it? Is it a power?”

“There are those who view it as a power. I’m not so sure. When you encountered Riiva, it copied some of its—code, spirit, essence, whatever you want to call it—into you. By accessing the data written into you, you’ll discover the gifts Riiva has given. Why—have you decided to become a lancer?”

After flashing a coy smile, she said, “I’m keeping my options open. Yesterday, you said lancers have access to Riiva’s magick. What exactly did you mean by that?”

“In broad terms,” Gir replied, “the magick we use runs on the power of wishes.”

Zaina snorted with abrupt laughter. “Wishes? Really?”

Gir raised a hand. “It’s not as simple as it sounds. It’s not a wish in the traditional sense, where you’d be granted riches, fame, or happiness. Riiva won’t respond to any wish. Riiva is the fabric of reality, of creation itself—lancers are granted a small fraction of Riiva’s power to use in specific, predetermined ways: summoning a cipher, controlling certain elements, healing, things like that. For example, I”—with a flick of his wrist, he summoned a small bubble of water, moving it about in midair—“specialize in using water magick. I can use some healing magick, too, but water is my forte.”

Zaina stared at the floating water and asked, “What are you wishing for when you do that? How are you making the wish?”

Gir pointed to his chest. “The wish doesn’t take place in one’s mind. It comes from the heart—from our connection to Riiva and our desire to act, and its desire to act through us. There are no words to true wishes.”

“But if we’re only allowed to make predetermined wishes—are they really our wishes, or Riiva’s?” Zaina asked.

Gir grinned. “Now that, scholars have debated even longer than the mark—millennia, even. Though I think it comes down to nomenclature. Riiva acts through us, using us as vessels to shape the universe. We gain access to her essence. Both sides benefit from the exchange.”

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“Does the Eldritch use the same magick?”

“No,” Gir said, giving a quick shake of his head. “The Eldritch’s magick is ancient and far more sinister—it draws its power from commands, not wishes. Wish magick is at its most powerful when it seeks harmony and balance with creation; command magick seeks dominion over reality itself, trying to bend existence to its will. Our magick comes from within, while theirs must be spoken into existence with words of power.”

Scratching her head, she asked, “Who uses that except for him?”

Gir shifted his weight and replied in a measured tone, “Anyone bearing the Mark of the Recalcitrant can learn the Eldritch’s foul command magick.”

Zaina’s head tilted. “I thought it’s been gone for five hundred years. How can there still be others like me?”

“Not all who bear the mark were given it by the Eldritch,” Gir replied, “but those bearing it all draw from its power. Those who have fully given in are functionally immortal—in terms of their bodies, at least. Be warned, though; the further you tap into that power, the greater the risk of its foul essence overtaking your spirit. Before those with gluttonous spirits find what they seek, they themselves are consumed.”

Images of Beni flashed through her mind. He had been consumed—and she didn’t want to end up like that. Zaina’s heart squirmed like it was twisting in her chest. “I don’t think I want anything to do with that thing, anyway.”

“That’s good,” Gir said. “Sadly, I don’t think I can help you unlock Riiva’s gifts, either.”

“Wait—what about my cipher? How do I summon it?”

“That, I cannot teach.”

Crossing her arms, Zaina replied, “What—why not? Isn’t there anything else I should know at this point?”

Gir nodded. “Yes, there’s a lot. The most important thing is to trust your instincts. Riiva chose you for a reason, and that reason will reveal itself if you let it—have a clear mind, a sense of purpose, and Riiva will act through you. And remember, if we encounter the Eldritch, run.”

Zaina nodded, repeating his words like a chant in her mind. Riiva chose me for a reason. Trust your instincts. Have a clear mind and a sense of purpose. And if we encounter that thing—run. Got it.

As they descended, the glowing green veins faded; in their stead were hideous, fleshy gashes in the walls, emitting light of a sickly, pale red hue. The engine’s soft blue glow was the only other source of light—otherwise, darkness surrounded them.

Zaina shifted, her heart pulsing with every lurch and rock of the pod. Dread weighed her shoulders down as she waited in anticipation; the voices were eerily silent. She needed a distraction.

“What do you think is down there?” Zaina asked.

Gir replied, “The Eldritch and its servants, I’d expect. It can control the dead and enact its will through acolytes bearing his mark. It’s likely one or the other—or both—will be waiting at the bottom to prevent us from reaching their master.”

Zaina shuddered. The only acolyte she knew of was Beni—the last person she wanted to see. A dreadful shiver ran up her back. They were following him down here—he was waiting for them. After shaking her head, she asked, “Why is it doing all this? What does it want from Demelia—from me?”

With a shrug, Gir said, “No one really knows. High Lancer Artfor, had she made it offworld, could have provided insight. We know the impact site sinks into the planet, and the Eldritch seems to disrupt the planet’s tectonic and atmospheric systems. Some say it wants to absorb the tremendous release of energy that accompanies a planet breaking apart; others believe this was its plan all along, to destroy worlds one by one until all life is extinguished.”

“I see,” Zaina said, peering out the window. “Any idea how much longer we’ve got? We must be getting close.”

His head swayed back and forth as if working out a math problem. “I can’t say for sure how deep its Hollow lies. At our rate of descent, we would reach the planet’s core in a week.”

Zaina wiped fresh beads of sweat from her forehead. “I don’t remember much from science class,” she said, “but the planet’s core is, like, really hot, right? I don’t think this dinky pod will do much all the way down there. Or anywhere close.”

Gir chuckled. “Don’t worry, we aren’t going anywhere close to the core—the Eldritch won’t go that far beneath the surface before it stops. Besides, it uses reality-altering magick to create its Hollow. Heat would be the least of our problems.”

Shaking her head, she replied, “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Gir said, “Where we’re going, nothing’s going to make sense.”