Ariock reforged the metallic infusions in his armor. He made the purple bright with dichroic crystal, contrasted against black chromium. Spikes jagged upward from his shoulders. Galactic arms swirled on his chest, biceps, and back, depicted with embedded mica and diamonds.

Instead of teleporting to a war zone, he flew over the crowded boulevard that overlooked the penitent slums.

Here, Alashani faced off against each other. Half of them blocked the alleyways that led into the slums, standing shoulder to shoulder with nussians and other armed soldiers. These were the defenders.

The other half—the more outraged ones—shouted that all rekvehs should die. This impassioned mob consisted of civilian agitators. They carried placards with crudely gruesome paintings of decapitated heads. The war heroes among them, such as Flen, wore wide-brimmed hats and embroidered vests instead of armor. They were differentiating themselves from the military.

“The Torth,” Ariock said, “are murdering our people.”

His deep voice rolled like thunder, amplified on air currents.

Both the defenders and the agitators gawked as Ariock levitated between them.

“They are stealing back the lands which we won with our blood and our lives.” Ariock clenched his armored fists. That made the spikes on his forearms jag outward, adding to the spiky size of his silhouette. “They think they can enslave everyone.” He flung a hand towards the penitent slums. “And this is what you’re worried about? Harmless street-sweepers and janitors?”

The agitators shrank back from his fury.

Ariock descended out of the sky in a light whirlwind. He sent enough of a breeze to blow back people’s hats and bonnets, and to make their signs flutter. As an additional touch, he stirred distant clouds, causing thunder. A storm was approaching.

It got people’s attention.

“I’m done letting the Torth Empire celebrate victories while I hide.” Ariock stood tall. “It’s time to show them justice.” He purposely eyed the agitators who wore rich purple mantles. Flen. Byursaffur. Emstachor. Their black-and-purple armor was probably collecting dust in their apartments. “Who’s with me?”

A few of their civilian supporters dropped their placards and fled.

The rest stood their ground, although they looked uncertain. There were children and elders among the agitators, and Ariock knew that these were not homicidal brutes. If a mother shouted “Off with their heads!” it wasn’t about violence, for her. Not really. It was about safety and justice.

So they believed.

“Rekvehs do not belong among good people!” one of the agitators shouted.

“Wake up!” One of the war hero agitators stepped forward and confronted Ariock with a desperate shout. “The rekveh who was controlling you is gone!”

Brave words, to say to a stormbringer.

Ariock wanted to argue, but these were not supposed to be his enemies. He wanted to show that he was listening. So he stood his ground and let the agitators shout their grievances.

“We’re done being used as pawns!”

“We’ve lost too much!”

“We need a home apart from Torth!”

“You’re fighting a battle that cannot be won!” Flen called.

“Yeah!”

“You keep asking us to sacrifice our lives. For what?”

They had legitimate complaints. Ariock felt that, and he was ashamed for his role in their ruination. Jinishta had not deserved to die. Nor had Orla, or so many others. The destruction of the Alashani underground was, ultimately, his fault. He could not blame them for being devastated. He knew what it was like, to lose one’s family.

At last, their anger began to die down.

Ariock amplified his own voice using his power. “You’re not the only people who have suffered from Torth injustice.” He paused, letting that message sink in. “But you are some of the only warriors in existence who have the power to deliver justice. As am I.” He thumped his armored chest, implying how meaningful that was. “When I led you away from your dying world, Jinishta had me swear the Warrior’s Pact.”

They went silent.

Every albino knew what that vow meant. Warriors carried poison in case they were captured. It was better to die than to endanger the civilization which they safeguarded.

“I swore it,” Ariock said, “willingly, because I want to protect the Alashani. You are my people.”

Some of the albinos looked grateful. Others were chagrined.

“As are the nussians,” Ariock said. “And the ummins. And the govki. And all the other innocent victims of Torth evils.” He glanced towards the slums. “The mind readers who are brave enough to defy their oppressive kin are on our side. They have thrown themselves on our mercy. They have nowhere else to go. The Torth Empire robbed them of their humanity. They are victims, like us.”

The rows of defenders looked vindicated and exhausted. No doubt they were tired of fighting people who were supposed to be their allies.

“Thank you for remembering your duty.” Ariock gave the defenders a nod of respect. These were people who must care deeply about liberty and equality and justice as universal principles, rather than as principles that applied only to the Alashani. “You’re more honorable than most of us. Including me.”

The defenders looked proud. They must have struggled the entire week to protect penitents.

“They’re fools!” Flen looked as if he had holy wisdom which Ariock was ignorant of.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“I’ve heard about your undergrounder movement.” Ariock eyed Flen and his fellows. “You want to flee and hide, the way you used to? I’m sure that sounds noble. That’s what I’ve been doing.” He flung a hand towards his war palace.

A few of them shifted, perhaps embarrassed.

“I came up with all sorts of excuses,” Ariock admitted. “Like, I don’t want to get more warriors killed.” His voice broke. “I led Jinishta and so many others on a mission that was actually a Torth trap. That was my fault. My idiocy got Jinishta and over a hundred other warriors killed.”

The agitators looked more uncertain than ever. It seemed they had stopped expecting an apology.

“I’m sorry.” Ariock bowed his head.

They exchanged looks. Perhaps the apology meant something to a few of them, but Ariock knew it was inadequate.

“Do you know what my mistake was?” Ariock asked the mob.

Most of them remained quiet. They had waited a long time for Ariock to take responsibility, apologize, and explain what, exactly, had gone wrong.

“You listened to a rekveh!” someone shouted.

“Just the opposite,” Ariock said. “Every battle we won was because of Thomas. He is a strategic mastermind. My big failure was the one time I ignored his advice.”

They looked stunned.

Agitators exchanged glances, gauging each other’s reactions. Some might consider Ariock’s words to be an engineered and rehearsed speech, masterminded by the rekveh. But Thomas had been missing for a week. If he was behind this presentation, he would have had to pre-plan it well in advance.

At least a few of them seemed to be reevaluating their life choices.

“I owe every success I’ve had to Thomas,” Ariock said. “I’m not saying that because anyone forced me to. I’m saying it honestly, as a soldier and a warrior. And I’m embarrassed to admit how much I rely on Thomas. But I have to say it. We cannot win battles if we refuse to look at hard truths and hard facts.”

Any military veteran would agree with that last statement. Mistakes that seemed acceptable in civilian life were unacceptable in war zones. Battle captains or premiers who ignored facts got their troops killed.

Ariock paced, his heavy footfalls emphasizing the weight of his armor and his words. “We cannot win this war without allies who are mind readers. That’s not just advice that comes from Thomas and Kessa. That’s my own conclusion, as well.”

Everyone within earshot was probably shocked to hear that.

“Then where is your mind reader?” someone shouted. “Did he abandon us?”

People on both sides grumbled in agreement.

“I trust Thomas to return,” Ariock said.

The defenders looked heartened. They stood taller. A few exchanged looks of hope.

“In the meantime?” Ariock took a deep breath. He faced the agitators, then the defenders, then anyone else who was listening in the distance. “I’m done hiding like a coward. I will face battle again.”

They cheered.

Defenders and agitators alike looked amazed. A few of them dropped their placards or their weapons. Others jumped in celebration.

“I don’t know if I can win battle after battle,” Ariock confessed. “We need Thomas for that. But I’m going to take risks again. I’ll wear air tanks if I have to. But I’m done letting the Torth have an easy time. I will do my best to save the lives of people who need protection, for as long as I can.”

People cheered.

“I will follow you anywhere, Bringer of Hope!” one of the defenders called.

Others voiced their resolve.

“Let’s drive away the Torth!

“Liberate more cities!”

Ariock nodded towards the Freedomland Spaceport. “Some battles will be fought in space, or in the air, by pilots. We’ll keep gaining ships. I know that we can damage the Torth Empire with the valor of our pilots and those who maintain their machines. We don’t need zombies.”

More cheering! A few of Flen’s colleagues even dared to talk with their armored counterparts among the defenders.

Ariock began to ask warriors and battle squads to meet him at the teleportation flats in one hour. He didn’t care if he only managed to gather a small fighting force. There would be more volunteers if he could manage to win a skirmish or two.

Garrett popped out of the air in a crackle of lightning and a smell of ozone. He dropped to the ground, bulky in his space armor. Sweat matted his white hair.

“What are you doing?” Garrett demanded. “I need your help at the temporal stream!”

“That’s not our battlefront,” Ariock said bluntly.

“There’s still a chance we might catch the traitor!” Garrett’s eyes were wild.

“Thomas will return on his own,” Ariock said. “But only if we show him that it’s safe. We need to prove that he can trust us.”

Garrett sounded like he was strangling on his own outrage. He spluttered, then spat out his opinion. “The boy’s a traitor!”

“Thomas.” Ariock emphasized the name. “Would never betray us.”

Garrett bared his teeth, as if he wanted to bite something. “Let me refresh you on a few facts. First of all, he promised to obey me. I told him to zombify prisoners on a regular basis.”

Ariock began to defend Thomas, but his great-grandfather steamrolled on.

“His abandonment of his duties constitutes a failure to obey. Ergo, when he told me he would be my slave? He lied. What does that tell you about our ability to trust him? The boy’s a liar. He’s a lying super-genius mind twister!”

There was a little bit of pragmatism buried in that accusation, Ariock thought.

But only a bit.

Ariock stared down at his great-grandfather and wondered how he had missed the obvious insecurity. Garrett was terrified of Thomas. He equated “the boy” with his long-dead abusive father. He saw abusive tendencies in every mind reader he encountered.

Just like the undergrounders.

“How is he any better than Unyat?” Garrett demanded.

“He’s afraid of you,” Ariock said.

“What?” Garrett went back to spluttering in wordless shock.

“Thomas is just as afraid of you as you are of him,” Ariock said. “Why do you think he ran away? He could guess how you would react.”

“Well, anyone sane would be angry at betrayal!” Garrett said. “He—”

Ariock used his deep voice to steamroll over his great-grandfather. “You and a lot of other people here have been abusive towards him.”

“I have not!” Garrett drew himself up, indignant. “I never threatened him.”

“You bullied him,” Ariock said.

Garrett threw up his hands in outrage. “What, did you expect me to coddle him? He’s not a child. I mean, technically, sure, he has the age of a child, but that doesn’t matter next to … agh, never mind, this is beside the point! Do I need to remind you of what’s at stake? The universe! Our future!” He emphasized every word. “The boy isn’t coming back on his own. He betrayed us and switched sides. Don’t you see that? Open your eyes! We need to grab him before the Torth Empire welcomes him home!”

Ariock reassessed Garrett. He knew that his great-grandfather was a flawed individual, but he had failed to realize just how pathological his hatred was.

“Thomas isn’t joining the Torth.” Ariock made it a statement of fact.

Garrett began to argue. “The prophecies—”

Ariock found that he didn’t care what nonsense Garrett had glimpsed in the prophecies. Whatever it was, he was sure to have misinterpreted it.

He overrode the old man. “I’m not draining my powers for a pointless melee in the middle of nowhere. We have people who genuinely need our protection. They’re on planets which we rightfully conquered. They’re waiting for our aid. And if we ignore them? Then we’re the traitors.”

There were voices of solidarity.

Garrett glared at Ariock from beneath his bushy eyebrows. “If we lose the boy? We lose the war.”

“We didn’t lose him,” Ariock said.

“He betrayed us! He’s—”

“This is my army.” Ariock put a heavy hand on Garrett’s shoulder, encompassing the whole area, despite Garrett’s bulky space armor. “I will decide what regions we protect. And who our enemies are.”

Garrett closed his mouth. Mind readers were hard to surprise, but he looked shocked.

Well, Ariock was done taking criticism in public. If he was going to be an effective leader, then he needed respect.

“Take time to replenish your powers,” Ariock said. “Then prepare to fight where I tell you to.” He studied his great-grandfather. “Unless you want to betray me?”

There was a look in Garrett’s eyes that was difficult to define. Maybe he was outraged, but he also seemed almost, well, respectful.

“Tell Evenjos,” Ariock ordered. “I won’t force anyone to fight, but I’m not letting anyone go rogue. Not while the Torth raid our lands.” He gave Garrett a meaningful glare. “And I’m done tolerating disrespect towards the Wisdom who built Freedomland and helped us win every battle until recently. Either you remember what Thomas did for us, or I don’t have any use for you.” He strode away. “Anyone in fighting shape who wants to kill Torth? Meet me at the teleportation flats in one hour.”