

### Eye of the Tornado

### Volume Three of The Fourth Dimension

by

Kevin Domenic

*******

PUBLISHED BY:

Kevin Domenic on Smashwords

The Fourth Dimension: Eye of the Tornado

Copyright © 2010 by Kevin Domenic

Cover Art: Philip Kurniawan

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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*******

### EYE OF THE TORNADO

### VOLUME THREE OF THE FOURTH DIMENSION

### Chapter 1

"Word has it that Thorus is back in command of the _Black Eagle,_ Boss."

Truce shrugged as he put his feet up on Olock's desk. "I'm not concerned. The man is so blinded by his pursuit of Arus that he hasn't even acknowledged my existence in nearly a week. With any luck, he won't know I'm gone until it's too late."

Olock frowned and sat, rummaging through a jumbled mess of papers scattered across his desk. "So long as none of his spies find you here," he said, unconsciously adjusting his cap. "I tell you, I may be in command of this ship, but Kindel has got eyes on me everywhere I turn. I doubt you're even safe here."

Truce glanced down at the grey Vezulian uniform he wore and very nearly spat on it. "People know my description, but they don't know my face precisely. Furthermore, none would expect someone like me to simply waltz around in front of them if I was truly an escaped prisoner. Besides, we took care of the logs. Anyone who looks it up will see that Thorus himself authorized my release, and they'll be forced to accept me here."

"I don't know," Olock said, shaking his head. He finally settled on one specific packet and began to flip through it. "What if he finds out?"

Truce stretched his arms and folded his hands behind his head as he lounged in the cushy chair. The _Falcon Mist_ was most certainly a step up from the Underworld. "If we work quickly, it won't matter. Have you found it yet?"

"I think so. Give me a minute."

While Olock skimmed through the packet, Truce's eyes wandered. The captain's office was certainly worthy of a commanding officer, elegantly decorated with fine paintings and carpeted with lush blue fibers that somehow managed to soothe a person's feet right through their boots. A wide viewport stretched along the back wall above brown oak cabinets trimmed with gold along their edges and fixed with golden polished handles. Olock's chair was fancier than anything Truce had ever owned, cushioned with thick maroon padding and equipped with an electronic heating mechanism for muscle relaxation. Starships of old never had much in the way of luxury, but then, Truce's last experience with ships had been many years ago. _I wonder what else has changed out there since we've been stranded on Terranias._

"Here it is," Olock finally said, laying the packet on the desk as he pointed to a technical readout of the _Black Eagle._ The rear of the ship on the port side was highlighted, and a complete detailing of the damage incurred during the battle was listed beside it. "There's little doubt that the Alliance was trying to destroy Kindel's ship. A myriad of missile and laser blasts damaged the _Black Eagle_ so severely here that the fuel lines to the engines are nearly exposed. If you look here," Olock continued, turning the page to an overhead view of the damaged region, "you can see that the major fuel distribution hoses for the port engine are just behind these two walls." He pointed to the innermost segment of the breached hull where only two titanium walls of the starship's inner structure remained. "If we manage to get a powerful enough blast into that hole, it should break down the walls, ignite the fuel lines, and destroy the ship _._ "

"Regular laser blasts won't do the job," Truce noted, scratching his beard. "And any missiles launched would certainly be intercepted."

"And our cover would be blown," Olock added. "So, I figure that if we can find a way to reroute all of the firepower from each of the laser turrets on _Falcon Mist_ to be directed into one single blast, it might do the trick."

Truce pursed his lips as he rose, his mind working to find the best way to exploit this opportunity. "The problem is finding a way to do that without raising any eyebrows." Even if all the power was successfully rerouted to a single turret, that much energy would likely overload the cannon's generator and blow the thing apart. A stronger generator would have to be installed. "Are there any turrets on the _Falcon Mist_ that were damaged during the battle?"

Olock nodded. "Several."

Truce's grin widened. It was all too easy. The Aeden Alliance had unknowingly assisted the Kyrosen in bringing down one of the greatest tyrants to ever wander the stars. "Good. We'll need to get our hands on battleship-class energy generators. We'll install those into the turrets we have now. As it stands, the circuits on this ship are likely not set to properly handle that kind of output, but I'm sure I can come up with some kind of override. If we can get stronger generators into the cannons, and I quietly program each to route their energy to a single turret, we'll have more than enough firepower to take down Thorus' ship."

"We'll have to move quickly, then." Olock rolled up the packet of papers and shoved it into his back pocket as he stood. "Crews are already hard at work on repairing the _Black Eagle_. To top it all off, Commander Enzulia seems to think he's in charge here, no matter what I say. I'm sure he's already ordered the repairs of our turrets to begin."

A soft tone at the door signaled the arrival of a visitor. Truce and Olock exchanged nervous glances. "Come in," Olock finally said.

F'Ledro sauntered in with his usual arrogance, though it quickly dissipated when his eyes came to rest on Truce. "B-Boss! What are you doing here?"

"Good timing, F'Ledro," Truce said with a smile. "We're going to need your help."

"I'd love too, Boss, but Enzulia is riding my tail," F'Ledro told him with a startlingly dismissive tone. "Olock, the commander wants to know when you're going to down to the engine room and start helping with repairs."

Olock glared at Truce, the unspoken complaints about F'Ledro's insolence registering without a word being spoken. Sartan waved his hand forcefully, and the wiry soldier's body was thrown into the wall. "I am your one and only commander, F'Ledro!" Truce growled, stepping forward. "From this moment on, you will follow only _my_ orders. Is that clear?"

F'Ledro was already on his knees, an inch short of bowing before his leader. "As clear as crystal, Boss!" he whined. For the thousandth time, Truce wondered how such a weasel had managed to survive as long as he had.

"We have devised a plan," Olock said, crossing his arms in contempt. "If all goes well, the _Black Eagle_ will be reduced to scrap metal, and Commander Enzulia will be cowering at our feet."

*******

The morale onboard the _Refuge_ improved dramatically with the withdrawal of the Vezulian forces. The victory had been heralded as a grand step forward for the Aeden Alliance and dealt a strong blow to both the numbers and the purpose of the Armada. That Kindel Thorus had survived the encounter was seen as an unfortunate tragedy by some, though the commanders who had ordered that Kindel's fleet be allowed to retreat had come under heavy fire from the Aeden High Council. Damien continued to insist that it had been the right thing to do, despite the circumstances that had confined him to a bed in the infirmary, but Kitreena wasn't so sure she agreed with him. For someone who claimed that emotions had no place on the battlefield, it sure seemed to her as though Damien was letting compassion for his brother stand in the way of true justice.

Slowly rotating her wrist as she made her way along the corridor, Kitreena shrugged the thought away. Whether or not Damien's feelings were a factor, the bottom line was that the Vezulian Armada was on the run, and Kindel Thorus had been scalded by the very flames he had fanned by allying with Sartan Truce and setting his sights on Arus. That was enough to put a smile on her face, something she had noticed herself doing a lot more of lately. Arus was a big part of that, she knew, but admitting that to anyone else but herself wasn't something she'd been able to bring herself to do just yet. And despite the fact that he almost always seemed to point out her biggest insecurities—he only meant to help, of course—she nearly welcomed his advice. She'd recognized the need for a change in her perspective long ago but had never been able to figure out how to implement such alterations into the lifestyle she'd firmly established for herself. For her, anger and hatred were second-nature. They boiled up before she even noticed they were there, and by the time she realized the need to overcome them, they had already firmly established their hold on her.

In fact, it was those very emotions that drove her powers as a Morpher.

The thought sent a shiver throughout her body. If she didn't learn to let go of her anger and replace it with something more positive, it could very well consume her as it had Damien's brother. Yet, if she managed to succeed in that, what would become of her talents? Common sense told her that it would be better to lose her power than to be taken to an early grave by careless emotions, yet she didn't want to give up the one thing that made her unique, an ability that set her apart from the rest of the universe, even from the rest of the Morphers. Properly harnessed, her strength could be a great weapon in the battle against evil, yet what good would it do if it devoured her as it had Kindel?

She sighed as she looked down at the exoskeleton latched around her right wrist. Thorus had managed to shatter both the bones of her forearm and a fracture couple in her hand before he was done. One of Doctor Nori's nurses, a young lady with reddish gold hair and large green eyes named Fiera, had used microlasers to reset the bones, an uncomfortable process that lasted nearly an hour. Once they were set, the exoskeleton was attached. A bulky device to say the least, it was comprised of a series of metal rods equipped with bone-knitting energy infusion diodes. The rods were arranged to mirror Kitreena's healthy bone structure and fused to the outside of her skin both above and below her wrist. The diodes then injected a series of energy bursts every few seconds, accelerating her body's natural healing process. It almost looked as though her skeleton had been placed outside of her flesh by the time Fiera was finished. But the whole effort would be well worth it; her wrist would be good as new in about a day.

Arus was right where she'd expected him to be, facing off in an impromptu duel against Doman and Rollock in the gym. She entered quietly and slipped behind the small crowd of spectators that had gathered to watch. The boy never took his focus away from his training, it seemed. Not that it was a bad thing; dedication like that would help him succeed in more than just fighting. He appeared to be moving faster today, reacting quicker, employing fresh maneuvers he'd picked up from his various training partners and working them into his own combat style in an almost flawless flow that turned his sword into an extension of his body. If Kitreena hadn't known better, she'd almost say he had activated the implant's sensors again, but she knew that he insisted on deactivating the device unless it became an absolute necessity. No, what they were witnessing was all Arus, trained and honed with the endless drive and determination of which there was no short supply.

Rollock was eliminated mere moments after Kitreena entered as Arus' weapon lightly touched the young Svodesian's gut in what would've been a killing blow if they were not simply sparring. The floppy-eared fighter stepped out of the ring reluctantly, earning a few pats on the shoulder from his comrades. Arus' movements never halted, his sword swinging toward Doman in the very next instant. The burly man brandished knives in either hand, both of which met the steel of Arus' blade at least twice a second. To the best of Kitreena's knowledge, Arus had never defeated Doman in a duel. But today . . .

The two fighters suddenly froze, bringing excited cheers and whistles from the crowd. Doman's eyes shifted down to his opponent's blade, and his lips curved into a wide smile. The tip of Arus' sword was mere inches from his throat. "Nicely done, Arus. Your talent seems to have no limits. You improve greatly every day."

If Kitreena didn't know better, she'd almost think Arus was turning red. "Thanks, Doman," he said, returning his sword to its sheath. "But I can only learn what the rest of you teach me. You've all been a great help to me in strengthening my skills."

Once the crowd began to dissipate, Arus' gaze fell on Kitreena, and he made his way over with a smile. She smoothed her favorite blue shirt and brushed her baggy white pants nervously as he approached. "I didn't know you were here," he told her. "How's the wrist?"

"It's not bad," she said, bending it slowly. "The exoskeleton lets me move it like normal as long as I'm careful, so it hasn't been too much of a hassle. How's your training coming?"

"Great, apparently," he responded. His glance in Doman's direction was met with an approving nod. "Got my first victory over Doman today."

She smiled and nodded. "I saw. At this rate, I'm going to be no match for you soon!"

Arus tilted his head back and laughed. "Don't be ridiculous. You're a far better warrior than I'll ever be. Besides, I don't know the first thing about defending against a whip."

"Don't be silly," she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Listen, Damien wants us to go talk to Muert. He wants to know if we can trust a Kyrosen."

Arus glanced down at his sweat-soaked shirt. "Do I have time to wash first?"

"Sure. Muert isn't going anywhere."

Back in Arus' room, Kitreena sat patiently on the end of his bed while he showered. His sword and sheath rested beside her, and she ran her fingers over the dragon design embroidered across the red leather scabbard.

"How are you feeling?" he called from the washroom. "I know Morphing usually saps your strength."

"Doing well," she responded, careful not to look toward the doorway. "My body is getting better at recovering from the strain. Damien says that I'll be able to change back and forth at will eventually without any side effects. He doesn't think I've fully tapped the potentially of my abilities yet, but what I remember makes me wonder how my body wasn't torn apart by the amount of energy I'd gathered."

"If I understand correctly, that's because you _were_ the energy at that time."

Kitreena scrunched her forehead as she thought about it. "I don't think so. If that were true, then how did Thorus break my wrist? My bones must've still existed somewhere beneath that light."

"Perhaps you have yet to fully transform?" he suggested. "I mean, if Damien thinks you haven't utilized the full extent of your power, perhaps it means there is an even further change you have yet to go through."

"That doesn't mean I'll somehow be invulnerable to broken bones, though. An Elemental Morpher is supposed to be powerful, but as we've recently learned, not invincible."

"True, but as I understand it," he paused as he turned off the shower, "your entire body _becomes_ something else, right? So if you're supposed to be able to merge with the elements, then shouldn't you _become_ that element?"

"I suppose," she conceded. Finally, she dismissed the whole thing with a shake of her head. "I don't know. I'm not all that comfortable with Morphing anymore. Not after what happened on the _Black Eagle_."

Arus was frowning when he came out of the washroom, dressed in a pair of tan pants and a blue shirt with the laces below the neck untied. The sleeves of the shirt had been torn away, leaving fraying threads around either shoulder. He seemed nervous; she noticed uneasy glances from him while he stuffed his feet into his boots. It wasn't until they were headed for the lift that he finally asked. "Um . . . what happened?" he stammered, obviously wondering whether or not he being too intrusive. "On the _Black Eagle_ , I mean . . . If you don't mind my asking, of course."

For obvious reasons, she hadn't spoken to Damien about the mind-altering effects of Morphing that she'd experienced during the fight with Kindel. How in the world could she tell him that she'd considered killing him—for _what_ , she couldn't even remember—when she'd been in her transformed state? The emotions that fueled her Morphing grew in proportion to her power, drowning her with an unbridled and unquenchable fury. "I am . . . afraid that more than just my body changes when I am Morphed. My attitude changes as well." Maybe she couldn't tell Damien, but certainly Arus would listen. He was forever supportive and understanding. "The anger that I've relied upon to drive my strength for the majority of my life grows to unimaginable proportions when I undergo that transformation. I lose control of who I am and who I care about." Emotion welled up inside as she spoke, bringing tears to her eyes. "I see everyone as a target for one reason or another, and I retain very little of my own personality."

As Arus pressed the call button for the lift, his cold metal hand took hers. "I'm sorry, Kit," he said softly. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea. There's so little information available about Elemental Morphers that it's hard to know what to expect. If we only had someone else from your society to speak to, maybe we could get some answers. Perhaps it is a symptom of all Morphers? Something that may go away in time? Maybe it'll become easier to control the more you use it?"

Kitreena waited until they were alone inside the lift before she wiped unshed tears from her eyes. "I'm afraid to use it again. I don't want to. I've gotten by on my fighting abilities just fine over the years without Morphing." Her face was in her hands before she could stop herself. _Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry!_ She struggled to restrain her sobs, but they tumbled out like an avalanche, tears flowing like a river. "I'm afraid to do it! I don't want to hurt anyone!"

Arus put his mechanical arm around her and pulled her closer. "You're going to be just fine," he said softly. His voice soothed her like a summer's breeze. "In the time I've known you, you have not come up against a single test that you have not been able to conquer. No matter how hard this is, I know you'll be able to beat it."

"But you don't understand," she moaned, wiping her eyes again. "If I fail, I could wind up hurting someone I care about!" _Even you._

_You won't fail,_ his voice echoed in her mind. _I know you won't. I believe in you, and so does Damien._

The stories of "growing pains" varied from race to race. Everyone matured differently, facing their own struggles and personal battles. But none that Kitreena could recall ever dealt with the danger of uncontrollably hurting loved ones. None faced the challenge of wielding a power beyond anything they'd ever imagined. No one could possibly understand the struggle she was going through.

No one?

She looked up at the sound of Arus' voice in her head. He was raising his mechanical arm in front of her, and pointing at the implant with his other hand. "I think I know a little about facing a challenge that no one else has ever had to overcome before," he chuckled. "And I'm not nearly as strong as you. If I can learn to deal with this thing, I know for sure that you can deal with your power."

It was an effort to finally smile back at him, knowing she must look a fright. An embarrassed wipe of her nose later, and the smile came easier. "You're too kind to me, Arus. Why do you put up with me?"

The warm grin on his face broadened. "Because you're worth it."

Suddenly his lips were pressed against hers, sending chills of excitement along her spine. She awkwardly returned the kiss while simultaneously beating down the thousands of butterflies darting about in her stomach. No matter how many times she'd imagined it, no matter how much she'd tried to plan it, nothing she'd come up with even came close to the thrill of the real thing. His hands ran through her hair with the gentle touch of a kitten, fingers stroking her dark locks with unexpected tenderness. For a few brief seconds, the universe stood still, and no amount of troubles could reach Kitreena's heart. She was alive. She was happy.

She was in love.

They parted slowly, each clearly waiting for the other to speak first. Arus eyed her nervously, his smile taking on a bit of his uneasiness. After an agonizing moment, he broke the silence. "Are you all right?"

Kitreena couldn't help but giggle as she nodded. "That was wonderful, Arus."

His thoughts floated through her head. _Then why do you look so nervous?_

Because it was my first kiss.

His eyes bulged at that. "It was?" She only nodded in response, unconsciously nibbling her nails. "It was my first, too!" he said, taking her hands.

This time it was her eyes that grew. "Really?" The weight of her nervousness lifted from her shoulders. "I kind of figured you had girls all over you back home. I can't imagine why you wouldn't!"

"Well, there was this one girl that Vultrel kept trying to set me up with, but I never really—"

Her communicator interrupted him with a loud beep. "Great timing," she muttered, lifting the device to her mouth. "Yes, what is it?" She tried her best to sound pleasant, but a bit of her frustration seeped through.

Apparently, Damien had been more interested in Muert's allegiance than she'd thought. "Kitreena, have you talked to Muert yet?"

"Not yet," she responded. "Arus needed to shower first. We're on our way down there now."

"Make it quick," he said, nearly grumbling the words. "We may have more trouble on our hands. Kindel is headed for a planet that hasn't been integrated into the interstellar community yet. I don't know what he's up to, but after losing his allegedly magical stones, he can't be in a good mood. I fear he may do something irrational."

"Understood." She shot a concerned look at Arus. "Have we been able to either prove or disprove his claims about those rocks?"

"Not yet. I've put in requests to several different research facilities, but it may come down to simply testing the thing to find out if it works."

Testing the lephadorite was not an option any of them wanted to exercise. Magic was no toy, and fooling around with the mechanics of such an awesome force could lead to disastrous results. Still, if Thorus' claims about the amulet and stones turned out to be true, then they would have to be destroyed, if possible. Then again, even destroying rocks imbued with magical properties could have disastrous results. _What tangled webs we weave, Thorus._ "All right," Kitreena said, "we'll meet you in the infirmary after we talk with Muert."

"I'm on the bridge now, Kit. I can't afford to be bedridden at a time like this."

If her eyes were wide before, now they nearly popped out of her skull. How dare he? After all these years of forcing her to _fully_ recuperate from injuries before even picking up her whip, how dare he push himself back to work after his body had suffered so much damage? The words spewed from her mouth like a mother's frustrated temper. "You get back to the infirmary this instant, Damien! You are not healthy enough to be—"

"We shall discuss it later, Kitreena," he cut her off. "There are more important things to attend to at the moment. Please, you can scold me all you want later."

Arus put a comforting hand on her knee. "It's all right, Kit. He knows what he's doing. Trust him."

Grinding her teeth, she growled into the communicator. "Fine. We're heading to the prison level now. But don't think I'm going to let you off the hook that easily."

"Acknowledged. Damien out."

Arus pressed the button for the prison level without saying a word, and the lift started to descend. It was a quiet ride for the most part, probably because Kitreena was too busy seething over Damien's hypocritical behavior, and Arus was clearly not looking to further the issue. It wasn't until the lift was well on its way to the prison level that he spoke again. "Have you considered returning to your homeworld to learn more about Morphers?"

She nearly winced at the question. Couldn't he have chosen a more lighthearted topic for conversation? "I . . . can't return home. It's just not the right place for me." That answer would have to suffice.

He looked at her sideways for a moment before shrugging. "Oh. Well, are there any other Morphers elsewhere in the universe that might be able to help you out?"

The lift doors slid open as she shook her head. The corridors of the prison level were peppered with a good many more soldiers than would normally be assigned to guard the deck; the invasion of Vezulian troops had left the level in near shambles. "Not likely. My people don't really like to stray too far from Lavinia."

"So you're all alone out here," he murmured. "I know how that feels."

She furrowed her brow at that. "What do you mean? There are billions of humans throughout the universe. Your race ranks among the top percentages of the military and scientific fields. You're not alone."

"True," he conceded, "but most of them grew up as a part of the interstellar community. Every human I've met so far has been acclimated to this technologically driven lifestyle for almost their entire lives. For them, this environment is the only reality they've ever known. But for me, I still sometimes feel like I've stepped into a scene from a dream or something. Everyone else takes everything they have for granted without a second thought, whereas I'm still adjusting to the concepts of laser pistols and washrooms!"

Kitreena giggled again. "I suppose I can see how you'd feel isolated in that regard. But I hope we've made the transition as easy as possible for you."

"You have. I only wish Vultrel had opened himself up to the Alliance's hospitality." His head sank as he spoke, a distant look coming to his human eye. If not for Kitreena's excellent ears, she wouldn't have heard his whisper of "I just don't know what happened to him."

She opened her mouth to console him just as they reached Muert's cell, and she thought better of it. Instead, she tried to work her telepathy. _We'll talk about it later, all right? When we can be alone._ He glanced at her momentarily before nodding.

Muert was sitting on the floor in the back of his cell, head hung between his knees. His chest had been heavily bandaged, but otherwise he looked the same as always. He glanced up as the sound of their feet announced them, and Kitreena thought she saw a brief look of regret flash across his otherwise solid face. "I've done a bad thing, haven't I?" he finally asked. "I knew I shouldn't have listened to Nevin, but it was the only way I thought I'd ever see my darling Keilan and beautiful Sienna again. I thought Thorus a fool for underestimating me, but I was the fool. I have disgraced myself in many ways, and I submit to whatever punishment you have for me."

Kitreena looked at Arus briefly before she spoke. When she did, she tried to keep her voice as calm and understanding as possible. "Who let you out of your cell, Muert?"

His eyes widened ever so slightly—he likely expected her to start doling out his punishment—but he answered without question. "When the Vezulian soldiers boarded, they murdered the sentries you'd placed to keep both myself and Nevin from using magic. I don't think Thorus' men realized what your soldiers had been assigned to do, because they looked surprised when Nevin blasted the door of his cell opened. He killed the Vezulian squad, then grabbed the key from one of your fallen men and opened the door for me."

Arus looked uncomfortable. Nervousness tainted his voice. "What happened to him?"

"He is dead," Muert said levelly. "He planned to take control of your ship and ram it into Kindel's _Black Eagle_. I followed him foolishly, hoping that Kindel's downfall would open the way for me to reunite with my family. But when we came across a storage safe full of explosives, Nevin changed his mind, deciding he instead wanted destroy your ship and take a transport to the _Falcon Mist._ He said there were more than enough explosives there to do the trick, compete with detonation remotes. Rather than help him, I killed him, the reasons for which I do not wish to explain, for it will bring far greater shame upon me than I've already incurred."

Arus crooked an eyebrow, but Kitreena understood. Muert respected Arus, that much was clear, and he didn't want to blow up the ship with him onboard. However, in doing what he thought would protect Arus, he sacrificed his opportunity to reunite with his wife and daughter. Muert, a Kyrosen, turned his back on his people to protect a friend. He gave up his family to do what he knew was right. "I understand," she said with a nod. "What you did was admirable and noble, Muert."

But Arus still hadn't figured it out. "I don't get it," he said, looking at her. "Why did—"

She gave him a look that told him to say no more. _He did it to protect you._

Sudden comprehension hit him like club to the face, and his expression brightened. _Oh! I get it. He's ashamed because he turned his back on his people . . . and his family._

Fumbling with the little silver keys Damien had given her, she twisted the lock open and pushed on the door. "Muert, there still may be a chance to rescue your loved ones, and we'd like to enlist your help, if you're willing."

_That_ certainly got a reaction out of him. The bulky man gaped as he rose to his feet, his mouth moving wordlessly as he tried to comprehend her request. "You will not . . . punish me?"

"So long as you do not betray," she warned him. Arus immediately put a hand on her arm.

"He won't," he said with a confident smile. "Muert knows the difference between right and wrong, a trait I'm willing to bet a _lot_ of the Kyrosen share."

"Perhaps," Muert said as he followed them from the cell, "but most lack the courage to stand up to Truce and Olock."

"Do you?"

"I will face down anyone for my beloved," he replied stiffly. "Even Sartan Truce, if necessary."

Arus' smile nearly reached his ears. "Good. Come on, then. Damien wants to meet you."

For Muert, the ride on the lift was nearly silent. But Kitreena was intent on learning how to properly manage her telepathic abilities. She took his hand and squeezed it, flashing him a smile. _I wish I knew how to help you with Vultrel. I can't believe he's aligned himself with Thorus._

Arus squeezed her hand in response. _I know. I can't understand how he wound up siding with the enemy. I knew he was angry at me for what happened with Master Eaisan, but I never would've expected such a drastic change from him. I suppose different people react to adversity in different ways, though._

Do you think there will be any reasoning with him? I mean, what if he raises his sword to you? What will you do?

Arus snorted softly, bowing his head. _Fight him. Best friend or not, if he tries to help Kindel capture me or the amulet, I'll have to defend myself._

I thought you said you'd never defeated him before.

I haven't.

She didn't want to push the issue too far, as it had to be a sensitive subject for him. Surprisingly, it was Muert who unknowingly kept the discussion going.

"Who was that boy who defended Thorus when I attacked the other day? He was a very talented fighter."

Arus and Kitreena exchanged glances, and she nodded to him. It was his place to introduce Vultrel however he saw fit, whether it be as a misguided friend or just another enemy. Left to her, she likely would've described him with all the anger and bitterness she felt over his actions.

But Arus was much more diplomatic. "His name is Vultrel, and apparently he has sided with the Vezulian Armada. We grew up together; in fact, we shared the same teacher. He is every bit the swordsman I am and more, determined and talented in the ways of the blade."

"How did he end up turning his back on you?" Muert asked, drumming his fingers against his chin.

Arus' stare once again grew distant. "I honestly don't know."

The lift doors slid open, revealing the bridge of the _Refuge._ The crew was back in their positions—thankfully Damien's order for them to evacuate during the battle hadn't been compromised by Kindel Thorus—and the captain himself sat in the chair beside the diagnostic terminal. He moved to stand as they entered, though the flash of pain on his face did not go unnoticed. Dressed in the usual majestic garb of the Zo'rhan, one who hadn't seen his injuries first hand wouldn't have known how close to death he had been. But Kitreena had been there when they wrapped his torso in medicated bandages in the infirmary. And she knew full well that he still wore those bandages under his shirt.

"Muert," he addressed, bowing his head. "Welcome to the bridge. I have a few questions, if you don't mind."

Kitreena and Arus shifted to either side so that Muert could come forward. He dropped to one knee and lowered his head before he spoke. "You may ask whatever you wish. I do not deny the crimes I am charged with, and I am prepared to accept the consequences of my actions." Apparently, Kitreena's promise that he would not be punished hadn't been absorbed. Or maybe he simply wanted to reiterate for the captain of the _Refuge_ that he was ready and willing to atone for what he'd done.

While the Kyrosen's head was down, Damien shot a questioning look at her. She spread her hands and nodded, indicating that he was trustworthy. Damien acknowledged with an inclination of the head. "Please stand. I appreciate your intentions behind the gesture, but I do not like to place anyone above anyone else around here. The idea of superiors inherently classifies those below them as inferior, and that's an attitude I do not embrace." Muert stood with murmured apologies which Damien waved away. "What was your mission at Cathymel?"

Muert answered promptly, though he kept his voice calm and courteous. "Our mission at Cathymel was to overthrow King Sarathon and claim the throne of Asteria for Sartan Truce."

Damien returned to his chair, acting as though the questions were more a matter of procedure than necessity. "What role did you play?"

"I was assigned to a large group of men who were to guard the path to Castle Asteria in the case that the tower bell was sounded to summon Royal Guard troops. It was our duty to keep reinforcements from reaching the castle."

"During our run-in with the Vezulian Armada, you made your presence felt on the bridge here in an impressive display of power. Why?"

"I had overheard crew conversations stating that Kindel Thorus was on the bridge. I had hoped that I'd somehow be able to convince him to return my family to me."

Damien leaned forward, his eyes focusing intently on the big man. "Do you agree with Sartan Truce's vision for the Kyrosen?"

Muert sighed heavily, his chest heaving. "You must understand, such an admission is equivalent to treason amongst my people. Regardless of how I feel, the whole of the Kyrosen must be preserved."

"Around here," Damien replied in a low voice, "we value everyone's input. Every being in the universe has the right to his or her own opinions, and you must never fear to speak yours when you are with us."

The Kyrosen's jaw was set as stone, but he eventually nodded. "I do not agree with Sartan Truce."

A slight upward curving of the corners of his lips momentarily gave away Damien's satisfaction. "Why not?"

"Because he, like Kindel Thorus, treats the lives of his people as nothing more than tools. A means to an end. If he had not caught poor Arus here, I don't doubt that he would've eventually resorted to using one of our own children to test the implant. The thought of my precious Sienna being used as a scientific lab rat boils my blood. The trouble is that living in that kind of fear is exactly what keeps our people in line. They assume that if they perform well enough, they will be spared. But Truce will use anyone for any purpose if it furthers his goals. It is not a very peaceful life we lead."

"Peace isn't something the Kyrosen have ever traditionally cared about," Damien told him. "Why do you?"

"Because I don't want to see my baby girl subjected to the harshness of war. I don't want her to be placed amidst meaningless bloodshed. I want to protect her and my darling Keilan."

Damien mulled over that for a moment, glancing at both Arus and Kitreena. "Just one more question," he said at last. "We could use your help, but there's a good chance that we may find ourselves battling against Kyrosen in the future. How do you feel about fighting your own people?"

Muert pursed his lips and shook his head. "Without my wife and child, I am nothing. I will go through whoever I must to rescue them."

"What if she takes up arms against us?"

That actually made the bulky man smile. "She won't. Not against me. She is just as concerned for Sienna's future as I am. If I tell her that I have decided to abandon the Kyrosen and seek a new life elsewhere, she will follow joyfully."

Damien rose from his chair and bowed again, this time more elegantly. "In that case, I would like to formally request your aid against both Sartan Truce and Kindel Thorus. We will do what we can to safely recover your loved ones, but you must understand that we make no guarantees."

"I understand," Muert said, bowing so deeply his head nearly touched the floor. "Your grace in forgiving my crimes is more than I deserve. I am greatly indebted to you. Thank you."

Damien finally smiled openly. "Thank you for your help. If not for your assistance during the fight with Thorus, the outcome of that battle may have been much different."

Clearing her throat, Kitreena turned to more pressing matters. "So, what of Kindel? Any further word on his intentions?"

The smile vanished once again, and Damien's face grew grim as he updated the situation. "As of our latest reports, he had arrived at a planed called Arynias. It is a solitary world a few hours from here, heavily populated by various types of wildlife, and home to the Ayaans, an odd race of humanoids with translucent skin and no vocal chords. The planet is covered mostly by mountains and trees, though there is an occasional lake or stream here and there. Why Kindel has gone there is beyond me, but if—"

"Sir?" Lieutenant Harold Meni called from the sensor array. "The scanners are reading very unusual atmospheric changes occurring on Arynias. Heavy storm clouds are forming and dissipating at an unnatural rate. Thirty-seven tornadoes have touched down within the last twenty minutes—no, make that forty-five—and that number is still rising. Some kind of force on the planet's surface seems to be affecting the atmosphere. I would suggest it was Thorus, but he doesn't have _that_ kind of power." He looked back at Damien with hesitant eyes. "Does he?"

Damien was already heading to join him at the terminal. "Over forty tornadoes in twenty minutes? Not likely. The kind of energy needed to form and sustain a tornado through magic is immense, and while I might be able to envision him creating one or _maybe_ two, there's no way he could control that many in such a short period of time."

"Perhaps the unstable conditions are what drew Kindel to the planet in the first place?" Kitreena theorized.

Harold shook his head as his fingers darted across the control panel. "Our routine scans of the surrounding systems show that the planet was stable until shortly after the Armada arrived."

Arus let out a long breath. "So whatever it is, Kindel is likely behind it."

Damien's head whipped around toward the helmsman's terminal. "Jindar, change heading. We're going to Arynias."

### Chapter 2

More than an hour had passed since Vultrel had arrived on the planet's surface—what had Kalibur called it? Arnysis or something?—more than an hour passed, and Vultrel still didn't know why he was here. He'd planned to stowaway aboard a supply transport bound for the _Falcon Mist_ , but instead he'd found himself being teleported without warning along with Scimitar and Kalibur. The two of them told him of the planet and warned him to be wary of attacks by the locals. Clear the forest of resistance; that was what he was supposed to do. Was there a war going on that the Armada had been called upon to stop? Or had the creatures of this world somehow endangered the rest of the galaxy? What under the heavens was going on?

Spiraling streaks of clouds in shades of grey and black and green swirled slowly overhead, separated by vivid splotches of blue where the sky broke through. Each colossal spiral's center was filled with a darkness blacker than a starless night, a darkness that seemed to radiate like a star with its murky cold shadow. _What is happening to this planet?_ Leaves crunched underfoot as Vultrel made his way through the woods, stopping occasionally to gaze up at the natural beauty of the world. It was autumn here, or something that would've been called autumn back home. The forest's trees were spaced much further apart than Keroko's, their bark colored with a light shade of grey. The onset of cooler weather was just beginning. Most trees still held the majority of their leaves, though their change in color was already well underway. Along with oranges and browns and yellows, lush blues and exquisite violets also swathed the leaves, some of which were long and narrow, packed into each branch like oversized pine needles. The ground was a colorful mess of fallen leaves, yet not a branch or log lay anywhere in sight. If not for the brewing storms overhead, the tranquil forest would've been like something out of a storybook.

This is a nice place, Kindel, but why are we here?

Passing between two trees, Vultrel came to a worn path of stone that cut a narrow valley through the woods. Not a soul could be seen in either direction, though the layer of leaves atop the path suggested it had not been traveled in quite some time. The silence surrounding him was almost deafening; despite the clouds, not a breath of wind brushed the land. Other than Scimitar and Kalibur—where had they run off to, anyway?—not a single living thing had made itself known since his arrival. It filled Vultrel with a strange paranoia that made him want to reach for his sword to defend himself, though from what, he couldn't say. Hopes and plans for the _Falcon Mist_ and Sartan Truce kept pushing their way into his thoughts, though there was little he could do about the Kyrosen from where he stood. _Don't think yourself too safe, Truce. As soon as I get back to the_ Black Eagle _, I'm coming after you._

Thunder rolled in the distance, a slow rolling rumble that grew and faded within moments. Behind, a muffled crackling of leaves sent Vultrel whirling around, sword drawn and ready for combat. His blood pumped loudly in his ears as he stood with his weapon still, hovering over a strange human-like creature. The . . . _thing_ cowered back—it was the only word Vultrel could think of to describe it—with boney arms of sinew raised in a useless effort to defend its head. By Vultrel's best estimation, it was an elderly male, but the lack of certain features he'd grown used to seeing on most other forms of life made it difficult to know for sure. The little creature's most striking characteristic was its skin, which was a translucent type of flesh that made his muscles and inner organs at least partially visible. It was leathery and wrinkled, as human flesh tended to become as it aged, though there didn't seem to be any veins or blood pulsing through his body. The only clothing he wore was a dirty shirt that may have once been white, and tattered brown pants that stopped just above his knees. No shoes, no gloves, and most strikingly, no weapons. _I thought these things were supposed to be dangerous. Are these the locals that Kalibur had mentioned?_

Vultrel lowered his weapon, which prompted the little man-thing to lower his arms. His face nearly made Vultrel choke. In the place of eyes, hollow recesses ran around his bald head to form a ring. It looked like a crown of holes around his skull. Where Vultrel would've expected a nose, there was a cone-shaped point about an inch long that glowed on and off in a sequence of seemingly random colors. The point shifted from side to side, up and down, as a rabbit moved its snout when sniffing through unfamiliar territory. Below that, a hole no bigger than a marble seemed to be permanently open; it never closed or shifted once. A scraggly beard of brown and white hung sloppily to the creature's waist, and two antennae extended from his forehead, the tips of which glowed with different colors like the point in the middle of his face. If it could be called a face.

It was unlikely they spoke the language of the universe, but Vultrel could think of no other way to communicate. He returned his weapon to its scabbard and spread his hands to show he was unarmed. "Greetings," he said slowly. "I am Vultrel. Who are you?"

The lights of the creature's nose and antennae shifted to a red color, and his whole body froze. After a moment, an odd crackling sound came from its marble-mouth. It sounded like distorted whispering, though Vultrel couldn't make out any semblance of words. A bony hand pointed at the hilt of the sword over his shoulder.

"I don't want to hurt you," Vultrel said, shaking his head. "I just want to communicate with you. Do you understand?" He spread his hands again, trying to figure out how to convey peace without words. For whatever reason, he found himself placing his hands palm-down on the stone path. "Peace. No pain," he said, not that he expected the words to make a difference.

It cocked its head to the other side, the glowing lights shifting from red to purple to blue to purple before stopping. More crackling whispers followed, though the thing didn't seem to be clenching its fists so tightly anymore. Blue lights glowed again, and it stroked its beard in an all-too-human manner. Vultrel couldn't help but grin. "Friends," he told it. "Peace." He patted the ground with his hands again.

Another moment and whether or not he was making any progress suddenly didn't matter. The little thing's antennae perked as it tilted its head, the three lights becoming solid red before a quick flash of steel smoothly cleaved the creature in two. It did not bleed, nor did it scream, but the glowing colors faded to nothingness in a matter of seconds. The being's lifeless carcass fell forward on the concrete, torso separated from the rest of its little body. Vultrel looked up to see Scimitar staring down at him, thin eyes full of anger.

"Lord Thorus ordered the creatures of this world to be exterminated!" the dark ninja hissed at him. "You walk on the edge of treason by disobeying his commands!"

Snarling, Vultrel jumped to his feet. "Why must these life forms be destroyed? That thing showed no malicious intentions toward me! I was trying to communicate with it!"

"Lord Thorus has his reasons," Scimitar said, stepping so close to Vultrel that their foreheads almost touched. The black cloth covering his face did little to conceal the angry sneer underneath. "In the end, the purging of this land will serve to benefit the universe. You must trust in Master Thorus' decisions! He knows what is best!"

A sharp crack of thunder was accompanied by a web of blinding lightning across the sky. Vultrel stared in awe as the rotating clouds accelerated, twisted, and merged with each other with unnatural speed and precision; in one section of the sky, three small spirals became a single large rotation in a matter of seconds. More lightning scattered, paired with a series of thunderclaps so powerful they left his ears ringing. "What in blazes is going on with this planet? Is it even safe for us here anymore?"

When he looked down, Scimitar was gone. Kindel's personal assistants had a way of silently coming and going when least expected, but Vultrel still hadn't gotten used to it. With a regretful look down at the dead . . . _whatever_ it was, he started along the path in an aimless walk.

The air went from still to violent in a single instant. Powerful winds tore thick branches from trees and hurtled them into the sky. The leaves that covered the path and littered the ground throughout the forest were sucked up in a torrent of air, creating a blanket of color that fluttered into the sky like a dense flock of sparrows. Vultrel followed one particularly large branch as it sailed into the sky over his head and flew higher behind him, rising until it was a mere spec to his vision. His breath caught when it disappeared into a billowing black funnel cloud that was descending to the path nearly a hundred paces away. Had it been possible, his eyes would've popped from their sockets and rolled down the path. His own feet seemed lighter against the ground. _If I don't get out of here fast, I'm going to be blown away._

It was a tornado of darkness, made not of air or dust but of the purest black that not even a raven could match. Crimson streaks of lightning wriggled around the giant mass, occasionally darting to the ground below with a series of hissing pops. The twisting column of ink shifted forward slowly, gaining speed with each rotation. Vultrel didn't remember turning to run, but suddenly he was amidst the trees, his feet thumping across the ground in desperate flight. Wind pushed and pulled at him, growing ever stronger, its deafening roar filling his ears and stealing his breath. On and on he ran, never looking back, never daring to blink. He could hear trees being torn from their roots, branches he'd just passed being snapped in two. The forest darkened as the spinning tower of destruction blocked out the sun. On and on he ran.

_Where in the bloody universe are we?_ Long after the roaring howl had died down, he continued on. _What is going on with this ridiculous planet?_ Long after the winds had all but ceased, he pressed harder. _Why are we here?_ He ran until his legs ached with a searing burn that enveloped ever fiber of ever muscle. He ran until his lungs were so thirsty for air that they felt as though they were sucking in against themselves. The forest never seemed to end. The nightmare never seemed to end. _Am I dreaming?_

He had no recollection of falling to the ground. But he was face down in the leaves when he opened his eyes, alone in the silent forest beneath a golden-topped oak tree. Every muscle in his legs screamed at him, and his chest heaved with each precious breath he managed to suck down. He couldn't see the sky anymore; the yellow leaves of the oak obscured his vision for the moment, but he wasn't eager to push himself up, either. His eyelids sank, and the world turned to black once again.

Despite drifting in and out of consciousness, the passage of time seemed to drag like a plow through mud. When he finally pushed himself to his knees and rubbed his eyes, he expected to find himself in his room onboard the _Black Eagle_. But the blanket of leaves that had served as his bed jolted him back into reality, and he stood with a loud groan. There were at least three dozen things he could think of that he would've rather been doing, all of which related to his plan for the Kyrosen. _Why did you have to pull me into this, Kindel? Surely whatever goals you have here could've been achieved by you, Scimitar, and Kalibur. And if you couldn't finish off the locals, this crazy weather would likely do the job._

As he rubbed his aching legs, his eyes caught sight of a long line of dirt and rocks at the edge of a clearing in the woods ahead. It almost looked as though it had been constructed to conceal military soldiers or mark off a boarder. The rubble was stacked too high to see anything beyond it, but either way, it certainly looked to be manmade. The border of a settlement, maybe. Or perhaps the remains of a battlefield.

Forcing his legs to cooperate—they were slow to recuperate—he climbed up the side of the pile and peered over. The scene on the other side made his head spin. "By the Maker!" he muttered, pulling himself onto the peak of the debris.

It was not manmade, nor was it the remains of a city or anything else. The line of dirt and rubble stretched in either direction nearly as far as the eye could see, paired with another that ran parallel several hundred paces away. Between them, a wide valley of dark brown cut through the land as though an enormous finger had dipped down from the heavens and drawn a line across the planet's surface. It was clear the tornado had been through the area, and it had left a swath of mangled destruction in its wake. Dust still hung in the air above the mess, suggesting that the damage was fresh. _How could I have gotten back here? I ran as far away from that thing as I could have. Unless . . ._ A thought occurred to him as his eyes scanned the debris. There was no sign of the concrete path anywhere, and the lay of the land looked different than he'd remembered. On top of that, there were mountains visible in the distance, something Vultrel hadn't remembered seeing before. Either that twister had done some major reconstruction to the area, or . . . there had been more than one.

A flash of light caught his eye, an arc of purple and red that stretched out from a mountain on the horizon and exploded into the trees at its base. Another streak shot up from the woods, this time from the lower portion of the mountain, and came down a good distance to the left. More followed, one by one, each originating from one section of the forest and obliterating another. Whatever was going on out there, it didn't seem like an exchange of pleasantries. And if Kindel had brought them to combat some sort of danger presented by the locals of the planet, it was a good bet that those blasts of energy had something to do with it.

Taking one last look behind him, Vultrel scampered down into the dirt valley and raced toward the horizon. That little creature he'd encountered hadn't seemed at all hostile, but if there was one thing he'd learned since having left Terranias, it was that the seemingly impossible was usually quite the opposite. Either way, the sooner his mission here was completed, the sooner he could return to his plans for the Kyrosen.

And that, in the end, was all that really mattered.

*******

After a turbulent flight through the atmosphere of Arynias, Arus was all too pleased to place his feet on solid ground again. Heavy winds and spectacular streaks of lightning had rocked the Aeden transport for most of the flight. The planet's weather was more peculiar than anything Arus had experienced back home, but then again, this _was_ an entirely different world. That very thought was difficult for him to wrap his mind around; he was standing on a planet that was not Terranias. Any number of things that weren't possible there could happen here, as was evident by the swirling clouds that obscured most of the cerulean sky. Oily black centers where the clouds came together seemed to ooze with darkness, something Damien said had never before been observed on this world. However, given that all observations of the planet had previously been conducted using distant scans, there was likely to be a good deal of information that hadn't been properly recorded.

Kitreena exited the transport behind him, followed by Damien. Twenty-five armed soldiers followed, racing past the three to form a perimeter of brown around the clearing. To either side of the ship, additional soldiers poured from two more transports, bringing the entire landing force to nearly eighty. They stood with rifles raised, eyes fixed on the forest, awaiting further orders. They were all Damien could spare; with the _Black Eagle_ in orbit along with an assortment of Vezulian ships, sending any more Aeden soldiers to the surface would've left the _Refuge_ practically defenseless in the event the Armada decided to launch another assault. The ship had sustained a great deal of damage during their last encounter, and the Alliance would need every man available to protect it if more missiles were exchanged. While the Aeden High Council had ordered additional escorts for Damien's starship, they barely matched the two battleships and starcruisers that flanked the flagship of the Vezulian Armada. An Aeden battleship, a single cruiser, and a squadron of assault transports surrounded the _Refuge_ , each damaged in their own minor ways from the tussle at the Outpost. Whether or not they could stand up to the Armada's forces remained to be seen, but like Damien, Arus wasn't really interested in finding out.

The clearing they had picked as a landing zone had been chosen more out of necessity than preference. The transport's energy shields had deteriorated with each lightning strike, and it became imperative that they get out of the air. Less than half as wide as Trader's Square, the area where they set down was little more than a bowl of grass and leaves. The surrounding trees were wider than most, full of a wide array of colored leaves that had yet to fully turn before falling. Crisp air tainted by a smoky film gave early warning signs that something was terribly wrong.

Not that they hadn't already surmised as much. Billowing plumes of smoke had caught their attention during the descent through the clouds, grey and black towers that rose from multiple sections of the forest at the base of a monstrous mountain. Occasional streaks of light burst through the smoke, curved lines of red and purple energy that exploded into the trees with such intensity that solid portions of trunk were sent sailing into the air amidst the rest of the debris. Damien had said that no natural phenomenon recorded on any other planet had ever resembled anything like what they were witnessing, nor had any of it been detected on Arynias before Kindel's arrival. That sank Arus' heart right into the pit of his stomach, but Kitreena continued to insist that Thorus couldn't possibly wield that kind of power. Even the most powerful sorcerers across the universe couldn't disrupt a planet's ecological balance in that manner. The idea of using magic to such a dramatic extent sounded more like something out of a legend rather than reality, she said. Arus prayed she was right.

"There's no wind," Damien noted, pointing at the distant smoke. "It's rising straight up." His eyes turned to the clouds momentarily. "There was certainly a good deal of wind during our flight. How could it just . . . stop?"

Kitreena's whip was already flipping back and forth in her hand, though she hardly seemed to notice her own movements. "I don't know," she said, scanning the surrounding woods. "Let's just find Kindel and get out of here."

Damien seemed reluctant, but he nodded anyway. "Agreed. Arus? Can you scan the area for life forms?"

The implant's sensors activated immediately, bringing up the circular radar in the corner of his vision. For a moment, the circle wavered, flickering on and off again, showing different readings each time it appeared. Then it was gone, replaced by a message that read "Unable to complete scan. Atmospheric conditions unstable." He frowned as the words faded. "I don't think I can," he finally told them. "It says the atmosphere is unstable. Why would that matter?"

Damien sighed and shook his head. "I suppose I should've expected that. I guess the intense atmospheric energy impairs your sensors' ability to scan the terrain. Whatever is happening to this planet seems to be creating such a powerful feedback of energy that it distorts the scanning waves sent out by the implant. It didn't happen on the _Refuge_ because we weren't in the middle of it, and we were only scanning the atmosphere, not the surface. But here, I guess the energy field is much too intense. I'm afraid it doesn't look like your scanners will do us any good."

"Finding Kindel is going to be much harder without something to guide us," Kitreena said. "What do you suggest?"

The Zo'rhan's eyes drifted back toward the towers of smoke. "He's got to be over there," he murmured. "But how do we approach safely?"

" _You_ aren't going out there at all," she snapped. Her injured wrist, still bound by the exoskeleton device, slid behind her back as she spoke. "You are in no condition to be facing Kindel or anyone else in combat.

"What about you?" he asked with raised eyebrows. "Your injury hasn't healed, either."

Her chin rose indignantly. "I can handle it. I've got full mobility. It's just a little sore, that's all."

Damien snorted. "It's sore because your bones haven't knitted completely yet. You are no more fit for battle than I am."

She crossed her arms and pouted, turning away from him. "If you would just order more troops to come down and locate Kindel for us, we wouldn't need to be here at all."

The creases of Damien's forehead condensed into a wince as he folded his arms across his chest. "I told you, our forces suffered major losses at the battle of Outpost Twelve, and we've still got the rest of the Vezulian Armada—not to mention Truce and the Kyrosen!—to deal with, regardless of whether or not we manage to defeat Kindel. I'll not leave the _Refuge_ and her escorts defenseless to capture one man, even if that man is Kindel Thorus. We can't afford it right now. I've brought too many soldiers with us as it is." A long silence followed as Kitreena kicked her feet in the dirt uncomfortably. "Besides, I'm the one he wants."

Something about the way Damien spoke left Arus feeling as though there was more to the decision than just the safety of the _Refuge._ Specifically, the word "capture" stood out. Damien was intent on taking Kindel alive, no matter how much of an impossibility that was, and he likely worried that the presence of Aeden troops would jeopardize that goal. Regardless, the suggestion that Kindel only wanted to fight _him_ was certainly not true. "No, he wants me," Arus told them. "It's the implant he's after. And the stones."

"It doesn't matter," Kitreena said with a shake of her head. "I just don't know what we're going to do when he find him. If he _is_ the cause of all this . . ."

The despair was evident on Damien's face. "I know. But our options are limited. We must do the best we can with the manpower we have."

"So," Arus began, turning back toward the smoke, "what now?"

A tall shadow streaked to the right behind the trees less than a hundred paces away, fading into nothingness as it moved. Rifles shifted as the Aeden troops saw it, but the image was gone before a single laser was fired. Arus instinctively reached for his sword as a bone-chilling whisper echoed in the air. "Come." The word repeated over and over in different tones and volumes, sometimes overlapping upon itself. Kitreena and Damien had heard it as well; that was clear by the way their eyes were suddenly darting about. It ceased as abruptly as it began, leaving the band of soldiers in an eerie silence.

"What . . ." Kitreena trailed off as her attention returned to the spot where the image had been. "What _was_ that?"

As if answering her question, black motes of dust swirled and converged not ten paces away to form Kindel Thorus himself. Blue light poured from his eyes like inverse waterfalls, and the angles of his face and knuckles were tinted with a sickly mixture of orange and brown. His appearance lasted only seconds, long enough for him to raise a beckoning finger and utter his command again. "Come." He was gone in burst of dust that shattered like millions of pieces of glass, and a sharp thunderclap cut through the air. But it wasn't his appearance or disappearance that had stopped Arus' heart cold. It was the sword he'd held in his hand, a blade consumed with the same black light that poured from the swirling clouds above. His eyes had only rested upon it for a portion of a second, but its evil power radiated so strongly that Arus had to plant his feet firmly to keep from fleeing.

"By the Maker!" was all Damien muttered.

Kitreena, just as wide-eyed, looked back at the two of them. "Was that . . . Was he carrying what I think he was?"

Sudden recognition flashed in Damien's eyes, and he looked up at the sky briefly. "It can't be! It's not possible!"

"It isn't." Kitreena's voice was firm, but her eyes gave away her concern. "It can't be. It was a trick. He's just trying to frighten us, right? That's all."

"Do you think it was a replica?" Damien asked. Neither of them gave Arus a chance to get a question in.

"Had to be," she said with a satisfied nod. Though she acted as though she was sure, Arus didn't think she was even convincing herself. "The story is nothing but a legend. And even if it isn't, that sword was taken by—"

Kindel appeared over her shoulder in a flash, his lips mere inches from her ear. "Oh, it is very much real, I assure you," he said softly. His voice echoed as it had a moment ago. "If you wish to see for yourself, you must come." Again, he was gone, and the whispers died soon after.

"What are you guys talking about?" Arus growled, clenching his fists. "What is so special about that sword?"

"There is too much to explain right now," Damien responded, sealing the door to the transport. "We have to find Kindel. My initial thought was that we'd be able to locate him if we followed those streaks of energy by the mountain, but apparently he isn't restricting himself to one area. We've got to find him and pin him down somehow."

Kitreena's brief moment of confidence appeared to have subsided. "But, Damien . . . I mean, don't you think . . . If he really has it . . . We won't stand a chance, will we?"

Damien's voice couldn't be more grim. "Kit, if that sword is the real thing, then not even the largest army in the universe will be able to stop him. Regardless, we have to find him." Moving to the center of the clearing, he raised his voice to a commanding level. "All right, men! Pay attention! We're going to split up into three teams and search the forest, but don't stray too far. I will accompany those of you who came down in transport number one, Kitreena will go with number two, and Arus will join the third. Call us on the communicator if you come across any trace of Kindel whatsoever. If you haven't found anything within an hour or so, regroup back here and we'll start again. Understood?"

The Aeden troops acknowledged with an emphatic shout. "Yes, Sir!"

As the soldiers scrambled to organize into their respective groups, Damien turned to Arus. "Be careful out there, all right? I brought you with us because I believe you can be a great asset, but we both know that Kindel is after you for more reasons than one. I have confidence that your mere presence will help to lure him out, but be wary; he will stop at nothing to achieve his goals."

Arus looked down, trying not to sound afraid as he spoke. "My being here will make it easier for him to find me. Not that I don't want to help, I just . . . I wonder if we've made the right decision."

"No matter what decisions we make in life, we inevitably look back on the bad ones and wonder what could've happened if we'd chosen differently," Damien told him. "But don't fret. Remember, during our last encounter with Kindel, you were the only one left standing. If not for you, Kitreena, myself, and even Muert would probably be dead right now. That makes me believe that our chances are better when you are with us. You are more helpful than you realize."

"I'll try not to disappoint." Arus forced a smile to counteract his fluttering stomach.

Damien patted him on the back as he headed for his group. "Just do your best, and you won't. Regardless of the outcome."

Kitreena was at his side as soon as Damien joined his detachment of troops. "Take good care of yourself, all right?" she said in a near whisper. "Don't hesitate to call any of us if you need anything. I think Briggs is in charge of your squad. Trust him; he's been training soldiers longer than I've even been a part of the Alliance. He's a good man and a wise teacher." She kissed him softly on the cheek. _And don't hesitate to speak to me this way if you need,_ she added telepathically. _Got it?_

_Got it,_ he responded. _Thank you, Kitreena. You be careful out there, too._

"Group one will head west," Damien called over the crowd. "Group two to the east, and three to the south. Steer clear of the mountains up north until we've explored the rest of the land. Stay alert! Kindel could appear at any time, and we have to be ready for him! All right, men! Move out!"

Arus rushed over to the southern edge of the clearing to join his squad. Various races and species composed the unit, including everything from Zo'rhan to Svodesian to Thanai to human. Lieutenant Briggs had arranged them in a circular formation with himself in the lead. The Lieutenant, a scruffy middle-aged man with a creased face and streaks of white in his thin beard, motioned for Arus to move to the center of the ring. "You'll be safest there," he said. "No reason for us to make it easier for Thorus to capture you."

Suppressing a frown, Arus followed the instructions wordlessly. Briggs hadn't said it, but the comment made it seem as though his presence was unwelcome. The risk in facing Kindel was obvious, but the risk in leaving him to wreak havoc on the galaxy was even greater. The more Arus thought about it, the more he began to think that his presence could be viewed as an asset. Kindel wanted the implant intact, and he surely wanted to know what had become of his precious stones, but if he were to harm Arus, neither of those goals would be achieved. There were many ways to exploit such an advantage.

"Squad three!" Briggs voice cut through his thoughts. "March!"

The soldiers followed the lieutenant south, most carrying their rifles ready as they eyed the forest. Aside from the dull swishing of their uniforms and occasional crackle of leaves underfoot, they did little to shatter the dismal silence of the woods. The Keroko Forest was a jungle compared to this, full of bushes and animals and insects, warm and humid, green and breezy. There was a unique beauty to both, yet the foreboding stillness of Arynias cast a shadow over its allure. Arus would've given anything to hear a cricket chirp. A bird twitter. Even the howl of a wolf. _I thought this planet was supposed to be heavily populated._

They had traveled for perhaps a quarter of an hour when two life forms, gangly little creatures with a ring of holes around their heads and glowing antennae, appeared behind two trees. The little beings popped their heads out briefly, pointed noses glowing with the same color as their antennae, before drawing back. Judging from their translucent skin, they had to be the natives of the planet that Damien had mentioned, the Ayaans. One had a flaring white beard that lined the entire edge of its jaw, and the other had a long brown column of hair that descended from its chin and dragged along the ground. They wore rags for clothes, tattered white and brown garments that didn't look as though they'd ever been washed. Again, their heads slid into view, antennae tips glowing with a red light.

Lieutenant Briggs ordered a halt as soon as they first appeared. Several soldiers had their weapons raised and ready, but Briggs seemed more curious than anything. "Ayaans," he murmured. "Locals. Perhaps they can tell us—"

Something happened that Arus couldn't quite explain. It was like a flash of light, but dark instead. A red streak burst through the lieutenant at the same time, incinerating a head-sized hole in his chest. Briggs collapsed to the ground, smoke rising from the gaping opening. Two soldiers stepped forward to tend to their fallen leader, and simultaneous slashes of red and purple ran through both of them, severing their bodies in two at the waist. In a moment so brief it would've been missed by a blinking eye, Kindel Thorus appeared less than two feet from Arus, his teeth bared in a sadistic grin that sent chills of ice rolling through the boy's body. Two more flashes of dark, and two more soldiers were severed. Panic ensued.

The Aeden soldiers unleashed a fury of laser blasts in all directions, clearly aiming at anything and everything. Arus fumbled in a nervous frenzy to release his communicator from his belt, only to be met with silence when he finally activated it and called for help. He kept pleading into the device as he drew his sword with is free hand, fingers quivering around the hilt of his father's weapon. _Someone, help us!_

The sound of Kitreena's voice was like a whisper from heaven. _What's wrong, Arus? What's going on?_

_Kindel! He's here!_ More streaks of light. More Aeden deaths. _He's eliminating my entire squad!_

We're on our way! Use the communicator to call Damien!

A streak of purple slashed just over Arus' head, decapitating the soldier beside him in a sickening burst of blood. _It won't work!_

For a moment, there was no reply. Panic began to well up within Arus. Whatever power Kindel had suddenly come upon, it was greater than anything Damien or Kitreena could've possibly anticipated. _I can't get my communicator to work either!_ Kitreena's voice called out to him. _It must be the same energy field that is disrupting your scanners!_

Gathering all the courage he could muster, Arus shouted to the remaining soldiers. "Everyone, listen to me! I want you all to pair off and position yourselves back to back! Keep your eyes open ahead of you, and your partner will watch your rear! Do it! Get moving!"

Surprisingly, the Aeden troops followed the command, doubling up so that they would only have to cover half of the area they had watched before. The woods were momentarily silent, but Arus had a feeling the bloodbath wasn't going to end that easily. "Watch yourselves, men! Stay alert!" Several soldiers acknowledged vocally, while others simply nodded. Why they were following his orders was beyond him, but he'd certainly watched Master Eaisan run drills with the Keroko Militia enough to know a few things about battle formation. And since no one else had stepped up to take Lieutenant Briggs' place, it had seemed necessary to take matters into his own hands.

A curving arc of red tore through a pair of troops, dropping them to the ground in a heap of flesh. Laser fire erupted in a spray of blinding red streaks that set leaves ablaze and left trunks scorched, but still more soldiers died at Kindel's hands. More and more fell, again and again. There was no stopping him. Even the greatest strategic mind in the universe wouldn't have been able to stand up to such a slaughter. Those blinding streams of energy tore through flesh and bone like it was cotton while not a single laser blast found its mark.

_He's going to kill me, Kit!_ Arus couldn't stop his thoughts; the fears flowed through the telepathic connection like a surging river through a broken dam. _I can't stop him!_ Soldiers dropped around him in flickers of black that consumed his vision, each dark flash parted by a streak of red or purple. Arus wanted to run, wanted to scream, wanted to fall to his knees and beg for mercy, but he stood frozen, sword raised in front of him, body quivering in horror. And when the final Aeden soldier died in an explosion of blood that sent vital organs spewing across the crimson soaked ground, Arus found himself alone in the silent forest, surrounded by the mangled remains of the men who'd tried to protect him.

"Arus!" Kitreena's voice came from the right. She was speeding toward him like a tiger rushing to the aid of her young, whip trailing behind her like tail. Her squad was right behind her, weapons raised for combat.

"No, Kit!" Arus shouted, motioning for her to go back. "Stop! He'll just kill—"

Too late. A lighting-fast series of purple and red streaks slashed through her squad like a baker at the cutting board, decimating her entire escort in a matter of seconds. The blood drained from her face as she watched in helpless terror, likely waiting for the blast that would end her life. Arus raced to her side and stood in front of her, daring Kindel to strike. Wherever he was.

Then there was silence. The two of them stood there for what seemed like days, waiting for Kindel to deliver the final blow. Arus tried not to look at the sea of corpses on either side of them; it was a vision he already knew would follow him to his grave. Kitreena remained still, eyes wider than grapefruits, skin whiter than flour. When she finally spoke, her soft voice cracked through the woods. "I've seen a lot of things," she murmured, gaze distant with horror, "but I've never seen power like that. I've never seen death like that. These men never had a fighting chance. They couldn't even begin to defend themselves. Why? Why did they have to die? Why them and not me? Why am I still standing here?"

"I could ask the same for myself," Arus muttered, his eyes darting about in search of Kindel. "With this kind of power, Kindel can't have any more use for the implant or the stones I stole. He's bloody near invincible!"

"Foolish boy," Kindel's whisper echoed from the silence. "There is no such thing as too much power. Why settle for a thousand pieces of gold when I could have one thousand and one? I will regain what is rightfully mine, and you along with it."

"Show yourself!" Kitreena screamed as loud as she could.

"My work here is not complete," Kindel spoke once more. "There is yet more life to extinguish on this pitiful world." Again, the voice faded, leaving the two of them alone amongst the dead.

"More life?" Kitreena repeated, her hands shaking visibly. "Damien! He's going to go after Damien!"

"We've got to find him," Arus said, uselessly clicking the buttons of his communicator. "We can't let Kindel get to him first!"

It was difficult to leave the corpses of so many good people behind, but there was little that could be done for them. The trees grew taller and further apart as they ran, making it easier to weave between them. Arus had lost his sense of direction during the massacre, but Kitreena seemed to know exactly where she was going. He followed her for several minutes until she skidded to a sudden halt, ears perked with her head held sideways. "Do you hear that?"

"Your ears are much better than mine, you know that," he told her. "What is it?"

"Someone is following us, I think." She turned her head up and stared into branches of orange leaves for a moment, then looked back at him. "It's them."

Before Arus could ask who "them" was, a familiar hiss came from the left. "You're still two brainless children who never learn the lessons they're taught," Scimitar said, stepping into view. Kalibur joined him silently, the two moving forward as one. Both had already drawn their weapons. "You would've perished at our hands if not for the unfortunate circumstances of our previous encounter. This time, however, you won't emerge victorious."

Whatever fears Kitreena may have had about Kindel seemed to vanish as she focused her attention on the ninjas. Eyes of ice thinned over her firmly set jaw, and she cracked her whip in Kalibur's direction. "We've already shown that we can keep up with you two," she warned, "so I suggest you rethink any consideration of combat."

Arus, however, was not as confident. When he'd last faced Scimitar in battle, he had the implant's sensors to guide analyze his opponent's maneuvers and anticipate each attack. With the sensors offline, he could only rely on his training to guide him. _Can I really keep up with him without the advantage of the implant?_

Kitreena shot him a brief sideways glance. _Of course you can._

"You don't look as though you're prepared for battle, little lady," Kalibur's raspy voice mocked as he pointed toward the exoskeleton wrapped around her wrist. "Was Lord Thorus too rough with you?"

_We don't have time for this,_ Kitreena said telepathically. _We've got get to Damien before Kindel does. I don't know if we can outrun these two, but we have to try. Follow me._

And suddenly they were running, fleeing through the trees in a blind flight away from Kindel's assassins. They'd gone barely twenty paces when Scimitar and Kalibur came down in front of them, dark eyes filled with satisfaction and something Arus would've described as hunger. They brandished their weapons in a menacing manner that said they were all too anxious to use them. "You've got nowhere to run," Scimitar taunted. "Our speed outclasses your puny human feet by a wide margin. There is no escape for you."

None of it made any sense. Why would Thorus spare them and then send Scimitar and Kalibur? He could've killed both Arus and Kitreena just as easily as he had those soldiers. Instead, he sent his assassins to do it. Why?

Regardless, the situation boiled down to one specific point for Arus. He could either cower in fear and allow himself to be captured, or put all of his training to the test against Kindel's best warriors. Given the options, the choice was clear, with or without the implant to supplement his skills as a swordsman. After all, it wasn't too long ago that he'd refused to rely on the implant at all! His grip on his sword became more firm as he took several steps to the left, undivided attention fixed on Scimitar. "Very well," he said, shifting into his battle stance, "let's see what you've got."

Following his lead, Kitreena moved to the right, giving both herself and Arus space for the battle. Anxiety was clear in her eyes despite her solid expression _—Damien will be all right, don't worry!—_ but she cracked her whip again, seemingly out of habit rather than intimidation, and turned her body sideways. With the way she shifted her feet, Arus half expected her to try running again. She silenced his concern when she opened her mouth.

"Don't forget what happened last time," she growled. "History may just repeat itself."

Kalibur's response was cold. "We haven't forgotten. That's the beauty of history; we can learn from our mistakes!"

Arus and Scimitar began to circle each other, eyes locked in patient discipline, each waiting for the other to make the first move. It was Arus who broke the ice, dashing forward with a hard stab directed at Scimitar's chest. Only a fool believed that his initial strike would end the fight, and when one of the ninja's two curved swords knocked his own away, Arus was ready to counterattack. He twisted his body around and swung his foot up toward Scimitar's head, barely missing his face with the sole of his boot. Scimitar tried to slash through Arus' outstretched limb, but he drew it back quickly and brought his own sword blade down, razor-sharp steel meeting with a loud clang.

"You are indeed talented," the assassin sneered, swinging his second weapon toward Arus' ribs, "but you pale in comparison to my prowess."

Dayne Sheeth's sword rotated down and blocked the attack with ease. "Confidence becomes dangerous when it turns into arrogance. You would do well to remember that."

Back and forth they went, trading blows and dodging others. Arus spun his sword with a fluid, almost graceful style that turned away every attack Scimitar threw at him. Their weapons moved in a blur, clashes stringing together in an endless repetition of steel against steel. Sparks sailed into the air more than once. Arus put up a good fight, but it wasn't long before Scimitar broke through his defenses, and a curved blade sank into his right arm just above the elbow. He gritted his teeth and jerked away, grabbing the tip of Scimitar's weapon in his steel hand. The ninja yanked angrily at the hilt of his sword, but Arus' mechanical grasp was stronger. "You won't be needing this anymore," he grunted, pulling the sword from his opponent's hand. The blade sailed into the air behind him and clattered to the ground near a distant tree.

"It makes little difference," Scimitar scoffed, swirling his remaining sword around his body. "The first blood has already been drawn, and it won't end there."

Arus spared a glance for his bloody arm. The cut was a bloody mess, lining the rest of his arm with streaks of crimson. The pain grew with each second passed, a sharp searing jolt that shot through his entire arm. _I've already lost one arm. I'll not lose another!_ A quick look in Kitreena's direction showed that her fight wasn't going much better. Somehow, she'd lost her whip, and the belly of her shirt had been torn where Kalibur's blade had apparently skimmed her stomach. The tattered blue garment had turned a dark purple around the tear where her blood had soaked through the fabric. Despite the injury, she stood firm in her fighting stance, left arm forward with an open hand, right fist lightly clenched beside her cheek. Kalibur, on the other hand, held his sword with confidence, clearly untouched by any of Kitreena's attacks thus far. _Are you all right?_ Arus called out. _Can you Morph?_

_I'm fine. Don't worry about me; focus on your opponent._ Even in her thoughts, he could hear the pain she was suffering through. His question had been ignored, as well.

There was no time to further the discussion, as Scimitar lunged forward with a heavy slash directed toward Arus' chest. Without a second thought, Arus threw his mechanical arm up to block the attack. The blade made contact, and Arus swiped his own sword out with his free hand, slicing a long gash across the dark ninja's chest. Scimitar groaned and stumbled back, clutching the wound. Arus gave him no chance to recover, stepping forward with another swing that opened the back of the ninja's wrist. Oddly, when the fabric of Scimitar's uniform parted, Arus thought he saw black flesh. _What_ are _these guys?_

The wind picked up in the blink of an eye, thrashing the trees with torrential gusts and tearing leaf-covered limbs into the sky. Lightning struck, setting several higher branches ablaze as the sky rolled with thunder. Streaks of electricity illuminated the battlefield as the struggle continued, each fighter practically oblivious to the treacherous conditions looming overhead. Darkness swirled to the east and west, rotating with fearsome speed, descending into two columns of twisting black. The tornadoes tore through woods on impact, pulling trees and roots together into the air with seemingly minuscule effort. The eastern tornado headed south, while the other shifted to the north. The pull of the wind was strong, but Arus knew that taking his eyes away from his opponent would likely bring a quick end to their duel.

He wiped fresh blood from his lip where Scimitar's foot had found its mark. Throbbing pain pulsed deep within his wounded arm, a cold numbness skittering over his skin. There was no time for pain, he knew, but forcing his body to agree was not an easy task. Each time his weapon connected with Scimitar's, the vibration of the impact rolled through his arm, further amplifying the agony. _I've got to end this soon._ Once more, he launched a series of attacks, watching for the right opportunity. They moved in a blur; Scimitar set a furiously quick pace. How he had lasted so long without the help of the implant was beyond him, but he wasn't about to argue the fact. And when a high parry brought Scimitar's injured wrist into view, Arus lunged forward with a downward cut that nearly severed his hand clean off. Scimitar's other sword dropped to the ground, and Arus pressed his blade against his neck. "You've lost," he said confidently. "Surrender and your life will be spared."

To his surprise, Scimitar reached up with a gloved hand and yanked the hood of his uniform away, exposing a vile creature that made Arus' nerves tremble. His head looked something like a snake's, though more round. In place of scales, he was covered with thousands of black spines that lined his scalp like hair, the longest only extending by a few inches. They were tilted backward down the back of his oily black head, though they seemed to rise a little with each breath taken. As for his face, Scimitar was a serpent in every sense of the word, from the wide mouth to the dripping fangs to the flickering tongue. His eyes, startlingly human, gained a deeper look of hatred when combined with the way his forehead sloped downward between them. Arus had long suspected that Kindel's assassins were not human, but this was not quite what he'd anticipated. Scimitar grabbed the sword tip that had been pressed against his throat and yanked it from Arus' hand before lunging forward, fangs gleaming against lightning, eyes shimmering with darkness. The two of them fell to the ground in a struggling pile.

"Get off me!" Arus growled, trying to get a knee between himself and the beast. "I said get off!"

"It has been too long since I have been fed properly!" Scimitar hissed, his crimson tongue flicking toward the boy's face.

Out of options, Arus was forced to resort to the one thing he hated to use the most. As Scimitar pinned his shoulders to the dirt, Arus' mechanical eye began to glow a brilliant shade of red. "I gave you the chance to live!" he screamed. "You ignorant wretch!" The creature's teeth were inches from his face when the laser fired, searing a fist-sized hole through his revolting head. His grip loosened almost instantly, and Arus was all too grateful to throw the ninja's corpse aside. Muscle spasms rippled through his body for a moment before he finally stilled.

Arus groaned as he rose to his feet. Only then did the reality of what had happened strike him; he had faced one of the Vezulian Armada's greatest warriors, trusted by Kindel Thorus as a personal bodyguard, and not only survived the encounter, but came away victorious. Whether his training was paying off, or whether it was just crazy luck, Scimitar was dead, and Arus had lived to tell the tale.

*******

The bleeding gash across Kitreena's belly stung every time her shirt brushed against it. The ragged cloth had been her favorite not too long ago, though she could probably fix it up when she returned to the ship. _If_ she returned. The prospect of leaving Arynias alive was looking more and more unlikely, and not simply because Kalibur was proving to be more difficult to deal with than expected. On either side of the fight, twisting funnels of darkness descended, whirring like starship engines as they ripped the forest apart. Neither headed directly toward them, but that certainly didn't guaranteed safety. A couple of strikes of lightning would complete the job just as well, though if the weather didn't kill them, Kindel Thorus probably would.

The environment set up a terrifying scenario, and _that_ was the core of Kitreena's problem. With her anger being consistently shadowed by fear, she had no way of summoning the will she needed to Morph. Dying in battle was one thing, but being torn apart in a tornado or burnt alive by a lightning blast was quite another. Even natural weather conditions would've been less frightening than whatever was going on above. Kindel was responsible, of that she was certain, but after seeing his brutal display of power in tearing apart her squad of soldiers, she no longer had any desire to face him. Not that he should be left alone, of course, but watching men she'd worked with and trusted being literally _torn in half_ was enough to make her wish someone else could do the job. The very thought hit her hard; she wanted someone _else_ to fight for her! It made her sick to her stomach for more reasons than one.

But there would be time for all that later, provided she managed to defeat Kalibur. Arus' arm was bleeding bad, she noticed, but other than that he seemed to be holding his own against Scimitar. As for her, a sharp kick from Kalibur had knocked her whip from her hand—her _good_ hand; she'd thus far been able to refrain from relying on her injured wrist—and that had been followed by the slice to her stomach. She could see the handle of her weapon in the leaves a short distance behind the white ninja, but getting to it was easier said than done. It was Kalibur's long sword versus her bare hands, and a single misstep could leave her insides spilled across the ground. She'd faced tougher battles before— _Haven't I?—_ and she knew that no one was without flaws. Kalibur may have been trained well, but nobody was perfect.

The ninja lunged at her, swinging his blade toward her middle again. Kitreena sank to her knees and grabbed his wrist with her braced hand, looking to drive the other into his outstretched elbow. He recovered quickly, twisting his body forward so that his arm was no longer taut, and he regained the leverage he had given up. His sword was flying again in seconds, sailing toward a kneeling Kitreena in a streak of silver. She rolled onto her back as the blade sailed over, then planted her hands behind her head and threw her feet into the air, launching herself boots-first toward Kalibur. Her heels struck his chest hard, sending him stumbling backward while she landed hard on her backside once again. Scrambling, she leapt to her feet and dove toward her whip, grinning in relief as her fingers wrapped around the leather handle. The bleeding wound in her middle seared as her stomach scraped across the leaves and dirt, but she was back on her feet in no time, whirling her weapon around her body as Kalibur raced toward her.

"Let's see how _you_ fight without a weapon!" she snarled, flicking her wrist forward. The whip's tail end snapped hard against his sword, and another crack connected with his fingers. He made a sound that resembled a snake's rattle as he recoiled in pain and dropped the long blade. Kitreena continued forward, snapping and cracking her weapon against Kalibur's knees and chest and arms, advancing until she was standing on the ninja's weapon. "I think you lost something," she gloated, kicking the sword behind her. "Don't worry, you won't need it anymore." Thunder crackled overhead despite the streaks of blue sky that shone through the swirling clouds.

Kalibur growled loudly this time, dashing forward with raised fists. Kitreena was caught off guard, and the first punch connected with her ribs and drained the air from her lungs. The next hit found her cheek, tossing her face to the side where it was greeted by a solid boot. She fell to the ground in a heap, wiping blood from her nose as she tried to shake the specks of darkness from her eyes. _That's what arrogance gets me._ She blinked the pain away and pushed herself to her knees. Kalibur ran for his sword, but Kitreena wouldn't let him regain the upper hand. With a shout, she threw her arm forward, and her whip wrapped itself around his neck from behind. A sharp yank pulled him off balance, and his back hit the ground with a heavy thud. Her boots slid in the dirt as she leapt to her feet and jumped on top of him, fumbling for the tail end of her whip as he struggled to loosen its hold around his neck. Somehow, the tip of her weapon managed to find her palm, and she pulled hard on both ends, tightening the rope of leather around his neck like a noose. Finally, Kalibur stopped yanking at the thing and punched her hard in the face, knocking her to the side. As she rubbed her aching cheek, he rose to his feet, and her whip dropped to the ground beside her.

"You're tough for a child," that crackling hiss came from above. He sounded like he was wheezing, gasping desperately for air. When she looked up, the white headpiece that had covered his face was in his hand, and a serpent-like head was staring down at her with hate-filled eyes. Spines rose and fell on the back of his head with each heaving breath, and a red forked tongue lashed violently. Most frightening were his fangs, long yellow points that curved inward below his black chin, sharp tips glistening with a liquid that Kitreena could only assume was venom. Her stomach rocked as she scrambled to her feet, whip swirling in front of her as she backed away from him.

"Stay away!" she heard herself cry. "Don't come any closer!"

Kalibur's smile stretched from across the entire width of his face, ending at round nubs where ears should've been. "Does my appearance frighten you, my dear?" he asked mockingly. It seemed as though he was taking deliberately slow steps just to torment her. "I simply needed to breathe easier. You nearly choked the life out of me."

When her back hit a tree, Kitreena's heart stopped cold. Kalibur's tongue flicked out as though licking his lips. His knees bent ever so slightly, and desperation gripped her. As he leapt forward, she flicked her whip out with a scream, and the tip of her weapon snapped hard against his hideous face. He growled and stumbled in mid-leap, and she jumped aside as his body crashed into the tree. Seeing her only opportunity, she took both ends of her whip in her hand and slung the loop over his head, tightening it as hard as she could around his throat. He grunted and grabbed at her hands, claws piercing through his white gloves and digging into her skin. Desperation kept her grip tight, and Kalibur slumped to all fours, breaths coming slower. She couldn't see from her position, but she had a strong feeling that his eyes were bulging from their sockets. Finally, he made one more useless tug and collapsed with his face in the dirt, tongue lashing uselessly until it, too, had stilled.

Kitreena loosened her grip slowly at first, almost expecting him to gasp for air the moment he was free. But his body remained still, eyes distant and cold. A brilliant flash of red from behind startled her, and she turned to see Arus lying on his back beneath Scimitar, his cybernetic laser burning a hole through the serpent warrior's head. When the blast died down, he threw the ninja's body off of him in disgust, and slowly rose to a sitting position.

"Arus, are you all right?" Kitreena cried, rushing to his side. She dropped her whip and collapsed to her knees, wrapping her arms around him. Her gaze was immediately drawn to the bloody wound on his arm. "You're hurt! How bad is it? Are you going to be all right?"

"Easy, easy," he said, spreading his hands with a grin. "I'm fine. See?" he raised his arm and flexed it, though the pain in his face was apparent. "Works just fine."

"That doesn't look like 'just fine' to me," she grumbled, looking over the gash. "How deep is it?"

Arus shook his head and pushed himself to his feet. "It doesn't matter right now. There's nothing we can do about it for the time being anyway."

There were emergency medical kits in the transports, but who knew where they were now? Amidst the chaos of running from Kindel's assault and fighting Scimitar and Kalibur, Kitreena had completely lost track of their direction. Now, surrounded by raging winds and ear-splitting thunder, they were helplessly lost in an endless forest with no hope of rescue slim chance of discovery. "What do we do now?" she asked, though she really didn't expect an answer.

"We walk," Arus said, retrieving his sword from the leaves. "Lost or not, we'll never find Damien by staying here. If we try to find an area where the trees aren't quite so tall, we may be able to spot that mountain we saw when we landed. That'll give us an idea of which way is north."

They chose a direction and hurried off, running more than walking, yet nagging pain kept both from picking up any real speed. Her hand ached from overuse; the fight had certainly pushed the mobility of the exoskeleton. If luck was on their side at all, the transports would appear behind the trees any moment now. Her feet ached, her stomach burned, and her wrist throbbed. _Pull yourself together, Kitreena!_ she told herself silently. _You've never let pain affect you before!_ The problem was that it wasn't the pain that was dragging her spirits down. If anything, she should've been _thrilled_ that she and Arus had managed to eliminate Kindel's long-time bodyguards and assassins. But even that couldn't lighten her mood. Nothing would so long as Kindel was out there wielding that sword. There was no mistaking it; only one blade ever spoken of had been constructed with a handle of blue diamond. Only one blade fed off of the power of the soul, drank in the essence of the spirit and amplified that power beyond anything imaginable. It was the sword of legend; the weapon of Azriel. It had to be.

"Look," Arus pointed, pulling her from her thoughts. To the left, a huge mountain rose in the distance behind the trees. Red and purple arcs of light jumped through the forest at its base like fountains of water, leaving fire and smoke in their wake. Every cloud in the sky was converging above its peak, spinning into one great circle of darkness that looked as though it might swallow the mountain whole. Or worse yet, the entire planet. "Come on," he said, tugging her hand toward it. "I'm willing to bet Damien's headed that way, too."

Reluctantly, Kitreena nodded and followed, her grip on his hand growing tighter with each step. She'd once left her homeworld, her country, her kingdom, her people because of fear. Everything she'd known was left behind because of her fear of meeting the same fate as her parents and fear of sending those she cared for to share in that fate. Yet through her training with Damien, she'd thought she had overcome her fears a long time ago. Death was inevitable, she used to tell herself. Life was but a temporary thing, here one day and gone the next. She used to dance with death every time she pulled out her whip, every time she met an opponent in battle. And she'd loved it. The Armada, the Kyrosen, Deltorian Pirates, space smugglers, bounty hunters; she'd faced them all, knowing full well that her life could be taken at any moment. It never fazed her. If she died, then so be it. But now, looking at the young man beside her, she found she wanted nothing more than to cling to life and cherish every moment that was given to her.

And it was now that she faced the greatest danger she'd ever imagined.

### Chapter 3

Kindel stood at the peak of Mount Garvey, the largest mountain of the strange planet of Arynias. The weapon in his hand still vibrated occasionally, trembling in its own bizarre way. Ominous clouds of grey and black swirled above his head in a spiral of burning ice and frozen flames, cold enough to freeze a man's bones on contact; hot enough to melt steel at a distance. Sweat oozed from every pore, rolling down his face and trickling down his back, yet his body shivered as though he was naked in an ice storm. Below him lay the corpses of slain Ayaans. Creatures of every shape and size littered the mountainside, the trails, the forests, the streams, and the rocks. The stillness of death stretched further still, reaching beyond the foothills and off toward the dark horizon.

I should've done this long ago. Everything is all so clear to me now.

The weapon shook once more, drawing Kindel's glowing eyes. The darkness that spewed from the blade had been drawn from every living thing on the planet; every evil soul he'd felled was consumed by it, never again to impose their despicable will on the truly innocent. And it was that which Kindel had finally realized that filled him with such renewed vigor and excitement. Only the truly innocent people of the universe would pledge their loyalty to the Vezulian Armada, for those without malicious intent would understand and embrace Kindel's quest for peace. Any who doubted, any who opposed, and any who ignored would only serve as stumbling blocks for his new universal order. _If they are not for me, they are against me. Why did I not realize this sooner?_

That was why the Ayaans had to be exterminated. On the surface, his failure to forge an alliance with them appeared to be caused by little more than an inability to communicate. But that impenetrable barrier between the two cultures presented a very real threat to the purpose of the Armada. How could they be left to grow and develop on their own if there was no way to ensure their loyalty to Kindel's ideals? Who was to say if the Ayaans would one day rise up against the Armada, costing more lives? They might not currently possess the tools for such a rebellion, but their technology would no doubt evolve over time. What might become of peace then? Would they rise up as the Ma'tuul had? Would they become the next Kyrosen? Such questions were too risky to be left unresolved. The Ayaans would, regrettably, perish.

And so would every other race, species, and planet that refused to swear fealty to the Armada. The choice was clear, and every law-abiding being across the universe would inevitably agree. Those that did not were clearly only concerned with their own personal interests rather than the greater good. For so long, Kindel had given worlds the choice of whether or not to join him or to remain neutral. But why? The way forward was simple, the only true path to harmony. The universe could either accept it or fight it, but with the power now at Kindel's disposal, no uprising would ever be great enough to bring down the Vezulian Armada.

Gazing down at the sword, Thorus shook his head. "No more," he murmured, raising the weapon above his head. Power surged into his body, flooding him with a burning electricity that nearly made his knees buckle. He felt the urge to scream and buried it under the energy that pulsated throughout his veins. "The galaxies of the universe will no longer brush me aside as some minor nuisance," he thought aloud. "I will dominate the evil and destroy the wicked. Any who oppose me shall be sent to the grave, and every nation of every planet of every galaxy will wave with the banner of the Vezulian Armada."

The sword trembled in his hand once more, vibrating with a sweet warmth that soothed his body like precious nectar. He'd grown accustomed to wielding the thing, though most of the time he was unaware of exactly _how_ he performed some of the techniques that he had. Teleportation no longer took concentration—it barely even required thought!—and other skills he hadn't even known of were suddenly at his disposal, tools to use against any who dared to challenge his might. He almost wished he'd found the weapon before returning to Zo'rhan to face the Ma'tuul. Their defeat would've been much more convincing then. Certainly more bloody. A crimson streak of electricity shot from the sword, slithering around his body several times before winking out with a fizzled pop. Power radiated throughout his body until he thought he might burst, but the struggle to contain it never touched his grin. _I have transcended beyond the barrier that separates mortal from immortal. I am invincible!_

Below, arcs of red and purple continued to leap about, expanding outward from the base of the mountain, destroying all living things in their paths. He had no idea how he was controlling them when half of the time he forgot they were there, yet they moved at his will, leaping from here to there, leaving a trail of carnage in their wake. The Ayaans had evaded his wrath at first, but it hadn't taken long for him to discover their nests amongst the treetops. Every tree had at least two or three, and every one would be destroyed until the planet was devoid of life. A pity that so many had to be extinguished so that peace might reign, but the ends justified the means. It wouldn't be long, now. Once the Aeden Alliance was dealt with, and the _Falcon Mist_ was destroyed—taking the Kyrosen along with it—true progress would begin to spread across thousands of worlds like a vaccine for a disease that had ravaged the universe for far too long.

Lighting rained down from the clouds, crooked lines of red and white that struck the blade he held aloft with deafening thunderclaps and sizzles of electricity. He turned the sword toward the land below—anywhere would do, really—and a brilliant bundle of glowing streaks sped into the trees, turning another section of the woods into a fiery inferno. _Die, you worthless insects! Die!_

"Kindel."

Aldoric's voice sent both excitement and anger surging through him. He turned to face his brother, swinging his weapon threateningly to ensure that his dominance remained unquestioned. "So, you've come at last." He stood a short distance away where a steep footpath ended below the rocky peak. _Vultrel didn't do his job, I see._ Behind him, Arus appeared alongside Aldoric's supposed daughter around a bend in the path, both bloody but alive. _Scimitar and Kalibur failed, as well?_ The three were visibly tired, none seeming to be too eager to face him. But then, why would they be? Two were about to die, and the third would perish once the secrets of the implant were studied and the lephadorite was returned. "The time has come," Kindel heard himself say. "As influential members of the movement against me, you deserve nothing short of a slow agonizing death. However, the leader of the Vezulian Armada is not without compassion. Swear your allegiance to me now, and I shall forgive your past transgressions."

"You know that will never happen," Aldoric's hair swayed as he shook his head. There was a sympathy in his voice that made Kindel's blood bubble. Thunder split the air as a bolt of lighting darted from the clouds and struck the rocks beside him. Aldoric didn't as much as flinch. "How could you, Kindel? How could you use a weapon forged to destroy the greatest evil ever known to further your own selfish desires? How could you unleash such power against these innocent beings?"

"What you call selfish, I call selfless," Kindel responded, gazing over the landscape. "What you call innocent, I call ignorant. Since we cannot communicate with the Ayaans, I have no way to determine whether or not their intentions toward the rest of the universe are pure or not. I will not risk the _truly_ innocent lives out there by allowing these things to pursue what might be dangerous aspirations."

"You're killing things because you _think_ they _might_ one day rise up against you?" Aldoric yelled, pointing toward the woods below. "As far as I've seen, they haven't even harnessed the power of electricity, let alone space travel, and you're killing them off because you think they might somehow bring down your precious Armada one day? Kindel, open your bloody eyes! Your obsession with power has made you into something even worse than the Ma'tuul!"

Fury bared Kindel's teeth. "Don't you ever compare me to such murderers!" he screamed, clenching the hilt of his weapon. "I'll incinerate every planet of every galaxy if it prevents murderers like the Ma'tuul from ever rising again!"

Aldoric's eyes widened in astonishment. "You're mad," he said simply. "That sword has driven you mad. You think power is the solution to every problem, that dominance will secure your position in the universe. But as long as you treat life as carelessly as you do, there will _always_ be people who will rise up against you. The Ma'tuul were defeated in the end, Kindel. You will be, too."

Now, Thorus smiled. He held the sword out toward his brother, turning it over slowly. "I doubt it. Not as long as I have this. There is no power in the universe greater than this, and I will continue to increase my strength in every way possible to ensure that none will ever come close. It is in your best interest to join me, Aldoric. I am not above forgiveness."

Arus, poor ignorant Arus, stepped forward, his hand straying toward the handle of his own weapon. "You have been given countless opportunities to change your ways, and it has only increased your thirst for power. You must turn back now, Kindel. I don't know what's so special about that sword, but no amount of strength is worth the lives you've ended with it."

He didn't know. The poor fool didn't know. "I've been to many worlds over the course of my lifetime, child, and I've heard many stories about the origins of the universe. Though all possess some form of similarity, they have many unique traits and characteristics that conflict with one another, making it difficult to see which, if any, accurately retells the tale. Some say the Maker is a female. Others suggest that our Maker is but one of many. And, of course, scientists contend that there is no Maker at all." He curled his lips in disgust at the latter. "Regardless of the others, I can at least put that last theory to rest. For you see, there is one story common across every planet I've visited and every version of faith I've studied. It is a story I'm sure you've heard before, a legend about a sword forged by the fires of heaven, a blade tempered by the angels of the Maker and used to battle Kuldaan himself."

The boy's remaining eye looked as though it might fall out of its socket. "You can't possibly mean—"

Kindel's smile nearly reached his ears. "But I do." He lifted the sword over his head, drawing a series of powerful lightning blasts to the blade. "I have harnessed the strength of a weapon no mortal has ever dreamed of touching!" His voice rolled down the mountainside louder than the thunder that shook the heavens. The land vibrated with violent tremors as the clouds swirled faster, pouring a funnel of darkness into the top of the sword. Energy flowed into him at an increasing rate, growing and expanding, intensifying each of his senses and sending his emotions into a fitful rage. He grappled with the power, wrestling in a desperate fight to maintain control over his body, but anger and fury boiled over in one ear-splitting scream. "Behold the power of the Blade of Kaleo!"

*******

Arus nearly collapsed to his knees in horror. His jaw hung open as he stared at the sword in Thorus' hands, the legendary blade trusted to Azriel in the fight against evil. The weapon, once lost to the Abyss, had been recovered during the war between the forces of Kuldaan and the Maker, and was used by Azriel to banish the Fallen Ones from the heavens. What Arus had once believed to be mere legend was now tearing Arynias apart. How could it have ended up in mortal hands? Why, of all people, had Kindel been the one to find it? The once holy weapon now emitted an ominous black light, a shining darkness that poured from the blade like the light of Kindel's eyes. Had Thorus somehow . . . _corrupted_ it?

The wind picked up, intensifying into a column of searing air that swirled around the mountaintop. Darkness oozed from the inky cloud into the Blade of Kaleo, radiating with a black energy that made Arus' stomach heave. Kitreena held his hand tightly, her eyes set with a solemn resignation that seemed to suggest all hope was lost. Damien was the only one who stood firmly, refusing to succumb to fear. The twisting tower of air surrounding the mountain became a sickly shade of black, cutting out most light but Kindel's glowing blue eyes. Intense lightning provided constant flashes of white, illuminating his frightening visage as he held the blade high, teeth bared through an unnatural grin. They were _inside_ a tornado of evil.

"Kindel! Stop this!" Damien screamed, stepping onto the slanted plateau. "You're going to kill us all!"

Kitreena reached to grab Damien's cloak as another figure darted past them, a young man in black who stepped between the brothers. Arus couldn't see his face, but Vultrel's usual garb identified him. "Admiral!" he shouted, sounding more than panicked. "Admiral, what's going on? What are you doing?"

Damien looked back at Arus and Kitreena. "Something's wrong! Kindel's regard for life may not be as pure as ours, but he's never shown this kind of broad malice before!"

"What are you talking about?" Kitreena yelled. "He's always used ruthless methods to achieve his goals!"

"Not like this," Damien said, shaking his head. "Trust me, I know my brother. He might be a tyrant, but he only destroys that which he believes to be a threat to him and his plans! There is no way that the Ayaans could've been seen as any kind of threat! I'm telling you, something is terribly wrong! I believe the strain of wielding such immense power has driven him mad!"

Arus shook his head and tore his sword from its sheath. "Whatever the case, we've got to stop him!"

"Right," Damien agreed. Turning his eyes back to Kindel, he shrugged his cloak off of his shoulders. "You've got to Morph, Kit! We need all the power we can get!"

"I can't!" she said, shaking her head. "I'm too afraid!" Afraid of more than just Kindel, Arus knew. "I can't concentrate my power!"

Damien took both of his hands and held them outward. "Try, Kit. You must try, all right? For me, for Arus, for Vultrel, and even Kindel! For the Ayaans and the rest of the universe, Kitreena, you must try!"

Kitreena finally nodded and moved to Damien's left, clenching her fists together as the amethyst light encompassed her eyes. Her lips parted in a snarl as she struggled to amplify whatever emotions she needed to Morph.

"This planet is mine!" Kindel announced, turning the Blade of Kaleo sideways so that the hilt rested in one hand and the sword's tip rested in the other. "With this power, nothing stands in my way! The universe is mine to protect as I see fit!" The air crackled and popped with electricity, the dark funnel of energy pouring into the blade as if sucking the clouds right out of the sky.

"You call this protection?" Arus growled, readying his sword.

"What are you going to do to him?" Vultrel shouted, stepping between them.

"Stand aside, Vultrel," Arus said, calmly moving beside Damien. "Unless you want to be sent to the Abyss with your master."

"The only ones headed to the Abyss are those who oppose me!" Kindel screamed, his voice near maniacal. The winds blew even harder, the thunder so loud it left Arus' ears ringing. Even with the azure light pouring from them, his eyes seemed distant, gazing into the sky at nothing in particular. "You will . . . all . . . DIE!" he folded his arms to his chest, cradling the weapon like a child. The funnel of darkness poured directly into his body, drawing from the murky whirlwind of dust that surrounded the mountain peak. In a less than a second, the entire tornado was pulled inward, all the energy and dust and wind and lightning sucking into Kindel's chest as though pulled by a black hole before it spewed back out in a massive explosion that parted the clouds and cut a gaping ridge through the mountain in either direction.

And then there was silence.

Arus was surprised to be alive when he opened his eye. He didn't remember being knocked down, but he was on his back, staring up at beautiful cerulean skies, calm as a quiet spring day. Rolling onto his side, he found Kitreena lying beside him, rubbing her eyes groggily. Damien was already back on his feet, and Vultrel was kneeling to the left, gasping for breath. "What happened?" Arus asked to no one in particular.

"I'm not sure," Damien's quiet voice responded. "Take a look."

Kindel was still there, perched upon the mountain peak. A miniature version of the tornado surrounded his body, whipping his hair about behind a twisting column of wind. He hefted Blade of Kaleo in front of his body, both hands wrapped tightly around the diamond hilt as the blade pulsated with that smoky black glow. He held the weapon like the leash of a wild animal, visibly straining to maintain control over the power he had consumed. It looked as though he'd somehow managed to channel all of that energy into the weapon, and there was no need to ask what he intended to do with it.

From the tone of her voice, it was clear that Kitreena had given up hope. "There's no way we can stand up to that kind of power," she muttered as Arus helped her to her feet. "We're not even fully healed—"

Damien's motion toward his brother stopped her. "What is he doing?" he wondered aloud.

The sword almost looked to be moving on its own, pulling Kindel's arms back and forth as it swayed over his head. The air above him seemed to stretch, pulled up and down by an unseen force as though something was trying to _rip_ it apart. A trail of white light began to follow the tip of the sword, growing longer and longer with each swing. Thorus' face was contorted in what looked like pain, although his teeth still shone through his psychotic smile. Did _he_ even know what he was doing? The streaking trail of light solidified above the mountain, freezing in mid-air where the Blade of Kaleo had seemingly sliced through the sky itself. Kindel began to scream wordlessly, and the blade slashed one more time before man and weapon both vanished from the mountaintop. A new sound rose over the land, a horrific tearing sound that made the hairs on Arus' arm rise. Every tree across the planet shook violently, swaying back and forth as the world groaned. Brilliant colors of light spewed from the shimmering slice in the sky, ranging from blue to red to purple and every shade in between. The gash widened slowly, growing larger and longer with each rumble of the land, until a wavering pool of colors hung above them.

"What _is_ that?" Kitreena barely managed to whisper.

Arus shrugged, trying to gulp his heart back down his throat. "Damien?"

"I don't know," Damien said, staring up in awe. "Kindel," he murmured softly, "what have you done?"

Vultrel was the first to step forward, ignoring the other three. Arus resisted the urge to shout warnings; Vultrel had clearly decided to follow his own path in life, and there was little anyone could say to change it. He watched nervously as Vultrel stepped onto the small plateau that was the peak, inching forward until he was within arm's reach of the strange slash of wavy light. Before anyone could protest, he reached a hand out and touched it. Fingers sank into it like boots into a swamp. "What . . . is this?" Abruptly, Vultrel's body seemed to turn to rubber as he was sucked into the gash, his torso stretching to nearly twice its normal length before snapping up into the violet light like a lizard retracting its tongue.

That set off an unavoidable chain reaction. Arus screamed and raced toward the odd light, which prompted Kitreena to chase after him, and Damien after her. Arus clenched his fists and leapt into the floating hole in the sky with little regard for his own safety. Time seemed to momentarily stand still as he felt himself rising through the warm glow, then a sudden tug yanked his body completely through. Brilliant light swallowed everything, and a nagging voice in his head shouted at him for being so reckless. But no matter how many times he cursed himself for rash behavior, he always managed to top himself in one way or another.

*******

The _Falcon Mist_ grew larger in the forward viewport of the Aeden transport. Any moment now, laser fire would surely rain down upon the tiny craft, but the risk was one that had to be taken. Capture was certainly preferable over destruction, though it was hard to predict which option a team as unstable as the Kyrosen and the Vezulian Armada might choose. All communication frequencies had been silent thus far, but there were so many to sort through that it could take days to find the right one. If luck was with the little ship, a direct line to either Sartan Truce or one of the higher commanding officers of the Kyrosen would come up, but then, Muert hadn't exactly had luck on his side as of late.

He raised the frequency another point and spoke. " _Falcon Mist_ , do you copy? This is Muert Bloodlust, soldier of the Kyrosen army." Every time he used that surname, he grimaced. It was a title given to him upon his completion of the Kyrosen Trials of Blood, the grueling tests administered by the Truce family to every male the moment he was old enough to control his magical talents. Every young man who had passed the test was given a new title to replace his family name, though Muert had no intentions of passing that name to his wife and daughter. Still, to openly deny the name was to shame the customs of the Kyrosen. "Can anyone hear me?" It was said that the Truce family was the only family allowed to keep their name, a title earned generations ago by one of Sartan and Aratus' ancestors. F'Ledro and Olock didn't even seem to _have_ surnames, though no one dared to question whether or not they had overcome the Trials of Blood. Surely they had, if Truce had placed them in such high-ranking positions. Then again, it was no secret that the three of them had been close friends growing up, though F'Ledro had always been treated more like an unwanted stepchild than a friend. Would Truce have really risked such dishonor for friends? Why hadn't anyone questioned them about it?

For that matter, why did no one question _anything_ Truce did?

He used his thick forefinger to raise the frequency again. " _Falcon Mist_ , do you copy? This is Muert Bloodlust, soldier of the Kyrosen army." To the Kyrosen, the Truce family was royalty. Disobeying them, questioning them, or even shifting an eyebrow the wrong way could be considered disrespectful, and so many simply accepted that anything Sartan or his buddies did was the best option possible despite the downward spiral of the Kyrosen since Aratus Truce had taken command. Like helpless citizens of an oppressive government, they sat by and watched as their leaders marched them to their deaths. Sartan may have gotten the Kyrosen back into space, but the sacrifice far overshadowed the gain. For Truce to willingly place the Kyrosen into the targeting scopes of the man who had sent them fleeing to Terranias in the first place was irresponsible, rash, and just plain stupid. No doubt Sartan thought he could maintain the upper hand on Kindel Thorus in one way or another, but then, that's what Aratus had said of the natives of Terranias.

"Muert Bloodlust," a voice suddenly boomed over the transport's speakers. "How is it that you've managed to find your way out here in an Aeden ship?"

A wave of relief rolled over Muert as he rubbed his temples between a huge thumb and forefinger. "I was being held captive onboard the _Refuge_ , which I'm sure you're aware is in orbit on the opposite side of the planet." That's where the truth would end, unfortunately. He didn't look forward to deceiving his own people, but the safety of Sienna and Keilan were his only true concern. "I managed to break into their hangar and hijack this transport. While onboard, I overheard rumors that the Kyrosen were being held on your ship. Is this true?"

"Please standby," the voice said, a harsh male who seemed irritated with having to speak with him. For the thousandth time, Muert asked himself if he could really go through with deceiving his own people. He'd be asking the question since before he'd even sworn allegiance to the captain of the _Refuge_. Not that he wanted to continue following the destructive steps of the Truce family, but if his actions in any way ended up hurting Keilan or Sienna, he would surely wish he'd just fell in line and followed orders like any other soldier.

Tapping a few commands into the control panel before pulling the throttle back, Muert brought the transport to a halt just outside of firing range. He kept both shields and weapons systems powered down in a show of goodwill, though if Vezulian troops still maintained command over the _Falcon Mist_ , they likely wouldn't even notice the gesture. After sitting in silence for nearly ten minutes, a voice finally came over the communications speaker again. "Muert Bloodlust, you are cleared to land in hangar dock four. If you have any weapons onboard your transport, you are to leave them there. They will be taken to the cargo hold for you."

"Thank you," Muert acknowledged. He spared a glance for his great scimitar leaning upright beside the transport door behind him. Throughout his training, the Kyrosen commanders had always enforced the idea that solid weapons were but secondary means of defense, an added cushion to the true power that every Kyrosen possessed. Never before had Muert been so thankful for that training. The Armada could take away his sword, but there were several other ways he could defend himself if necessary.

The transport glided into the bowels of the _Falcon Mist_ without incident. An escort of no less than thirty Vezulian soldiers met him when the ship's door slid open. He half-expected to be placed in shackles, but the commanding officer, a narrow man with graying hair who didn't even bother to introduce himself, simply motioned for Muert to follow him as he headed toward a corridor adjacent to the hangar bay. The grey soldiers followed in a synchronized march, their boots clopping rhythmically across the floor. They shadowed him until they reached the lift, where they met with two men armed with dual-capacitor laser rifles. Muert entered the lift with them at the silent motioning of the commander, and the two riflemen followed him. The door slid closed without a word spoken, and the lift began to descend.

Muert's heart began to race as they waited, neither soldier sparing him so much as a glance. Possibilities ran through his mind; images of slaughtered Kyrosen and burning corpses, children decapitated and women stripped and hung. It was the least the Armada would like to do to his people, he knew. What if they already had? It had been a great risk to come here, but the lure of his family wasn't something he was able or willing to ignore. What if none of the rumors were true? What if he'd unknowingly turned himself over to be executed? No, Arus wouldn't have lied to him. The boy was too noble and honest for that. Wasn't he?

Both relief and despair swept over him as the lift finally came to a stop and the doors opened. The massive cargo hold had been transformed into a makeshift shelter, packed with Kyrosen from end to end. Most were unwashed and ragged looking, their eyes sagging and dark from a lack of sleep. The women wore embroidered dresses of simple linen, embroidered with flowers and birds and butterflies. Stains of dirt marred their skirts, and usually neat hair had been turned to a mangled mess. The once proud men looked tired and worn, faces unshaved and vests sagging from their shoulders. Blankets and storage crates covered the floor where individual families had set up camp, and faint music filtered through the crowd. Songs of mourning, unless Muert's ears deceived him. The only light came from the various lanterns that they'd managed to bring from the Underworld, giving the hold a warm glow unlike anything standard starship lighting could reproduce. His arrival brought a few bleary-eyed stares of recognition and a couple smiles, but other that he was largely unnoticed. All for the better, he knew, considering what he had planned.

The butt of a rifle jabbed into his back as one of the soldiers shoved him out of the lift. The doors closed almost instantly, leaving him on his own to find his family. A few questions sent him hunting through the northeast quadrant, as they had apparently come to call that particular section, and a few more led him to a small blanket and lantern near the right end of the cargo hold. Seeing Keilan sitting there on the floor with a book in her lap, her dark hair tied back with a bright red ribbon, sent Muert's heart leaping with joy. Eight-year-old Sienna was sound asleep on the blanket beside her, curled into a ball against her mother's knee. She was wearing the sun-colored dress he'd had made for her before leaving for Cathymel, a light yellow linen that had a picture of a kitten sewn into the front. Her black curls were shorter than when he'd last seen her; Keilan must've trimmed it since coming aboard. Regardless, they were safe, and that was enough to put a smile on Muert's face.

He stood silently until she noticed him, and when she looked up he greeted her with the warmest smile he could muster. "I have returned, my love."

She closed her book and stood, beaming with happiness. Keilan was usually quite reserved about her emotions. A smile from her was a sure indication of pure delight. She wrapped her arms around him—though the action forced her to the tips of her toes—and kissed his cheek. "If I was any other woman, I suppose I would demand to know where you've been for all of this time," she said softly into his ear. "But then, no other woman is married to a man as loyal and noble as you. Welcome home, my heart and soul."

He kissed her gently, soaking in her warm embrace. "I am relieved to find you both well," he whispered, turning his eyes toward Sienna. "When I heard what Truce had planned, I feared the worst."

"It will take more than the Vezulian Armada to break the will of our people," she said with a reassuring squeeze. "We have been treated as caged animals, but after surviving in those wretched dens beneath the desert for so many years, this may as well be a luxury cruise ship."

"Better things are in store, my dear," he told her before he could stop himself. Of course, there was no need to be soft with Keilan. For Kyrosen women, she was as tough as they came, and that meant even _he_ was afraid of her when something sparked her temper. Still, he'd intended to approach the topic more gently, not because he feared she'd turn her back on him, but because he wanted to properly explain everything that had gone into his decision.

But he'd already perked her interest. "How can you be sure?"

He took her hands into his and guided her back onto the blanket before sitting beside her. Her dark eyes glistened in the light of the lantern, and the flickering glow gave her skin a soft warmth that seemed to radiate with her love for him. Muert casually scanned the surrounding blankets before beginning, but no one even so much as blinked in his direction. He kept his voice low, anyway. No sense in taking unnecessary risks. "I was captured by members of the Aeden Alliance," he said slowly, watching her expression for any reaction. She had a round face, though she was not plump by any stretch of the imagination. Only a slight tightening of the lips indicated her dissatisfaction at that. "They treated me well, and I was able to keep an eye on Arus while I was there. A remarkable boy, Keilan. I truly do wish for you to meet him."

"From what I've heard, he's little more than a zombie," she shrugged.

Muert couldn't help but grin. "No longer. He has been freed from the control of that machine that Truce attached to him. He is his own person once again."

"My, you certainly speak fondly of your captors." She grinned with a playfully sardonic look to her eyes. Even when speaking of the most serious of subjects, Keilan had a way of heating his cheeks.

"I have been having many doubts of late, Keilan," he said, trying to find the right words to explain. "Thoughts and fears that haunt me day and night, dreams that tear me from my sleep with stomach-twisting terror. I keep seeing his face—the boy, Arus—I see his face, and I see the implant, and then . . ." He trailed off as he ran his fingers through Sienna's soft curls. "And then it is no longer Arus I see, but Sienna."

Keilan nodded, her eyes conveying a shared fear. "It would be dishonest for me to say that I had never considered the same possibility. But we must surrender our fears for the good of our people. If Truce decides to use Sienna for—"

Muert pursed his lips with a scornful frown. "You know very well that you would never stand by and allow anyone to perform such a terrible procedure on our daughter."

It wasn't often that the woman wore her fright on her sleeve, but her face suddenly seemed to whiten as she looked upon the little girl beside them. "The will of the Kyrosen comes first," she whispered, sounding almost as though she was reminding herself as much as she was him.

Muert leaned forward and whispered just as softly, "Why?"

That earned him an open stare of astonishment. "What are you getting at, Muert?"

Another causal look confirmed that no one was paying any attention to their discussion. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes as the words tumbled out. "The Aeden Alliance has offered to take us in. The three of us."

Keilan's eyes neither widened nor thinned. She looked at him for a moment as though waiting for more, then shifted her gaze to Sienna. "And what did you tell them?"

There was no avoiding the truth. He'd sooner tear his own tongue out than lie to Keilan. "I have accepted." Again, she gave no reaction. "My love, you must understand my intentions. The Truce family has turned the Kyrosen into monsters. We steal what supplies we need, betray anyone to gain an advantage, murder those who disagree with us, and now we've begun to use children for scientific and technological research. There is very little that separates us from the Vezulian Armada these days apart from our numbers. The Kyrosen are dying off because of the actions of Sartan Truce and his predecessors, and I cannot stand by and allow both you and Sienna to be subjected to—"

Finally, she placed a soft hand over his mouth. "You are the love of my life, the sun in my sky, the light of my world, and my heart and soul. I will follow you wherever you go, my dear."

Her words once again set his spirit alive with joy. "You will?"

"Of course," she said, laughing at his disbelief. "I do not necessarily trust the Aeden Alliance, but I do trust you. And if you say they are noble in their intentions, then I will be at your side when you return to them."

Muert threw his arms around her, a great weight lifting from his chest as he held her close. "We're going to be safe soon, Keilan. Sienna will be able to grow up in a peaceful and loving environment, I promise. I was thinking we could go to a nice little planet somewhere and settle down once this is all over, or maybe live on—"

"One moment," she interrupted, placing a soft index finger on his lips. "Before we do anything, I ask that you allow me to speak with some of the others here. I will not betray your confidence, but I have a feeling that others would join us if they knew we were planning to flee from Truce's control. There was a good deal of dissent about joining with the Armada in the first place, and as it stands, only a handful of Sartan's most trusted men have really been allowed to participate in the operations of this ship. I'm certain there are more like us who are fed up with Truce, and I'd feel terrible if they were left behind while we fled to safety."

Just as she endlessly trusted his judgment, so did he trust hers. "Very well, but please make haste. I do not know how long the _Refuge_ will be in such close proximity, and I do want to ensure that both you and Sienna are safe as soon as possible."

"Do not fret," she assured him. Her fingers ran across his cheek like cotton against granite. "I will move quickly and speak with subtlety. After all, it would do no good for us to plan an escape just to blow our own cover, now would it?"

He leaned forward to kiss her again, her touch like a drug he was all too happy to call his addiction. Beside them, a soft groan rose as Sienna stirred, yawning as she stretched her arms. When her big blue eyes made contact with Muert's, they lit up with excitement. "Papa!" she squealed, leaping to her feet and slinging her arms around him. "Papa, you're alive! You've come home!"

"Of course, my angel," he said, holding her close. "I've come home."

Keilan joined in the hug, wrapping her arms around the two them as best as she could. Muert struggled to contain his emotions, but his eyes shimmered like dams about to burst. For a time, he'd feared that the only two things in his life that meant anything to him had been lost forever. But now, with his daughter and wife safe in his arms, he felt as though he had been given a second chance to live, a second chance to be a father, a second chance to forge a future. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he kissed Sienna on the forehead. His family was whole once again.

### Chapter 4

The sky rippled with various hues of pink and blue, each wave blending with the next in a soup of vibrant colors. There were no stars, no sun, no moon. A sphere of purple, glowing around its edges with a blue nearly as intense as the light of Terranias' sun, radiated alone high above, its mass no less than a hundred times larger than the fullest moon. The air seemed both thick and thin at the same time, heavy yet somehow cool to the skin. Arus blinked again and again as he pushed himself to his feet, each time expecting his vision to reveal surroundings that were a bit more realistic to his mind. Nothing changed, no matter how many times he rubbed his eye or reset the implant's optical sensors. He had to be hallucinating. Or dreaming.

When he finally tore his stare away from the swirling colors above, his breath caught once more. He stood on a platform of dirt less than fifty paces in diameter, a haphazardly shaped island floating amidst the nothingness. Similar islands of different size and shape floated at various heights around him, their undersides like inverted jagged mountains as though these chunks of land had been torn from the surface of a much larger planet. Each island was bare; there was no grass or vegetation of any kind. From where he stood, Arus couldn't see how far the liquid sky reached below the platform of dirt, but he was willing to bet that there was no bottom to it. _Is this . . . the Abyss?_

Kitreena's touch startled him as she took his mechanical hand into her own. She appeared just as disturbed as he knew he must've looked, face pale as her glassy eyes darted about. "Where are we?" she murmured, her voice echoing a thousand times over.

Damien appeared to Arus' right, his lips compressed into a grim expression that was becoming all too common for him. "In all my years, I've never come across any place like this. I fear we may have found what lies beyond death's door."

Arus shot him a nervous stare that begged him not to suggest such a thing. "We're not dead," he insisted, saying it just as much for himself as them. "I don't know where we are, but we're not dead."

Vultrel rushed past them, growling as he ran. "There's got to be a way out of here!" He dropped to his knees at the edge of the island and leaned over the side. "I can't believe it!" he exclaimed, looking back at them. "There's no end to this place!"

A man's voice, gentle as a lamb, spoke from everywhere at once. "Your arrival has been anticipated since the creation of time. The events of this day have been destined for ages, a culmination of things that began long ago though have yet to occur. Kuldaan gnaws more fiercely than ever on the souls of mortals, and his efforts have trampled the lives of many. In the end, his efforts will prove futile against the Maker's Grand Design, but in the meantime, we must do what we can to save who can be saved. Arus, Vultrel, Damien, and Kitreena, I bid you welcome to the Fourth Dimension."

Vultrel jumped away from the island's edge at the sound of the voice and scrambled back. A quick scan of the area by the implant failed to read any life signs aside from their own. Damien glanced at them before stepping forward, calling into the desolate sky. "Might I inquire who you are? Or where you are?"

"I am called Mateo, but I'm afraid that my natural form is something incomprehensible to mortal minds. If you would like, I can take on an appearance that your eyes will understand."

"Please do," Damien said politely. "We would very much like to see you."

A glimmer of white appeared overhead, a glowing whirlwind that coalesced as it descended to the dirt platform several paces ahead of them. The light brightened and condensed into the shape of a man, naked save for elegant white pants that cut off above the knee where some sort of foreign script was embroidered in black around golden cuffs. He was not a large man by any means—Damien stood more than a head taller—but his body was sculpted to perfection, white streams of light shedding from his skin like thin tendrils of smoke. Simple brown hair topped his head, and his eyes glistened with a soothing blue that could've calmed a ferocious lion. "Grace and peace be with you," he said, smiling warmly at each of them individually.

"Greetings," Damien responded, bowing graciously. "What is this place? And how do you know our names?"

"And where's Kindel?" Vultrel added.

Mateo's smile grew as he chuckled. "We have much to discuss," he said. "To put it simply, you are inside time itself, the driving force behind the Grand Design. I hope it is not too much of a shock for you to hear, but you are no longer in the universe you call your own."

"Is this Heaven, then?" Vultrel asked him.

"Neither Heaven nor the Abyss, the Fourth Dimension is a realm which exists outside of the rest of the Maker's creations. Time originates here, flowing in all directions to create what you call the past, present, and future. These concepts are much more malleable in the hands of the Maker, but mortal minds are limited in there perception of things. You are only capable of understanding time in its linear form, a passage of days and weeks and months and years. But to the Maker, time is a tool He uses to bring both past and future together to serve his ultimate purposes and further the development of His Grand Design. That is the best explanation I can give you."

Kitreena wrinkled her forehead in confusion. "I don't understand. How can a _place_ be time?"

Mateo walked to the left end of the island. "It is not something you will ever comprehend, I'm afraid. This isn't so much of a place as much as a . . . well, a _time._ You see, there are many things about the Maker and His creations that you'll never fully understand, concepts and plans that your minds were not meant to grasp. That is why so many people have turned away from the Maker over the ages; they cannot put their faith in something they cannot see. For whatever reason, many mortals seem to think that they should be able to understand everything about anything as though they are the most superior beings to ever live. Kindel is one such person. The truth of the matter is that they are not the most superior—far from it, actually—and no matter how many theories your scientists come up with or lies your 'prophets' teach, there is only one Maker, and only He fully understands the workings of the Grand Design."

Damien inclined his head in a slow nod. "And how did _we_ get here?"

"As you have already seen, Kindel Thorus, your brother and enemy, has harnessed the power of the Blade of Kaleo and begun to use it to serve his own evil purposes." Mateo said, his voice taking on a hint of sadness. "He thinks it will give him ultimate power with which to rule the universe. But the sword was created for the purposes of good, and prolonged exposure to the weapon will drive him over the edge of insanity. It has already begun, it seems, as his fit of rage on the mountains of Arynias drew in more of the sword's power than he could handle. As a result, the massive surge of energy tore a hole in the very fabric of time and space, opening the way to the Fourth Dimension. It is that tear that the four of you traveled through to get here."

Damien frowned at Vultrel momentarily before continuing. "You said our arrival has been anticipated since time was created. What does that mean?"

"The Maker works all events together according to His will," Mateo responded, facing them. "He knew precisely when Kindel Thorus was going to wield the Blade of Kaleo, and so he chose four mortals to retrieve the weapon. He has been preparing you since long before your births, planning the sequence of events that would mold you into who you are and teach you what you need to know. Each of you holds great strength and wisdom—though some of you use these gifts more honorably than others—and the Maker has ensured that the tools you need for success are at your disposal. Whether or not you choose to do what is right is up to you; the Maker will never compromise your freedom. But as long as Thorus holds it, the Blade of Kaleo may as well be in Kuldaan's hands, and it will only leave death and despair in its wake."

Vultrel muttered something that Arus only half-heard, yet what he heard he wished he hadn't. The words "fairytale nonsense" were met with an instant stare from Mateo. Obviously the man—or whatever he was—had a better sense of hearing than Vultrel had expected.

"You are free to do as you wish, Vultrel," he said, walking toward him. "The Maker has prepared you for the challenges that lie ahead, but you may run from them if you so desire. I must warn you, however; be prepared for a rough road."

Vultrel's eyes burned, his hand clearly itching for his sword. "Is that a threat?"

Mateo sighed and shook his head. "The Maker has your best interest in mind. Failure to follow His path for you will only lead you down a harsher path. It is not a threat, but a fact. It is the sad reality of a life without His guidance."

Now Vultrel crossed his arms like a defiant child. "What if I don't want to follow that path? Is this Maker of yours so cruel that he would punish anyone who rejects his supposedly better ways?" Arus nearly put his head in his hands in embarrassment.

"I'm afraid your perspective of things is quite backwards," Mateo said with a sad shake of his head. "It is not the Maker who is cruel, but Kuldaan. That treacherous demon has corrupted the former purity of the Maker's Grand Design, filling the hearts of men with selfishness, greed, lust, and arrogant pride. To follow the Maker is to shun these evil things. To turn your back on Him is to walk amongst them. There are two ways you can live your life. You can either accept His help, or walk alone. Why anyone would reject the guidance of a Maker who wants to care for you is beyond me, but then, I've never really understood mortals."

"I can't imagine anyone would like the idea of being told how to live their lives," Vultrel snapped back. "You may not have a problem enslaving yourself to some deity that doesn't exist, but I won't allow myself to be brainwashed like that."

Mateo eyed Vultrel for a moment, seemingly considering whether or not to continue the discussion. The young man's eyes may as well have been knives. Arus wanted to tell Vultrel to stop, to open his eyes, to let go of his anger, but if Mateo really was a direct servant of the Maker, than the quarrel was between the two of them, and Arus had no right to put himself in the middle of it. And if the silence coming from both Kitreena and Damien was any indication, they thought the same.

Finally, Mateo turned and walked away, shimmering trails of light following his movements. "You have the sad misconception that it is the Maker's job to serve you," he said, his voice laced with what sounded like pity. "The Maker created all of us to serve Him. Whether you like it or not has no bearing on whether it is true. You can run from it, you can try to ignore it, push it away, and even denounce all knowledge of His existence, but none of it will change what is."

Arus hadn't ever really believed in the Maker, but then he'd never really decided against the possibility, either. The stories had always seemed so fantastic that most assumed they couldn't have possibly been real. But after traveling halfway across the universe and meeting more new species than he could count, the fantastic no longer seemed so impossible. The existence of the Blade of Kaleo provided the strongest evidentiary support, _if_ that was indeed what that sword was. But there was still so much that didn't make sense. "Mateo, if the Maker is all powerful and wiser than all of us, why doesn't He stop Kindel Himself? Why doesn't He abolish all evil? Why did He even create evil in the first place?"

The being's warm smile returned as he replied. "Where there is nothing, there is only darkness. It takes a beacon of light to beat back the darkness. Where there is no warmth, there is only cold. It takes a source of heat to vanquish the cold. Similarly, where there is no good, there is only evil. The Maker didn't create evil, He created good. Evil exists when there is no good present. It is not a 'thing' that the Maker created; it is what is left over in the absence of his creation."

"But if He is all powerful," Kitreena said, "then why does He allow evil to even exist in the first place?"

"Because if he didn't, His creations would have no choice but to serve," Mateo replied. "The Maker has given all of His creations free will. He wants people to _choose_ to follow Him, not automatically do so from birth."

"But why?" Vultrel asked. "What is the point? What's the purpose of all of this?"

Now Mateo laughed openly. "You're asking for the meaning of life? That, I do not know. As I said, only the Maker truly understands the workings of the Grand Design, including its ultimate purpose. That kind of knowledge is beyond mortal comprehension, and that is why faith is so important."

That certainly wasn't enough for Vultrel. "And what if I choose not to follow?"

"I don't know why, after all you've seen and been through, you would question what I have told you," Mateo said flatly.

"Because I've seen too many people killed to really trust anyone." There was no hesitation in Vultrel's reply. "It's too dangerous. There is too much greed, too much anger, too much hatred in the universe."

Mateo gave a sympathetic look, tilting his head to the side. "Don't you want to help fight such evils? Don't you want to keep the people you care about safe?"

"I don't care about anyone anymore," Vultrel sneered. "I intend to get by on my own means from now on. I don't need to rely on anyone else for support." Arus hoped that wasn't true, but Vultrel's actions of late seemed to indicate a lack of compassion for any of the virtues that Eaisan Lurei had taught him to cherish.

"Then you hand yourself over to Kuldaan," Mateo told him. "Deny it as you wish, but to turn your back on the Maker—even if you don't believe He's there—is to give yourself over to whatever fate Kuldaan has planned for you. I hope and pray that you'll think better of such a decision before it is too late, but in the end, you decide where your feet will take you."

"Perhaps if I could speak with the Maker Himself," Vultrel suggested. "You let me see Him, and I'll believe."

"Believe," Mateo said, his smile returning, "and you will see."

Arus stepped forward, sparing a wry smile for Vultrel; he seemed eager to continue in his arrogance, but there were more important issues to discuss. "Vultrel's unease aside, what is it that you want us to do?"

Mateo's eyes swept across them with that considering look before he answered. "Each of you is struggling to do what is right, yet you are being held back in your own unique ways by stifling and sometimes crippling emotions." His gaze shifted to Vultrel momentarily. "You must overcome these things if you are to fulfill the purpose that the Maker has set before each of you." He positioned himself in front of Damien and looked up at him despite their difference in height. "Damien, you have long sought to remove emotion from your work, yet compassion and love are key ingredients in what you do. You believe them to be a crutch for enemies to exploit, but they are the components that drive you and your organization to help the poor and protect the innocent, and removing those emotions from your life would not only hurt you, but it would hurt them as well. It is because your brother embraces neither of these that he behaves the way he does. Don't follow in his footsteps, I beg of you."

Damien, the mighty Zo'rhan warrior, almost appeared to have trouble bringing himself to meet Mateo's gaze. The glowing being said no more to him, instead walking to the other side where Vultrel stood. "Vultrel, you have forsaken everything you once held so close to your heart. All of the honesty and respect and love and nobility that your father taught you has been discarded in your pursuit of your own selfish goals. But you wouldn't be here right now if the Maker thought you were beyond all hope. Throw away this anger and bitterness that you've allowed to cloud your vision and reclaim the honor that Eaisan Lurei carried. Do not continue to abandon what you know in your heart to be truth, I beg of you."

Vultrel opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He looked furious, eyes narrow over curled lips, but for whatever reason, he kept quiet. Mateo shifted his attention to Kitreena. "Princess Kitreena Azure, heir to the throne of Aerianna, guardians of the peace of Lavinia. I will be the first to admit that life did not treat you well as a child, but you have grown much since then, both in age and maturity. While you have become a very powerful young woman, your lust for vengeance over your childhood pain threatens to consume you. Turn away from that pain, discard it, and move away from it. Do not let anger and hatred drive your strength anymore; replace such feelings with hope and love. Show mercy on those who would show you none, and love those who hate you. These are the greatest weapons of all. Behave toward others the way you would have them behave toward you, and if their evil stirs your anger, calm it with the hope that one day they will see the error of their ways. Kitreena, end this pursuit of retribution that you've clung to for so many years, I beg of you."

Arus looked at Kitreena in astonishment. _Heir to the throne? You're . . . a princess?_

Not now, Arus. We'll discuss it later.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as Mateo stepped away, finally coming to Arus. "And you, Arus. Your own dark desires led you down a very dangerous path, and you paid a heavy price. Since then, you have done a remarkable job of turning your painful experiences into motivation to do what is right, something that many never learn to do. But beware; anger and hatred are always lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce on you the moment you give them an inch. Kuldaan works his teeth especially hard on people who turn away from him, and he'll do everything in his power to reclaim you as his own. Keep a tight reign on your feelings, Arus, and continue to set an example for those around you to follow. You have great potential to do wondrous things in this life. Do not allow evil to cloud your judgment ever again, I beg of you."

Arus bowed deeply, thanking Mateo as he did. "I will do everything in my power to avoid repeating the mistakes I've made."

"Good. Together, you four have the power to affect many lives. The strength of the Maker will always be with you so long as you strive to do what is right according to His will. Now then, do you have the stones with you?"

That caught Arus by surprise. How could he have known about them? _Probably the same way he knew our names._ "I do," he nodded, reaching into his pouch. The amulet came out first, followed by the two purple stones. "Do you know what they are?"

Mateo took the stones and examined them closely. The light from his body extended and encompassed them both, bringing forth a purple aura from the center of each. His lips spread into an almost surprised grin, eyes wide beneath a raised brow. "Good," he murmured, turning the larger of the two rocks between his fingers. "Real Lifestone. The Maker said it was so. I was wrong to doubt him."

"Lifestone?" Kitreena repeated. "What is Lifestone?"

Again, Mateo looked surprised. "The building blocks of existence, of course. When the Maker first set out to form the heavens and the lands, He began by creating a large stone He called the Lifestone, the most basic form of matter ever to exist." As he finished the sentence, he pointed to the purple sphere above. "Everything He has created, and everything He will ever create, originates within the Lifestone. Your planets, your stars, mountains, plants, even you and I, we all came from the Lifestone, each molded by the Maker's hands for a unique purpose."

"So how did Kindel get a hold of this Lifestone?" Kitreena frowned. "Has he come to the Fourth Dimension before?"

"No," Mateo responded, taking the smaller piece into his fingers. He elaborated no further, instead focusing on the purple fleck. "Now, this is odd. This stone contains all of the properties of the Lifestone, yet it has been made from a synthetic material. One might call it artificial Lifestone. Works the same way, yet not authentic."

"Thorus claimed that he had found a way to harness magical properties from them," Arus explained. "He said that the smaller piece was a clone made from the first."

Kitreena shuddered visibly as she spoke. "Kindel learned to create something that only the Maker should've known how to make? How is that possible?"

"Simple manipulation of reproductive properties in other organisms," Mateo responded, his voice too casual for the subject matter. "Since everything comes from Lifestone, everything has the ability to interact with Lifestone. It's not so surprising. Mortals have the ability to recreate many of the Maker's creations. Children, for one example. Fruits, vegetables. Animals reproduce on their own, too."

Mateo switched his attention to the amulet and began examining the jewels embedded within its golden surface. Curiosity compelled Arus to repeat Kitreena's earlier question. "Do you know how this piece of Lifestone found its way into our world?"

For a time, Mateo continued to look over the amulet, flipping it over in his hands and tapping it with a finger here and there. Eventually, he looked up. "I do not, nor do I know how the Blade of Kaleo wound up in your dimension. But the Maker knows, I'm sure, and all things work together according to His will. To be honest, I'm not concerned with how they got there. I'm concerned with getting them out of evil hands. With these in your possession," he held up the stones, "we're halfway there. All that remains is to retrieve the Blade of Kaleo."

"If those rocks belong here," Damien said, looking up at the giant Lifestone above, "then please take them. They'll be safer here than in our realm."

Creases formed in Mateo's brow as he shook his head. "Once a piece of the Lifestone is removed from the whole, it can never be returned. There would be no one to watch over them here, and they are too dangerous to simply be left around for the wrong person to discover. Besides, they found their way to you."

Arus wasn't sure he liked what he was hearing. "Are you suggesting we take them with us? Are you sure that's wise?"

Mateo looked hard and long at him, twisting his lips in an odd way that seemed to indicate deep thought. "Yes," he said. "I don't know why, but whatever the reason, the Maker has seen that those pieces of Lifestone wound up in your hands. As He has entrusted you with the retrieval of the Blade of Kaleo, I believe He trusts you with the Lifestones as well. I charge you with the responsibility to guard them with your lives and do everything in your power to ensure that they never fall into evil hands again." He handed the two rocks back to Arus, pausing a moment to stare at the amulet. "But beware," he added, raising the golden pendant, "the power of the Lifestone is not a toy to be used irresponsibly. It is a tool, capable of both great miracles and great destruction. Use it only as a last resort."

Arus nodded slowly as he took the amulet back and returned both it and the stones to his pouch. "Very well, then. How do we get back to our own universe?"

Mateo backed away, eyes sweeping over the four of them once again. "I will send you to wherever you wish to go. Once you've retrieved the Blade of Kaleo, bring it back here. Damien, your teleportation powers can bring you here safely. I know you are uneasy about using such abilities, but the Maker does not bestow talents upon his creations without reason. Retrieve the blade, but beware. If there is any evil in the heart of the one who touches it, the blade will destroy him just as it is destroying Kindel. If you succeed, I will grant you the right to return to the Fourth Dimension whenever you are in need of a safe haven from those who would seek to harm you."

"I understand," Damien said with a nod. "Can you tell us where Kindel has gone?"

"At the moment, he is onboard his vessel, headed for Terranias," Mateo responded, frowning. "He intends to destroy it to prevent any more natives from rising up against him."

Arus clenched his fists and glared at Vultrel. "You see? You see what your glorious leader is up to?"

Vultrel's face hardened as he looked away. He said nothing, only lowering his head with a sigh. Kitreena attempted to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he jerked away from her.

"You said that this place _is_ time, is that correct?" Damien asked. "Can you send us to a point in time _before_ Kindel obtained the Blade of Kaleo? Maybe we can prevent this whole—"

Mateo was already shaking his head vigorously. "Absolutely not. Time travel has happened before, it will happen again, and its effects were felt across the universe. I cannot assist with any such action. You must return to your own time to retrieve the weapon."

Arus' head felt as though it were about to explode. From learning that Kitreena was a princess— _How could she not have told me?_ —to finding out that time travel had was not only possible, but had already happened, his brain felt as though it had been flipped upside down. A part of him still expected to wake from the dream at any moment. "If Kindel is already on his way to Terranias, we've got to get moving," he said, rubbing his temples. "It's a long journey."

"Yes, we must get going," Damien agreed.

Mateo bowed politely. "Of course. Everyone, please picture the place where you wish to go, and I shall send you there."

"Think of the _Refuge,_ everyone," Damien told them. "We'll meet on the bridge to discuss everything."

But Vultrel spoke up. "I can go anywhere?" he asked.

Mateo did not seem pleased. He eyed Vultrel for a moment, and a silent exchange seemed to take place. "Anywhere, Vultrel," he eventually said. "As I said earlier, you are free to do as you wish."

That brought forth a satisfied smile. "Good. I know exactly where I want to go."

Disappointment mixed with frustration for a brief moment in Mateo's eyes. "As you wish," he murmured. Turning a brighter expression to the others, he raised his hands over his head. "The Maker will watch over all who embrace His will. May His grace and peace be with you always!"

Blinding light drowned everything.

*******

Twin bars of light lining the ceiling greeted Vultrel when he opened his eyes. The floor was cold against his back, a solid metal that vibrated ever so slightly with the distant hum of what sounded like a starship's engines. He sat up quickly, rubbing his eyes for a moment before jumping to his feet. The unidentified office was vacant, though if Mateo had been true to his word, it was not onboard the _Black Eagle_. A lone desk and terminal sat beside him complete with a red cushioned chair. Paintings of various settings adorned the walls—a beach on one side, a forest on the other, a quaint little town in front—and a grey uniform of the Vezulian Armada was folded neatly atop a cabinet beside the door. Hopefully, its owner wouldn't be coming for it soon. But none of that was of any importance; it was the long viewport behind the desk that captured Vultrel's attention, and he leaned against it as he inspected the surrounding starships.

"Come on, come on!" he muttered softly, his eyes darting from craft to craft. The Armada's escort had grown even larger than it had been for the attack on the Aeden Outpost, and they swam through the darkness at such speeds that the stars streaked by like blue and white lines in space. Most of the ships were unrecognizable to him, but his eyes eventually landed on the one he wanted. "The _Black Eagle._ There she is. Which means if Kindel is over there, then I _am_ onboard the _Falcon Mist_."

It couldn't have been more perfect. Somewhere onboard that very ship, Sartan Truce sat oblivious to the target that he himself had painted onto his own back. All Vultrel had to do was find him, and the Kyrosen would fall once and for all. And while Kindel Thorus may have gone mad, the Vezulian Armada was still under his command, which meant that Vultrel was still to be recognized as a welcome guest. There should be no trouble roaming the halls of the _Falcon Mist_ with the authorization code that Thorus had given him, though he had to be sure to steer clear of Truce until the opportune moment. Still, it was as perfect a situation as he could've asked for.

Turning away from the window, he gave the computer terminal a considering look. He hadn't gained much experience in using the technology other than the little that Scimitar and Kalibur had shown him, but given the nature of his intentions, it was prudent to be as informed as he could be about his surroundings. He set himself down into the chair and powered up the terminal's silver viewscreen. The authorization prompt appeared, and his code number opened a menu of basic selections. An option for departmental listings caught his eye, and he tapped that portion of the screen. That brought up a long list of departments and their locations, as well as names for the head of each department and their contact frequencies. Vultrel had barely begun to skim through the information when a couple of voices outside the door attracted his attention.

His sword flew from its scabbard as he leapt from the chair and shifted to the right side of the door. His authorization may have granted him access to basic computer functions, but it certainly didn't give him the right to invade private offices. An intrusion of any kind would bring unnecessary attention to his presence, and he desperately wanted to avoid anything that might alarm Truce. Gripping his sword, he listened close as the two voices grew louder. Females, from the sound of them, though their words seemed a bit . . . guarded for Vezulian soldiers. Both silenced suddenly, and a gentle rapping came from the door. Vultrel remained perfectly still, his blade ready to kill if necessary. Hour-long seconds passed, and the knock repeated itself, slightly louder this time. After another moment, the soft voices returned.

"Perhaps he is late?" a timid sounding woman asked.

"That would not be unlike him," a second female said, sounding quite amused. "I'm afraid my dear husband's grasp of time isn't all that firm."

"How long should we stand here? If anyone sees us—"

"Relax, Merinah. Our disguises will suffice so long as our nerves do not draw unwanted eyes."

"But don't you realize the risk we're taking? Truce will have our heads if he realizes what we're up to! Doesn't that frighten you?"

"No more than the thought of my child being used in one of his inhumane experiments. Besides, if we can rally enough of the Kyrosen, Truce won't have anyone to support him should he discover our little insurrection. Come, let us return to the others. We will update my husband on our numbers at another time."

"I don't know how you talked me into this, Keilan." The voices began to fade amidst quiet footfalls. "I agree that Truce is an unfit leader, but I don't know if . . ."

The rest of the sentence was unintelligible, but it mattered little. Vultrel sighed as he returned his weapon to its scabbard. It seemed Truce had more trouble on his hands than a single infiltrator. Now the Kyrosen were revolting? The idea seemed as incomprehensible to Vultrel as the existence of the Blade of Kaleo. Regardless, it seemed the leader of the Kyrosen was a marked man no matter which way he turned. With Kindel Thorus on one side, his own people on the other, and Vultrel creeping up behind him, Truce had certainly cooked himself up a recipe for complete and total disaster.

After giving the women a few more minutes to put distance between them, Vultrel returned to the computer terminal. He remembered Kindel mentioning once that he had placed Olock in charge of the _Falcon Mist_ , and that meant that he could likely be found either on the bridge or in the captain's office. And if Olock could be located, there was a good chance he'd lead the way to Truce. Getting to the bridge would be another issue, but the grey uniform on the cabinet would make that task easier. Vultrel's original idea of destroying the _Falcon Mist_ fluttered to mind; it was an idea he still intended to see through, but not until he personally made Sartan Truce pay for all of the pain he had caused. That brought Mateo's nagging voice surging to his ears, and Vultrel shook it away. The ridiculous creature had no idea what he was talking about. None.

While the computer listing showed both deck number and room designation for each department, there didn't seem to be any maps available to indicate how to reach each level. Still, the lack of directions posed only a minor hindrance; a lift couldn't be too difficult to locate as long as he wore a Vezulian uniform. Hopefully the Kyrosen had not yet made their uprising known, else wandering the ship wearing the colors of Kindel Thorus could land him in the furnace before he'd even had a chance to explain himself. The women's conversation suggested that they were still planning their moves, but—

The door slid open as Vultrel rose from the chair, and the muscle-bound Kyrosen he'd fought onboard the _Refuge_ ducked through the opening. He froze for an instant when their eyes connected, then stepped fully into the room, allowing the door to slide closed behind him. As usual, he was shirtless save for the too-small blue vest that wrapped around his back and shoulders. Black pants covered his legs this time, and his greasy strands of blond hair had been brushed to a soft fluff. "You? What are you doing here?" the big man asked. There was no sign of the huge sword he'd nearly decapitated Vultrel with during their previous encounter.

Still, Vultrel knew he couldn't be too cautious. He slowly drew his sword, unconsciously backing against the wall as he did. "I am a welcome guest of Kindel Thorus," he heard himself say. "I can go wherever I want."

The Kyrosen made no effort to hide his suspicion. "Has he sent you to kill me?"

"Maybe," Vultrel said, trying to make his voice sound relaxed. "That depends on what kind of information you can give me."

A flash of what Vultrel thought might have been recognition sent the man's eyebrows rising momentarily. "You are . . . Arus' boyhood companion, are you not? Vultrel, was it?"

Vultrel's hands tightened around the hilt of his sword. "What of it?"

"Nothing," he responded, spreading his hands. "I was just remembering what Arus told me about you, that's all. He admires your talents, though it saddens him that you have allied yourself with Thorus."

The words spilled from Vultrel's lips before he could stop them. "I owe my allegiance to no one." He immediately wished he could have the words back; he needed whatever leverage he could get. "I mean, Arus just doesn't understand me. That's all. Either way, it is no business of yours."

Again, the Kyrosen raised his hands. "I did not mean to intrude. I was simply saying that . . . well, it's not important. My name is Muert, and I am not your enemy."

Vultrel had to fight to contain his laughter. "Not my enemy? Could've fooled me. You seemed pretty intent on killing me back on the _Refuge_. Why should I believe you've had a change of heart?"

"In all fairness, I was attempting to kill Kindel Thorus, not you. You stepped into my path, and I was forced to defend myself. I realize that you were simply protecting your captain, and I harbor no ill feelings toward you."

"Well, forgive me if I don't trust you," Vultrel said through a twisted smile, "but I know too much about the Kyrosen to let my guard down so easily."

"You know less than you think," Muert replied.

Again, Vultrel spoke without thought. "I know that the Kyrosen are planning a revolt against Sartan Truce." He clenched his jaw to keep from saying any more.

Muert was clearly dismayed that such information had somehow leaked. Still, he played the fool. "Really? How did you come to such a conclusion?"

His innocent act was almost pathetic. "Let's just that your people aren't as tight-lipped as they ought to be," Vultrel responded in a near snarl.

That brought a frown from the big man. "I shall have to see that they mind what they say going forward," he said softly, his unfocused eyes gazing at the floor. He murmured something else that Vultrel couldn't hear, then shrugged his shoulders and looked up. "Well, what is done is done. What do you intend to do about it?"

This time, Vultrel held his tongue. It was clear that a war within the Kyrosen could help him in his goals, but he wanted to ensure that _he_ was the one who eliminated Sartan. A brief alliance with Muert might give him the opportunity he needed to see that goal through, but could a Kyrosen, whether allied with Truce or not, be trusted? _I just need them to create enough of a distraction to let me finish him off. Then I'll find a way to destroy this entire boat and send the rest of the Kyrosen to the Abyss along with him._ The problem, however, was that Muert hadn't indicated which side of the Kyrosen conflict he had sided with. Judging from his response, it seemed that he was a part of the insurrection, but Vultrel had to be sure. "Why have your people turned against each other?" he finally asked, ignoring Muert's question.

Eyes of green weighed him for an instant before he responded. "There are some who disagree with Truce's methods. Some who would rather live a more . . . peaceful life."

Vultrel unconsciously eased his sword. "Are you one of them?"

Muert sighed, bowing his head as though greatly shamed. "I am. In fact, you might call me their . . . leader."

Fear mixed with hope and swelled within Vultrel. "And what do you plan to do once Truce is out of the way?"

"I must admit, I do not know," he said with a dejected shrug. "My original intentions were to simply take my wife and daughter and flee, leaving Truce and his tyranny behind. It was my wife who coaxed me into adding to our numbers, and it was they who urged that we stand up to him and take control of the Kyrosen for ourselves. Somehow, I've become a traitor at the head of a growing insurrection when all I really wanted to do was protect my family."

He _seemed_ to be honest in his intentions, but that would certainly not be enough to convince Vultrel. Still, time was short, and options were limited. Taking a deep breath, he uttered words he'd never thought he'd ever hear himself say. "Would you consider an alliance?"

The Kyrosen eyed him askance. "What reason do I have to trust you? Friend of Arus or not, you are allied with Kindel Thorus, and he wanted to see my people destroyed."

"I am allied with Thorus by word only," Vultrel told him. "The only reason I remain as such is so that I may continue to enjoy the privileges he has granted to me as a guest aboard his starships. I owe him nothing, least of all my support." Similar points of view had been the only thing that had caused Vultrel to stand beside Kindel, and while they still shared at least that, it was clear that the man had gone mad.

"A man who looks only after himself does not make an ideal partner," Muert said in a voice Vultrel didn't think he was meant to hear. Louder, he continued. "The benefits of an alliance would be clear for you, but what do the Kyrosen stand to gain aside from a young man who admittedly uses anyone he has to in order to serve his own goals? It seems to me all we'd be doing is adding an unnecessary and unstable element into our already dangerous situation."

Vultrel pursed his lips and swallowed a few choice comments. "I have authorization access codes that allow me to freely wander the _Black Eagle_. I've already tried one here on this terminal and it worked, so I believe they'll allow me to move freely about this ship as well. Something like that could come in handy, wouldn't it?"

"What makes you think we don't already have the right to go where we please? Kindel _did_ give us the _Falcon Mist_ , after all."

"Please," Vultrel snorted. "I spent more than a week onboard Kindel's ship, training alongside his two most trusted assistants. I know very well that your people have been packed into the cargo holds like cattle. Only Olock and a select few others were allowed onto the bridge. The only reason Truce is there now is because he capitalized on Kindel's recent distractions. Before then, he was a prisoner onboard the _Black Eagle_. It's clear that the Vezulian Armada doesn't trust you, and they certainly don't treat you as equals. But with my connections to Kindel, I might be able to get you into areas of the ship that you wouldn't have gotten near before. The extra help couldn't hurt." He pointed to the folded grey uniform on the cabinet. "I assume that is to be your disguise?"

"If it fits," Muert admitted. "It is what I came here to pick up. One of my associates managed to steal a few of the Vezulian style garments from a storage room."

"I can probably get you more," Vultrel told him. "If we all get into uniforms like that, we can slowly begin to mix ourselves in with the rest of the crew, and that might shift the advantage in our direction, wouldn't you say?"

"That all depends on how many you could get your hands on," Muert said, scratching his head. "At last check, our numbers were nearing the two-hundred mark."

As surprising as that was, Vultrel kept his face smooth. "I'll see what I can find. Do you know who uses this office? Would it be safe to meet back here?"

"As far as we've seen thus far, it is unoccupied. I cannot promise that, but I haven't seen any commanders come all the way down here as of yet."

"All right," Vultrel nodded, sheathing his sword. "I'll go check things out. If and when I find some spare uniforms, I'll leave them here for you to pick up. Do you have communicators?"

"No." Muert shook his head stiffly. "We can't risk detection, and if anyone stumbled across our frequency, we'd be exposed."

"Very well. I'll leave you messages here, then. If you need to contact me for anything, write a note and leave it here. Just make sure it's vague enough that no one else will be able to figure it out."

Again, Muert eyed him for an instant before responding. "I am uncomfortable with all of this," he said. "I don't trust you."

Vultrel suppressed a sigh as he made for the door. "That makes two of us. Just keep Truce in your sights, and our goals will be the same. For now, keep rallying your people. We'll need as many as we can get."

He slipped through the door without another word and headed down a barren corridor. With the authorization of Kindel Thorus in his hands and the support of at least some of the Kyrosen behind him, Vultrel's chances of eliminating Sartan Truce were looking better by the minute. The next priority would be to secure a Vezulian uniform of his own; the less attention drawn, the better. Authorized visitor or not, he wasn't going to be able to keep his presence quiet if he had to keep repeating clearance codes every time he was spotted. A uniform would help lessen that burden significantly, and then he could begin to move against Truce. He only wished that he could get Mateo's incessant nagging out of his head.

### Chapter 5

The journey back to Terranias lasted nearly five days, but each day seemed to drag on as though the next would never come. Arus focused hard on his training, knowing full-well what awaited him upon their arrival. Excitement over returning to his homeworld was often drowned out by concern over what Kindel would do with the several hours he'd gained on them. There was a good chance that the people of Terranias would be wiped out before there was a chance to defend them. And it was all because of Arus. If he hadn't stolen the Lifestones from Kindel, the Blade of Kaleo might have remained dormant wherever Thorus had been keeping it. True, as Mateo had said, both the stones and the sword had to be recovered from his grip, but if any more souls suffered as a result of Arus' rash decision . . .

Mateo seemed to have nothing but faith and confidence in their ability to stop the Armada. He spoke of their mission to retrieve the Blade of Kaleo as though it were a simple trip to the market for some bread. Well, perhaps not _that_ easy, but certainly not quite as insurmountable as the reality seemed. Thorus had killed close to eighty battle-trained soldiers on Arynias as though he had been hunting trees, though the soldiers had actually been easier to cut down. He'd called forth tornadoes and sent lighting streaking wherever and whenever he wished, and now Arus, Kitreena, Damien, and Vultrel were supposed to stop him?

Vultrel. How the young man could stand there and argue with Mateo about the existence of the Maker after everything they'd witnessed was incomprehensible to Arus. But it was clearer now more than ever that Vultrel had not only embraced his anger, but enveloped himself in it, driving him to new levels of paranoia and irrational behavior. And even after learning that Kindel Thorus planned to destroy his home planet, Vultrel had refused to concede any wrongdoings, and instead chose to remain, presumably, with the Vezulian Armada. If Arus had ever clung to any shred of hope that Vultrel might recognize his mistakes, might open his eyes, might disown the power-hungry taint that he'd allowed to cloud his eyes, such hope was certainly as dead as the man who had taught them both the value of honor and nobility.

Returning home was going to bring back a lot of those memories, he knew. Hunting in the forest every morning, gathering fruit for breakfast, working on Master Eaisan's farm and spending every other free moment training. From memories of running through Trader's Square as a child, being chased by Katlyn and Melia— _I wonder what they would think if they could see Vultrel now; they'd always idolized him so_ —to campfires at night and storytelling at the Festival of Souls, winter snowball fights and autumn stargazing; all the innocence of his childhood was already flooding back to Arus, and how much more it would fill him with both joy and sadness when they arrived. But the anticipation was tainted by concerns over the implant and how the people would respond to it. Such technology was forbidden on Terranias, yet there was little he could do to rid himself of the bloody thing. Would the people accept him in spite of it? Would his mother? Fears produced visions of his mother shoving him out of his own house, demanding that he leave and never return. _I'm still Arus, Mother! It's still me! Please don't push me away!_

"Arus?" Kitreena's voice startled him. He turned away from the gym's viewport to see Kitreena at the doorway. The exoskeleton device had been removed from her wrist several days ago, and she looked as energetic and vibrant as ever. "Damien say's we'll arrive in about twenty minutes. Preliminary scans of the Terranias don't show any unusual atmospheric activity, so that's a good sign. Perhaps Kindel hasn't gone down to the surface yet. At any rate, we'll be launching as soon as we arrive. I'm going to go get my stuff."

"All right." He nodded, turning back to the window. Twenty minutes. The five day journey had finally reached its last twenty minutes, and Arus had no doubt they would feel like twenty hours. He was anxious to get moving, though why, he wasn't sure.

_Are you all right?_ Kitreena's voice floated through his head. She seemed to have finally gotten a handle on her telepathic abilities, though repeated attempts to communicate with anyone else had been fruitless. For whatever reason, she could only send her thoughts to him and read what thoughts of his were meant for her. None of that made sense to either of them, but then, Mateo had said there were things the human mind couldn't comprehend, hadn't he?

_Just a bit nervous. I know, it's silly. I've only been away from home for little more than a week; I can just imagine how you'd feel if you were returning to Lavinia._ That, of course, brought to mind her royal heritage on Lavinia. A princess by blood, her parents had been king and queen of Aerianna, a beautiful country on her homeworld. F'Ledro had murdered them, and she knew that as a person of royal lineage, she would likely become the next target. The thought terrified her, as did the idea of having an entire nation looking to her for guidance, support, and care. According to her, if she ever went back, they might try to force her onto the throne, and that was the last thing she wanted. Records showed that another member of her family—a cousin, she had said—had been given rule, and they'd been doing quite well in her absence.

It's all right to be nervous, Arus. We've got a tough job ahead of us, but Mateo says we can do it, and if the Maker believes in us, then we've got no reason to worry.

That, in itself, worried Arus. The fact that the Maker had all but revealed himself to them was incredible enough, but that he trusted them to go to battle against a weapon whose power was never intended for mortal hands sent the fear of Kuldaan running down his spine. Kitreena continued to rely on Mateo's assurances to console him, but whenever Arus questioned her about the things he'd said to _her_ , she had shrugged uncomfortably. "Doing what Mateo has asked of me is easier said than done," she had told him. "I can't just throw down years of built up anger and hatred in a single instant." If she couldn't even be sure of the things Mateo had said to her, how was Arus supposed to be confident in the words Mateo had spoken to him?

_Because you have the implant._ She answered. _And now you've got the amulet, too._

The Lifestone amulet. Arus patted the brown pouch on his hip as he watched the stars fly by. The power of the Lifestone was not a toy; Mateo had warned him of that. The thing would only be a last resort, if for no other reason than Arus' terror that it would drive him mad the way the sword had done to Kindel. For that matter, they had also been warned that whoever was to take the Blade of Kaleo from Thorus had to be of pure heart, or they would suffer the same way that he had. But who amongst them was pure of heart? None of them were perfect, least of all Arus. Who would be able to safely handle the sword? Would _anyone_ , for that matter?

Kitreena had returned without his notice, it seemed, and she took his cybernetic hand into hers. "Come on, Arus," she said, her voice soothing his ears. "Time to go."

Damien was in his usual stance when they arrived at the bridge, head bowed with thumb and forefinger cradling his chin, eyes locked in a distant stare through the viewport. The journey had provided him with much needed rest; his wounds had been completely healed by Doctor Nori's miraculous medicine. Now, refreshed and rejuvenated, he was as ready to as he could be to take on his brother. Not that he didn't have his reservations, of course, but he knew what had to be done, and he was prepared to fight with everything he had to give. "Good morning, Arus. Kit." He didn't bother turning to face them. "I trust you are both ready to face the day's challenges."

"As ready as I can be," Kitreena muttered.

Arus tried to sound more upbeat. "Let's finish this whole thing once and for all."

That drew a raised eyebrow from Damien, but he held whatever comments he had to himself. "There's Terranias," he said, pointing to the glowing blue marble in the distance. "The Armada's ships are already in orbit. We should be entering attack range within eight minutes."

Arus moved beside Lieutenant Meni at the sensor array. "Anything from Thorus yet?"

"Nothing yet," Harold told him. "We've tracked no transports going to or from the surface."

"He may have teleported down," Damien suggested, "but if so, he hasn't begun to affect the planet's atmosphere the way that he did on Arynias. _I_ think he is still onboard the _Black Eagle_ , and that makes me nervous. Why would he wait for us?"

"I'm willing to bet he wants to try to destroy us all with one fell swoop," Kitreena said, taking a seat at the diagnostics terminal. "How many ships does he have?"

Damien's reply was solemn. "All indications are that he's summoned every last ship in the Armada from every quadrant of the universe. Current scans put them at about fifty sizeable starships, including twenty starcruisers and thirty battleships, not to mention each craft's starfighter attachment. I've called in as many of our own ships as I could gather for support. The longer Kindel waits to act, the more reinforcements we'll have on our side."

The escort flanking the _Refuge_ had indeed grown; nearly thirty starships of various size and class had joined them, which matched a little more than half of the Armada's surging numbers. Arus marveled over the show of force—a war he might never had known existed if it hadn't been for Truce—and sighed for what had to be the thousandth time over the number of people who would die because of him. Kitreena had scolded him for that, saying that this conflict had been building for ages, but he couldn't help but wonder if it might have been diffused peacefully had he not gotten involved.

"Do we need to go over assignments?" Damien asked quietly. "We still have a few minutes to review if anyone—"

The lift door slid open behind them, and Timen and Nat entered, carrying a third Aeden soldier between them. The unidentified man was motionless; his head was covered by a black sack that had been tied at his neck. Dark brown boots dragged across the floor as the soldiers brought him through the doorway, and his hands were a sickly shade of white. Arus couldn't see his rank insignia's from where he stood, but Damien had a closer view. His eyes bulged at the sight of the three.

"Commander Naelas!" he exclaimed, rushing toward them. "What happened?"

"He's dead, Sir," Timen said, obviously reluctant to report the news. "By his own hand."

"What?!" Kitreena gasped, leaping from her chair. "How? What happened?"

They gently lowered the commander's body to the floor as Timen explained. "We were looking for him to ask a few questions about today's mission, and we found him in the library trying to send all kinds of sensitive material to the _Black Eagle_ from one of the terminals. I tried to ask him what he was doing, and he just put his pistol in his mouth and fired."

"By the light of Zo'rhan, are you sure about this?" Damien asked, his eyes glistening with fear. "Are you absolutely certain?"

"Yes," Nat said with a grim nod. "Unfortunately, yes."

Damien took a quick glance at Naelas' corpse before he dropped into the chair in front of diagnostics terminal and began tapping away at the keys. Arus shifted to Kitreena's side as they waited, exchanging nervous looks with both her and the two men. Her voice appeared in his head quietly. _Damien has a master login code for the terminals that gives him access to everyone else's data. He should be able to verify what information has been leaked within a few moments._

Do you really believe Naelas to be a traitor?

She didn't speak out loud, but the corners of her mouth tightened. _I wouldn't say it's impossible. Everyone has spies spread throughout the galaxy._

"We're in trouble," Damien muttered. "He's sent schematics of the _Refuge_ , damage reports from skirmish at Outpost Twelve, and it looks like he was trying to send today's battle plans when he was interrupted."

Kitreena leaned over the terminal beside him, studying the information on the screen. "Did he succeed?"

"I can't tell," Damien responded. "Look here. He notes in this one message that he hadn't received responses from anyone about his prior three communications. The time index puts the first of those three around the time that Kindel headed down to the surface of Arynias. If Kindel's people have gotten those messages, including today's, they've given no indication of it since then."

"Maybe they've been unable to relay the information to Thorus because of his . . . current mental state?" Arus suggested, looking closer at the terminal. "He isn't exactly—"

"Hold on a second!" Kitreena cut him off, pointing at the screen as Damien scrolled through the list of Naelas' previous messages. "Up! Go back up! There!" She pointed to one of the titles as Damien highlighted it. "Security Storage Safe! That's how they knew where we hid Arus when they attacked us at the Outpost! No wonder they got the key from Naelas so easily, and no wonder they knew that I had the other one! He's been feeding them information this whole time!"

The revelation had gotten her so worked up that Arus almost expected her eyes to start glowing. "What are we going to do, Damien?" he asked.

A growl of frustration came from the Zo'rhan. "What _can_ we do?" he shouted, slamming his fist down angrily. "We can't very well work up a whole new battle plan; we don't have time for all that. And if we back off, we leave the Terranias and all the lives on it in Kindel's hands. All we can do is go forward and try our best to adapt to the situation as things happen."

"Sir," Lieutenant Tears called from the communications terminal, "Captain Thomas Angeles of the _Stardiver_ would like to speak with you."

"Make the connection," Damien ordered in more of a grumble than a request. He motioned for Nat and Timen to remove the commander's carcass from the bridge, then pushed his chair back from the terminal and rose as Captain Angeles' voice boomed over the speakers.

"Damien? This is Thomas Angeles. My ships are falling in behind you now, along with a portion of the Belvidian blockade. We're ready to assist you in any way possible."

"Happy to fly beside you, Captain," Damien responded. "I trust you didn't leave Belvidia too unprotected."

"The Aeden High Council has ordered other ships to take our place, so they shouldn't suffer from a lapse of coverage for too long. Given what you wrote in your report, I think we can all agree that the threat we're about to face is the most pressing matter at the moment, don't you think? Let's wipe the floor with these Vezulian punks and go home."

Finally, Damien smiled. "I admire your optimism, Thomas. The battle is already won in your eyes, is it?"

Captain Angeles chuckled as he spoke. "I've got a month-long vacation on Geavaan coming up, and I don't intend to miss it for anything!"

"We'll do our best to make sure you get there safely, Captain. Damien out." He motioned for Merille to cut the communication line before turning to Harold. "Estimated time to arrival, Lieutenant?"

"One minute until we are within attack range," Lieutenant Meni answered. "Jindar has brought us right in on the _Black Eagle_."

Arus gazed upon Terranias, now a huge blue mass encompassing most of the bridge's viewport. The Vezulian fleet was larger than any he'd seen thus far, a varied assortment of craft in multiple shapes and sizes, each looking more powerful than the last. Despite their rather minuscule size compared to the girth of the Terranias, their presence almost seemed to cast a shadow over the planet. Somewhere down there, his mother was waiting. Somewhere down there, Keroko was waiting. Blind to the danger looming over them, they no doubt carried on with their lives as though the worst of their troubles were over. Had he been down there himself, he'd likely be doing the same, believing that what he saw around him was all there was to life. How little he knew. How naive they were.

"The Vezulian battleships are launching starfighters," Meni reported. "The cruisers are following suit."

"Form up," Damien ordered, positioning himself beside the tactical station. Tump, the round Svodesian with drooping ears, tapped away at the control panel as he issued his instructions. "I want a wide spread. Half-sphere defensive maneuvers." Tump's ears fluttered slightly at that. "Launch all fighters once everyone is in position."

Arus watched through the viewport as the Aeden starships began to gather around the _Refuge_ in a half-sphere formation that curved away from the Vezulian Armada. Training exercises in the simulator had taught him that this defensive technique helped to minimize the opponent's ability to surround any one ship, as well as maximize laser coverage in every direction. A half-sphere curved toward the opponent would've made for a better offensive strike, but Damien intended to hold off on that formation until most of the fleet's starfighters had been launched. Fighters entered space through the inner curve of the sphere, giving them plenty of cover to get into space successfully. An offensive stance would've not only enhanced their visibility to the enemy as they exited from each starship, but it would've made every hangar bay vulnerable to enemy fire.

"The fleet is in position," Meni reported.

Tump's gravelly voice spoke for the first time that Arus had heard. "Fighter launch sequence has begun."

"Lieutenant Meni," Damien began, keeping his eyes locked on the _Black Eagle_ , "have you monitored any atmospheric changes as of yet?"

"None, Sir. All readings are completely within Terranias' normal flow of activity."

"I want to know the second something unusual occurs, Harold," Damien said. "I don't care what I'm doing at the time."

"Aye, Sir."

Kitreena nudged Damien's arm. "When should we head for our ships?" she whispered.

"Not yet," he said. "Not until there is enough going on that a few fighters can blend in with the rest."

"Do you really think we'll be able to board the _Black Eagle_ as easily as you suggest?" Arus asked him.

Damien nodded confidently. "The hangar bay doors will be opening and closing constantly as ships exit and enter. As long as we can make it past the hull turrets, we shouldn't have a problem slipping through. You practiced on the simulator, right?"

For a better portion of the week, he had. The problem was that he'd never been able to get it honed to a routine; there was always something unexpected that came up to complicate things. Still, he'd succeeded more often than he'd failed. Hopefully, the simulator was as realistic as they claimed it was. A fine time this was to send him out on his first starfighter mission. "Yes, I did it several times." _Several_ was an understatement.

"Then you'll be fine," Damien told him. "Just keep alert, and always expect the unexpected."

A momentary flash of light preceded a small explosion as the first starfighter casualty went up in flames in the center of the battlefield. Within seconds, a barrage of lasers and missiles cut through the darkness of space in an eruption of colors and explosions. Aeden fighters twisted and spiraled as they hunted down their Vezulian counterparts, and the larger cruisers fired powerful streaks of energy into the midst of it all, incinerating any ship unlucky enough to find themselves in their paths. The first missile hit the _Refuge_ , sending a wave of blue rippling through the craft's energy shields and a tremor through her decks. Kitreena's grip on Arus' hand tightened as they watched, eyes glistening with the glow of each laser and the flash of each explosion.

The battle had begun.

*******

Sartan Truce idly fingered his beard as he stared up at the circuit panel. Lying halfway within the maintenance shaft below the laser cannon's new power generator, he'd been toiling relentlessly for days on the rerouting device, spending almost every waking moment on his back. It was a blessing that he was not averse to closed spaces, or he wouldn't have lasted thirty minutes in there. Then again, living in underground caves for so many years had served to dull many of the fears he'd had as a child. During his youth, he'd actually been _afraid_ of magic. Afraid! The mere thought made him chuckle now. Children were so naive.

He gazed at the device lodged into the open circuit box. A crude little thing, whipped up in haste from a basic concept that was flawed to begin with. When completed, it would focus all of the energy from the surrounding turrets into one concentrated blast. But while the new power generator they had installed was certainly capable of handling that kind of output, Truce wasn't so sure his rerouting gadget was quite as strong. If he managed to complete the design as it was, they'd likely be able to fire the cannon, but the power overload would probably blow out the routing circuit in the process. Still, a single shot _might_ be enough if aimed properly. If not . . . Well, risk had become a more frequent part of Truce's vocabulary as of late, and there was no way he was going to give up on the idea now.

A tremor rolled through the floor, accompanied by a distant blast. Screeching lasers could be heard in the distance along with an occasional explosion. The Armada had engaged the Alliance, or the other way around. Regardless, the battle had started, and that meant that the opportune time to destroy the _Black Eagle_ was nearly upon them. They would have to move quickly to be prepared.

Olock's voice came from the small room at the end of the maintenance shaft where Truce's legs protruded beneath the gunner's seat. "Boss, I can't find any. We're all out."

"Well, look again!" Truce snapped back. "There have got to be some spares somewhere."

"I'm telling you, we've used all the spares," Olock insisted. "The computer's supply chart shows none left."

Truce sighed and let his head slump back against the cold steel of the shaft. To come all this way only to be stopped by a few measly capacitors was ridiculous. All he needed was a single box, and he'd be able to have the cannon up and running as planned. "What about the other ships? Does the computer readout show if any of Thorus' other ships have spares?"

"I think so," Olock said. His voice faded a bit as he walked away from the shaft. "Yes, I'm reading two crates onboard the _Emerald Crown,_ and six onboard the _Black Eagle._ "

Oddly enough, the _Emerald Crown_ would likely be _more_ dangerous to try to board than the _Black Eagle_. It was among the more heavily armed battleships of the Armada, with twice as many turrets and missile launchers. "Board the _Black Eagle,_ then," he said, grabbing either edge of the maintenance shaft and sliding himself out. "Take a team and board her. Tell them we need supplies for repairs."

Olock's face whitened. "But, Boss! We're right in the middle of a war, here! How am I supposed to get to the _Black Eagle_ when—"

Truce twisted his lips in disgust. "We're right next to her, for Kuldaan's sake! Take an assault transport over, and you should have no problems. Just make sure to bring a few people to watch your back."

"I don't know about this, Boss," Olock said, shaking his head. "I mean, destroying Kindel's ship might have been a good idea a week ago, but we've got the entire Vezulian Armada surrounding us now. If we fire on Kindel—"

"I told you, we won't fire until we've taken control of the _Falcon Mist_ , which I intend to take care of while you're gone. Then, we'll destroy the _Black Eagle_ and gun the engines, leaving both the Vezulian Armada and the Aeden Alliance to settle their own differences. They'll be too tied up with each other to chase us down."

Though he was still visibly uncomfortable with the idea, Olock threw up his hands and shrugged. "Whatever you say, Boss. I hope you're right."

Truce smiled at his old friend. "Hey, I've gotten us this far, haven't I?"

Olock practically rolled his eyes. "I think I deserve at least some of that credit," he muttered.

"You can have all the credit you want," Truce laughed, patting his old friend on the shoulder, "once we are free from the eyes of the Armada. Now, get moving."

"What about Enzulia? I'm supposed to be the captain of his ship. He's going to wonder about me if I disappear."

"Like I said, I'm going to take care of him while you're gone. If all goes well, you'll be returning to a Kyrosen ship, not a Vezulian one."

It was getting harder and harder to make the man smile as of late, but Olock finally flashed a quick grin before he nodded and headed through the door. Truce wiped his hands on the grey uniform and followed, checking first for Vezulian patrols before entering the corridor. The hall was a narrow walkway along the outer rim of the ship where the external turrets were to be manned in the event of a battle. Normally, the area would be bustling with activity given the firefight going on outside, but Olock had declared this particular line of turrets inactive in the computer system so that no one would disturb Truce in his work. It had provided a nice private working environment for the past week, but the time had come to set their plans into motion. Olock's task would provide ample time to gather a few of the Kyrosen from the cargo hold and storm the bridge, and the space battle made for a perfect distraction. Thorus would never even realize that Commander Enzulia had been overthrown, at which point the constraints of secrecy they'd been forced to endure could finally be lifted. When Olock returned, they'd finish the cannon, destroy the _Black Eagle_ , and be gone before the rest of the Armada could even react.

A Vezulian soldier rounded the corner ahead, and brilliant crimson beam of energy burst from Truce's palm, knocking the young man to the floor. His own presence had remained secret thus far, though Enzulia had commented to Olock more than once that he thought there might be an intruder onboard. Random deaths such as this one were no doubt the cause of his theory, but Truce disposed of most as discreetly as he could. The soldier before him took the blade end of his belt knife between the ribs, then a slash across his throat. Truce stuffed the body into a supply closet and locked it, fusing the mechanism closed with two more bursts of energy from his palms. With any luck, the _Falcon Mist_ would belong to the Kyrosen before anyone discovered the corpse. A shame, but then, the fellow _had_ decided to join Kindel Thorus. He got what he deserved.

The gunners' corridors were built into the outer structure of the hull, and therefore did not have direct lift access. There were multiple entrances on each floor to that level's row of turrets, but one had to reach that particular deck before being able to access them. Emergency staircases connected every row at each end, providing Truce with a simple and quiet way to reach the cargo hold undetected. The descent to the lower decks was a quiet one, but given the nature of his intentions, detection was not an option. Occasional laser blasts collided with the shields just outside, filling the stairwell with a reverberating crash, but the majority of the combat seemed to be happening on the opposite side of the _Falcon Mist_. Whether or not the Armada was winning or the Alliance was gaining the upper hand didn't matter. As long as the ship held together long enough for the Kyrosen to make their escape, the battle didn't concern him.

The faces that greeted him when he opened the cargo hold's emergency access door were filled with a bit more despair than he would've expected, but then, for all they knew, they were going to die in the middle of the Vezulian Armada's war. Two fireballs followed by a couple of stabs of his knife took down the guards on the other side, and he threw their bodies back through the door before closing it. The dull murmur of conversation and music that floated about the Kyrosen quickly died as more and more began to peer in his direction. Some smiled—far too few, though—while the others' expressions varied from surprised to something that almost resembled fear. _I'm sure they're worried that I've come running with a pack of Vezulian soldiers on my tail._ That was understandable; he hadn't gone out of his way to make his presence known. But today was a different day, and it was time for the Kyrosen to once again embrace freedom. "My people!" he shouted, spreading his arms wide, "I return to you!" The resulting applause was far less than what he would've expected, but again, he considered their unease about the circumstances of his arrival. "Do not be concerned, I come of my own accord, unhindered by the actions of Kindel Thorus and his thugs. As far as he knows, I'm still locked up in prison cell on his ship, but I intend to show him just how wrong he is. And I intend to do so today. Who's with me?"

A larger number of men and women cheered this time; they were likely beginning to realize that their leader had returned to lead them to victory. Truce waited for their voices to fade before speaking again. "I need a group of about five to ten experienced soldiers to accompany me to the bridge, and an even larger force to spread across the ship. Who would like to volunteer?"

Slowly, men began to step forward, soldiers that seemed eager to escape the secluded belly of the _Falcon Mist._ He selected ten of them as his escort, and then directed the rest toward the now-unguarded emergency stairwell.

"Sir, what about our alliance with the Armada?" someone yelled from the crowd.

"It is done," Truce shouted back. "I never intended a long-standing relationship with Thorus, and this is the perfect opportunity for us to make our move. We are going to leave the Vezulian Armada in the dust, but not before exacting revenge on Kindel for driving us to the edge of extinction!"

That brought forth an even louder applause, though a good many still remained quiet. Nervous, for sure, but they would soon find that there was nothing to be concerned about. As the volunteers lined up by the emergency staircase, Truce began to instruct them of their duties. "I want twenty soldiers on each floor. Move quickly so that each level will have minimum warning as word of our actions spreads across the ship. Take the weapons and communication devices of any soldier you defeat. We'll use them to keep in contact with one another. If you need reinforcements, call for them." He pointed to a small brown-haired Kyrosen. "You. Your duty will be to grab a communicator from the first Vezulian soldier you fell and then head back down here. Once you've returned, the rest of us can send requests for additional troops through you, and you can send more men to the appropriate floor. All of you are to eliminate anyone who stands in your way, and send those who surrender down here. They'll soon learn what it is like to be trapped inside a cramped cargo hold like animals. Any questions?"

"Will twenty men be enough to take an entire floor full of Vezulian soldiers?" someone called out.

Truce grinned at the man's unease. "Have faith in yourself and your people. You are Kyrosen, and that gives you an advantage that most on this ship do not have." That didn't seem to convince him, but the soldier nodded anyway. "Be strong, be smart, and be swift," Truce continued, this time directing the instructions to everyone. "The faster you act, the less of a chance they'll have to respond. Any other questions? Very well then. Move out!"

A collective shout of acknowledgment answered as Truce headed toward the lift. A quick glance at those who had chosen not to volunteer put a bit of a dent in his confidence. Of approximately three thousand Kyrosen, less than a third had stepped up. That was disconcerting, but it was something that would have to be dealt with at another time. At the lift, at least, the men seemed anxious to be on the move. "All right, soldiers. Follow me."

The lift connected to the cargo hold only ran as high as deck twelve, at which point a switch to a second lift would be necessary to reach the bridge. The Kyrosen had been forbidden from using the lift without expressed authorization from Commander Enzulia, so it was no surprise that two armed riflemen met Truce's gaze when the doors slid open. The Kyrosen standing on either side of him eliminated them almost instantly with a pair of lightning blasts, and their bodies fell in smoldering heaps. The soldier's rifles went to their killers, and the pistols holstered at their hips went to two other Kyrosen. A long sword was latched to the hip of the smaller soldier, and Truce slid it behind his own belt. Two communicators were the last things to be taken before the carcasses were dragged from the lift. Truce handed one to the nearest soldier while latching the other at his waist. "Remember, collect every weapon and communicator that you can find," he said, leading them into the lift. The uncomfortable gazes of the remaining Kyrosen who had not volunteered their support seemed to cut a hole through him as the doors slid closed.

Their arrival on the twelfth deck put them in a corridor near the research labs where most men wore white coats and thin-rimmed glasses. The area was busier than Truce had anticipated, but his men erupted onto the level with a violent explosion of fireballs and lighting strikes that sent most soldiers scurrying for cover. Lasers eventually began firing back from the far end of the hall, taking down two of Sartan's men before they were silenced. Truce unleashed a flurry of energy blasts, scorching walls as often as he did Vezulian troops. They made their way along the hallway until they came to the second lift. There, they created an arc around Truce while he waited for the doors to open. "All right," he said, scanning the corridor. "I want the rest of you to take over this floor. I'll handle the bridge crew and Enzulia. Secure the deck, and make sure that you root out any and all soldiers that may try to hide away in tight areas."

"But Boss!" A blond Kyrosen with more fat than muscle on his arms shook his head. "Are you sure it's safe for you to go up there alone?"

Behind him, the doors slid open. "I want this deck secured," Truce said as he entered the lift, "but if we wait until that happens before heading for the bridge, we will have given Enzulia too much time to prepare. If I catch them by surprise, they won't know what hit them. You have your orders."

"Yes, Sir!" the soldiers responded.

The doors slid closed, and the lift began its ascent. Taking down a crew of less than ten people wouldn't pose a problem, even if he was alone. A simple energy shield technique could protect him from their laser blasts long enough to slaughter them all. Members of the bridge crew typically weren't heavily armed, though if word of the uprising had reached them faster than anticipated, it was possible that additional defensive measures had been taken. But even then, less than ten wouldn't be too much trouble.

When the doors finally slid apart, the sight that greeted Truce's eyes was the last thing he would've expected. Crimson was the first color he noticed, for it was the most abundant. Across the five stations of the bridge, every crew member had been reduced to a bloody corpse, their chests and necks and bellies slashed open. Beneath each body, the blue carpet was stained with dark black circles that continued to grow as the victims' blood drained onto the floor. Some of the terminals were streaked with bright red, remnants of each man's apparent struggle for his life. Most of them were either slumped back in chairs or hunched over their terminals, but in the center of the room, Commander Enzulia's corpse lay motionless, his head lying a few feet away where it had been neatly severed. A single young man stood at the front of the bridge, his hands clasped casually behind his back as he gazed though the viewport.

"Greetings, Truce," Vultrel said, facing him with a smile of satisfaction. "I've been expecting you."

*******

Muert put his head in his hands as the murmurs around him grew. Tensions were thick in the cargo hold, especially since Truce had made his unexpected visit. His decision to take over the ship had compromised plans beyond repair, in Muert's estimation; there was no way an uprising against Kyrosen's leader would have any chance of succeeding with Truce's supporters spreading across every level of the _Falcon Mist._ And though the number of Kyrosen that stood behind Muert had rocketed to nearly one thousand, those that remained loyal to Truce still doubled that total. Word of the rebellious grumbles amongst them had moved like wind across the desert, and just about every person in the cargo hold knew that an insurrection was being mounted. Only Truce's lack of communication with his people kept him in the dark, and now that he'd once again taken to using the Kyrosen to further his agenda, it wouldn't be long before he, too, was aware.

And then, Muert would be executed for mutiny.

Keilan remained optimistic as always, insisting that there were plenty who would defend him and his cause, but Muert didn't want to put others in danger to protect himself. Those were Truce's tactics, and that was why Muert had turned his back in the first place. If only he had simply taken Sienna and Keilan and fled from the _Falcon Mist_ as originally planned, he wouldn't have found himself in such a precarious position. But that was no longer an option. Like it or not, he had somehow become the head of a growing resistance movement, and he had a duty to those who had put their faith in him. If Keilan wasn't so stubborn, he could've at least sent her away with Sienna in a transport, but she was a Kyrosen woman, and she would fight to the end alongside her husband, no matter how bloody an end they faced.

"My dear," she whispered into his ear, "with half of Truce's followers spread across the decks, it will be easier for us to overcome those who remain here."

"Quiet, Keilan," he pleaded. "Please, my love, I do not wish to spark a flame that I cannot put out. I cannot put Sienna in such danger."

Their young daughter sat on the blanket behind him, flipping through an old picture book that Keilan had made for her years ago. She looked up at the mention of her name and smiled at him before returning her attention to the book. Muert had done his best to explain to her what was going on, and despite her age, she had already begun to show many of her mother's traits. Not only was she thrilled at the idea of finding a more peaceful place to live, but she had also demanded that she be allowed to fight alongside her father should it come that. Eight years old, and already anxious for war. It only fueled Muert's belief that these Kyrosen—Sartan Truce's Kyrosen—were not only an unhealthy influence on her, but a danger to all of the children being raised in their midst. He hated to think that they were raising the next generation of killers.

"We have one-thousand and fifty two Kyrosen at our backs," Keilan told him. "More come to our side every day."

Muert flashed a twisted frown. "I asked that you keep word of our intentions from spreading too far, and yet you've managed to make sure that every person here is aware. Have you seen the looks? The glaring, dangerous, hateful looks? I came back to bring the two of you to safety, and somehow we find ourselves in more danger than ever before!"

Keilan sat up straight, placing her fists on her hips the way that she did whenever she wanted to make him see his own foolishness. "You cannot ignore the numbers, Muert. If we had simply fled, we would've left over a thousand people to Truce's mercy. We cannot ignore anyone who wants to join us in our fight for freedom!"

"Why do they need us in order to stand up for themselves?" he retorted angrily. "We were ready to throw away everything we've ever known for the sake of _our_ daughter's safety. Why do the others need us before they can make that same decision?"

The tension in her arms eased slightly, but her face remained solid as a stone. "Sometimes people need the guidance of another to give them a push in the right direction. Every race throughout history has had prominent figureheads that they've looked up to and adored, men and women who set an example for others to follow. Sometimes people don't think anyone agrees with them. Sometimes they need someone to articulate how they feel before they can truly understand what motivates them. And sometimes people just aren't strong enough to take a step forward without someone to guide their feet. The point is, these people look to you as a figurehead. A leader. They see you as someone who knows right from wrong, a man who has identified an injustice in our society, and a man who can lead the Kyrosen to a bright and prosperous future. They've put their faith in you, Muert."

His shoulders slumped at that. "I'm just a soldier, my love. A soldier, and a husband, and a father. I know nothing about leading an army into battle."

Keilan's visage softened as she wrapped her arms as far around him as they could reach. "I trust you with every aspect of our lives, do I not?" she whispered into his ear, cradling his cheek with her hand as she spoke. "I enthusiastically agreed to wed you because I knew that you were a loving man and a capable leader. And while I have reservations about turning ourselves over to the Aeden Alliance, I follow you because I trust your judgment implicitly. You may not see yourself as a leader, my heart, but you are not only a leader, but a noble and courageous one."

While her compliments and love were greatly appreciated, none of it eased the burden of over a thousand souls that rested on Muert's shoulders. "I never asked to be put in this position," he muttered, shaking his head.

"Sometimes we are thrown into places in life where we never thought we'd find ourselves," she said with a grin. "But I am a firm believer that you can do anything there is to be done. If someone else can do it, so can you. You are stronger and smarter than you give yourself credit for."

A firm voice from the small camp beside them interrupted their conversation. "Do not think that we don't know what you two are scheming over there." Muert and Keilan looked up in unison to see Avrhen and his wife Tiane glaring at them from their blanket several paces away. A tall man with a sparse layer of black hairs covering his chin, Avrhen sat with his arms crossed and teeth bared in anger. His hair was combed sloppily across his scalp in an unkempt manner, and his vest was smeared with food stains accumulated since being hustled onto the _Falcon Mist_ alone with the others. He shook his head as he spoke. "Those of us who remain loyal to Truce will beat down any revolution you attempt to stir up. We do not take betrayal lightly, Muert. If the rumors about you are true, you will hang for your treachery."

Muert creased his forehead into what he hoped was a look of surprise, but Keilan's response was entirely different. "Don't you dare attack us with your petty threats, Avrhen. You know not what the future holds." That alone could've amounted to a confession of guilt—anything less than a denial should've sufficed—but the man only smiled wryly.

"I can tell you what the future does _not_ hold," he sneered. "Sartan Truce will not be removed from his position as head of the Kyrosen. This, I swear my life upon."

To the left, another voice joined the conversation. Marcile, a plump woman with long brown curls, waved a soup spoon at Avrhen threateningly. "Truce is going to run us into the ground! He's placed us at the mercy of the man who drove us into hiding, and now he carelessly throws is into battle against a foe whose numbers outweigh us by astronomical proportions!" She had been a long-time friend of Keilan's, and one of the first to support Muert. Her little boy Aaron was also one of Sienna's favorite playmates. Marcile wiped her hands on her long apron as she stepped toward Avrhen's camp. "Our only hope for survival lies in a change of leadership and a quick departure from our reckless lifestyle."

"So it is admitted, then!" another man shouted, leaping to his feet behind Avrhen. Denal, a short weasel of a man from F'Ledro's circle of friends, shrugged his vest onto his otherwise bare shoulders as he stepped beside Tiane. "You seek to murder the boss!"

The argument quickly escalated as more and more joined in, bickering and shouting at one another about loyalty and honor and the penalties for treason. Muert scrambled to his feet, and instinctively stepped in front of Sienna while trying to pull a shouting Keilan behind him as well. While her body obeyed, her mouth didn't stop until he wordlessly held a finger to her lips. "Please, my dear. The situation is delicate enough. Do not add another apple into an already overflowing basket."

"Look at you," curly-haired Tungas said, poking a thick finger into Muert's shoulder. Though he stood at least a head shorter, he weighed every bit as much, standing hunchbacked like an ogre without a club. "Trying to act like the peacemaker when you are the source of all of this! You come back to us with your brainwashed ideals and try to corrupt the rest of us, then play the innocent fool when things get a little too warm for you!"

Muert opened his mouth to reply, but Sienna darted past him, arms raised above her head. "Leave my papa alone!" she screamed. Spheres of light engulfed her little hands, and she threw them forward with a small blast of energy that knocked Tungas back a few steps. Muert scooped the little girl into his arms and turned to flee, only to be knocked to his knees by a streak of electricity from Tungas. That prompted Keilan to retaliate with a blazing column of fire, and the conflict exploded like a missile cache in a furnace. Another bolt of lightning shot from someone's hands, followed by a burst of flame from another, and a blinding bar of energy from yet another. Kyrosen began falling left and right, some collapsing from injuries while others dropped to avoid the projectiles. More and more the violence spread as the tensions between the two factions erupted into a bloody struggle for survival. It wasn't long before the entire cargo hold was in an uproar, men and women screaming obscenity-laden threats and wielding the forces of nature against one another.

Muert held Sienna tightly beneath his body to shield her from danger, paying little mind to the sharp sting of Tungas' attack. "Keilan!" he shouted over the commotion. His wife was on her knees beside him instantly.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, dividing her attention between him and the battle. "How serious is it?"

"Don't worry about me," he told her, "it's just a surface burn. Take Sienna and get out of here! Flee for the hangar bay and take the Aeden transport back to the _Refuge_ right away! It is the only way you'll be safe!"

While Keilan had always been an obedient woman, her heart sometimes overshadowed her common sense. "I'll not leave you here to these savages!" she growled at him. "They intend to skewer you and—"

There was no time for negotiating, and Muert was well aware of it. He grabbed Keilan's arm and placed her hand on Sienna's wrist. "Now!" he ordered, leaping to his feet. "Take her and go! Do not argue with me, my dear! I'd rather die protecting the two of you than live to see you murdered because of my mistakes! Go!"

He did not watch to see if she obeyed or not. Summoning all of the magical energy he could handle, he turned away and barreled into the crowd, knocking Avrhen flat on his backside in the process. Slithering bolts of electricity slid around Muert's body, accelerating and expanding until his massive girth was surrounded by a shield of energy. "All right," he grunted, raising massive palms above his head, "you people want a war? You've got one!"

*******

The air across the bridge of the _Falcon Mist_ was cold and still, an atmosphere ideal for killing and conducive to hatred. Anger bubbled beneath Vultrel's calm exterior, but he managed to suppress it with the pleasure of knowing that he had Sartan Truce right where he wanted him. All of the pain, all of the sadness, all of the anguish and remorse and regret, it would all end with Truce's bloody death and the destruction of the race that had plagued Vultrel's life with misery since he was a small boy. The Kyrosen would fall today, and the people of Terranias would be safe from their violent and heartless ways.

Truce showed no outward signs of fear, though Vultrel hadn't expected the Mage to drop his confident visage that quickly. "I must say, I'm surprised to find you here. I'd have expected you to be at Kindel's heels like the loyal dog you've become. But I suppose it was only a matter of time before he sent someone to retrieve me."

Vultrel only smiled at Truce's misconception. "I'm not here to bring you back to the _Black Eagle_. I'm here to kill you."

Truce took the news lightly, nodding with that obnoxious grin. "I see. I realize that you've been through much, but shouldn't Arus be the focus of your hatred? After all, he _was_ the one that killed your father."

"How I deal with Arus is for me to decide," Vultrel told him, stepping toward Enzulia's lifeless body. "The fact of the matter is that all of this started with you, and I intend to end it here and now."

"I don't know what you expect to accomplish," Truce shrugged, crossing his arms as he slowly circled the bridge. "Killing me won't end this war, nor will it destroy the Kyrosen."

Vultrel's smile broadened. "The first is a problem I'll deal with when the time comes. The latter is being handled as we speak."

The man's grin momentarily seemed forced. As if to emphasize Vultrel's claim, Truce's communicator came to life. "Boss! You'd better get down here! There has been a revolt, and now the Kyrosen are fighting amongst themselves! We have traitors amongst us! Boss, can you hear me?"

Truce's hand quivered momentarily, clearly itching to snatch the device from his belt. Vultrel said nothing, calmly easing his sword from the scabbard on his back. The Mage drew a long blade from his own belt and readied himself for battle. "What goes on amongst the Kyrosen is of little concern to you, boy. My loyal followers will squash any traitors while I kill you, and then we will ride off into the stars on our new starcruiser, compliments of Kindel Thorus."

"I hate to be the one to spoil your plans," Vultrel said through a wry smile, "but the only place this ship will be going is the scrap yard."

"And what makes you think you can defeat me?" Truce asked with a chuckle. "If I remember right, I was on the verge of gutting you before Damien's girl interrupted our last encounter."

A flourish of steel wrapped around Vultrel's body as his wrist rotated. "Your memory is biased. I was holding my own just fine, and since then I have been trained by two of Kindel's best fighters. My skill is leaps and bounds above what it was at Cathymel. Brace yourself, Truce. I intend to make this as painful as possible."

Steel clashed in a burst of sparks as their weapons met across the center of the bridge. A rolling succession of clangs followed, each strike connecting with such speed that their swords were nearly invisible to the naked eye. Vultrel held his weapon with confidence, adrenaline flowing, energy at its peak. This was what he'd been planning for. He would make his father proud. He would make Keroko proud. He'd even make Arus proud. High and low, he struck and parried, each attack flowing together with the next as his father had taught him, movements a blur as he focused on Truce's actions. The Kyrosen's communicator buzzed with another desperate plea for help, a call that Truce seemed uninterested in answering. Vultrel jumped over a low swipe from his sword, then a dodged a high stab. He grabbed onto Truce's outstretched wrist with one hand and slashed his blade out with the other, marking the man with a long slice as he yanked his arm free. Truce jumped away as he examined the wound, but the pain never came close to his face.

"I've drawn first blood," Vultrel gloated. "And it won't be the last." He lunged forward with his weapon held beside his hip, swinging it upward as he reached Truce. The Kyrosen spun to the side and wielded his own blade, cutting a gash in Vultrel's shoulder.

"At least you were right about _something_ ," Truce said, nodding toward the trickles of blood running toward the young man's elbow. Their weapons met again, this time crossing at chest level. Vultrel planted his feet and pushed against his opponent's blade, straining with all of his might to knock the Mage off balance. To his surprise, Truce took one hand away from his own weapon and held it out toward Vultrel's chest. "Never challenge a Kyrosen, boy. Least of all, me."

Vultrel dropped the floor a stream of flames burst from Truce's palm, sailing over him and crashing into the communications terminal. Truce didn't give him an inch, turning his palm downward and firing another magical blast of fire. Again, Vultrel escaped by a hair, rolling to the side before leaping to his feet and backing away for room to maneuver. "Leave it to a Kyrosen to ruin what should've been a fair fight," he grumbled.

Truce's palm was already facing him, but he paused for a moment at the comment. "We're both trying to kill each other, are we not? Murder is murder, regardless of how it is done."

"You use an advantage I do not have in order to push the battle in your direction," Vultrel shot back. "It is disgraceful."

The open palm turned into a single pointed finger. "You talk to me about disgrace? You, who turned your back on your friends and your planet to become Kindel's lapdog? Talk about hypocrisy! And why should I be bound by your limits? To restrict the use of my abilities would place an unfair handicap against me for the sake of making your task less difficult. Why should I make myself easier for you to kill?"

"We were dueling with blades," Vultrel responded, eyes thinning. "Not fire."

Truce only shrugged. "Seems to me that the only person who would benefit from a 'fair fight' would be you, and that doesn't seem very fair."

"Do what you wish," Vultrel finally snarled. "In the end, it won't matter."

"You were quite confident in yourself a short while ago. Now you ask for mercy. Perhaps you've realized you're in over your head?"

Steel flashed as Vultrel lifted his weapon and began to charge. "The Alliance wants you dead. The Armada wants you dead. Even the Kyrosen want you dead. Face it, Truce; the only person that is in over his head is you!" Their swords met again at the final word, sending a wave of numbing vibrations through Vultrel's arms. Over and over their weapons connected, steel clashing against steel as they circled the bridge. Truce continued to unleash magical blasts when he could get enough room, but Vultrel knew that his best way to avoid such attacks would be to stay close and keep the pressure on his opponent. Sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down his face, and his muscles began to ache.

Truce conversed with him as their swords whirled as though he was making casual dinner conversation. "You look tired. Did you sleep well last night? I say it's always best to get a good night's rest when I plan do battle the following morning." It was clear that he was trying to throw Vultrel's concentration.

But the young man was up for the challenge. "You don't look all that rested yourself," he responded, knocking away two swipes before extending his arm in a series of stabs toward Truce's middle. "Didn't you know we were going to war today?"

Sartan spun and deflected an attack meant for his legs. "I haven't been kept up with current events lately," he said, pursing his lips. "It's a difficult thing to do when you're trying to avoid discovery."

"I'll bet." Vultrel faked a motion as if he were going for Truce's throat, and instead brought his blade down across the Mage's knee. The tip of his weapon tore through the fabric, and blood immediately oozed through the opening. Truce grimaced and retaliated with a violent flurry of strikes and stabs. "Then again, I managed to remain hidden on this tub for the past week. Collected a nice stash of weaponry for your buddies, too."

"So you've incited these alleged traitors, then?"

Vultrel's weapon was knocked away once more, and a searing sting shot across his stomach as Truce's blade skimmed along the surface. The wound wasn't deep, but it was enough to make just about every movement send searing waves of pain throughout his middle. Still, he refused to allow the pain to become visible. "I don't know that I'd say I incited them," he said, keeping his face smooth, "but I certainly helped further their intentions."

"And why have these betrayers turned on me?" Truce asked, again aiming for his belly.

Vultrel deflected the attack and struck with a series of maneuvers of his own. "I'm a little vague on that," he admitted, "but I believe that they are upset with what you did to Arus. One such individual I spoke with was afraid that his daughter would be experimented upon as Arus and Anton were."

"I certainly would never _want_ to use one of the Kyrosen for my projects," Truce murmured. He seemed to be thinking aloud. After a moment, his eyes refocused and his attacks intensified, beating against Vultrel's weapon with impressive force. "But I wouldn't rule out the possibility during desperate times. The survival of our people is my number one priority."

"It isn't just fear of being turned into lab rats that compels them," Vultrel said, squeezing his hands firmly around the hilt of his sword as Truce pounded away. "They are unhappy with your ruthless and violent ways. They say they want to live as peaceful citizens, not the treacherous pirates you've turned them into."

The Kyrosen's eyes widened at that, and he gave Vultrel's weapon one more stiff strike before jumping backward. "Pirates? Pirates!? How dare they? Here we stand on the brink of recovery from the blunders of my old man, and they compare my actions to those of _pirates_? I have never acted out of greed or without good cause. Everything I have done has served the purpose of returning to the stars! I should send every single one of those deserters back to the Mayahol!

"You use people for your own selfish ambitions," Vultrel told him, relishing the moment to catch his breath. "You steal, murder, destroy, and devastate. You forced two young boys to submit to cybernetic experiments against their will. One of those boys is dead, and the other killed a countless number of his own people, including his master, before escaping from your grip. You have no remorse for what you've done, and you'd do it all again in a heartbeat."

Truce's grin had vanished, and his upper lip curled into a sneer. "And what makes _you_ so different from us?" He motioned with an open hand toward the bloody corpses that littered the bridge. "You are just like Thorus and myself. You clearly didn't feel that the lives of these crewmen were important enough to spare. And do you know why? Because your determination to get what you want drives you to go through anyone and anything in order to get it. That's how I live as well, boy, so don't try to act the righteous fool with me. I can see right through you."

Mateo's voice rang in Vultrel's ears like a trumpet. _All of the honesty and respect and love and nobility that your father taught you has been thrown away in your pursuit of your own selfish goals._

Angrily, the young man raised his sword and lunged, screaming so loud that his throat felt as though it might burst. Truce calmly brought his blade up and knocked the attack away, rotating his body as he did to swing a heavy boot toward Vultrel's face. The kick knocked him flat on his backside, and his sword went clattering across the floor of the bridge. Truce wasted no time, sliding his sword behind his belt and extending his arms to either side.

"Foolish boy!" The Mage's voice resonated across the bridge as winds began to kick up. "Deny it as you wish, but you and I are the same. We take what we want by force because the universe will never simply hand it to us." An orange light outlined his figure, and he brought his hands together in front of his chest. "However, where you refuse to acknowledge what you are, I embrace it!" Streaks of energy radiated from him, lashing out like serpents' tongues, sending sparks flying from the nearby terminals and leaving scorch marks across the floor. "I am Sartan Truce, leader of the Kyrosen, and I will never be defeated by a child such as you!"

Wind whipped against Vultrel as he scrambled backward on all fours, his eyes locked on his opponent in terror. The fight had been going well until he'd allowed rage to take over, and the mistake had given the bloody Mage all the time he needed to truly display his power. Another surge of energy from Truce's body exploded against the terminal behind him, and the bridge lights winked out, leaving the two of them illuminated by the orange glow of Truce's power and the dim light of the stars above. "You're going to kill us both!" Vultrel shouted, pointing toward the viewport. "If you aren't careful, that glass will shatter, and we'll both be sucked into space!"

"I am no amateur, Vultrel," Truce responded through his grin. "I know how to wield my power. Allow me to demonstrate!" He threw his hands forward in a powerful thrust, sending a beam of energy nearly as large as himself hurtling toward Vultrel. "Goodbye, you bothersome pest! Send my regards to Kuldaan!"

Somehow, Vultrel managed to scramble to his knees and leap between the tactical and communication terminals, rolling over his sword in the process. A searing heat grazed his feet as he cowered behind the stations, followed by an enormous explosion of flame and debris. Hot wind beat against the back his neck, and his arms felt as though they'd been baking in the Mayahol for ages. When the fires had finally calmed and the dust had settled, Vultrel heard Truce speak again.

"I'm sorry it had to end that way, kid. Fitted with an implant, you could've made an impressive soldier."

The comment registered after a few moments. _He thinks I'm dead! He must not have seen me roll out of the way._ That put Vultrel at an advantage, though capitalizing on it would likely prove to be difficult. The tactical terminal barely concealed him, and even the slightest movement would certainly give him away. _If I could somehow move without—_

He lost his train of thought as his eyes drifted to the center of the bridge floor. The impact of Truce's blast had cut a man-sized hole, giving a clear view into what looked like a relaxation lounge below. At least, that's what it had been before being covered with shards of mangled steel and other assorted debris. The room appeared to be vacant, and the explosion had propelled hunks of metal and jagged strips of steel through the red and blue couches. _If I can somehow manage to jump down there without being seen, I can sneak up on Truce at another time when his guard is down._

A beep from the far side of the room perked his ears, but he dared not to move. Truce answered the call on his communicator calmly. "Yes?" Footsteps seemed to be moving to the left, and for a moment, the Kyrosen came into view as he walked around the far side of the hole. He was heading toward the lift.

"Boss! We need help down here! We estimate that there are nearly one thousand traitors that have decided to take part in the uprising against you! With a third of the men scattered across the ship, we are barely holding our own!"

With Truce distracted, Vultrel quietly scooted around the terminal so that he remained hidden from view. The Mage pressed the call button for the lift as he responded. "I'll gather some men and head down there. Have they said why they are—"

A gut-wrenching scream from the communicator was suddenly silenced, and Truce solemnly returned the device to his belt. He stepped into the lift without a word when the doors finally slid open and was gone a moment later.

"Looks like Muert wasn't bluffing about his numbers," Vultrel muttered, pushing himself to his feet. Carefully, he walked around the perimeter of the bridge until he came to the lift's control panel. The data indicated that it had stopped on level seven, which he found confusing. The lift to the cargo hold was located on the twelfth floor, which meant that Truce was either not headed for the cargo hold, or planning something else entirely. Either way, deck seven was where Vultrel needed to be. "Don't think you've won, Truce," he said, the broad smile returning to his face. "Our battle is far from over."

### Chapter 6

The walk across the hangar bay was possibly the longest journey Arus ever made. No matter how much training he'd put in, no matter how much Kitreena and Damien had assured him that he was ready, and no matter how many times he told himself the same, nothing put a dent in his fears or eased the violent fluttering in his belly. Still, no amount of fear was going to hold him from what he knew he had to do, and there was nothing in the universe that could make him turn his back on his friends. Kitreena repeatedly told him that she believed he was capable of achieving anything he put his heart into, and there would be no shortage of heart in this mission. It was a fight for Terranias, his beloved home, and the people on the surface that he held so close to his heart. He would do what he had to do not only for the Alliance, but for Keroko, Asteria, and all of the kingdoms across the planet.

Arus gazed up at his starfighter in awe, surprised to find himself standing beside a full-sized version of the ships he had spent so many hours learning to pilot in the simulator. Despite flying formations and shooting down targets in a computerized reproduction of the ship, nothing compared to the impressive majesty of the actual craft, its wide wings resembling a bird's, the round cockpit mirroring the simulator's with flawless precision. Plated with grey titanium across the hull and equipped with four laser cannons and two rotating missile launchers, the fighter looked ready to take on the entire Vezulian Armada.

Kitreena stood beside him with an amused smile on her face as she watched his gaze go over the ship again and again. "I assume you like it?" she asked, visibly holding back her laughter.

"It's amazing," he breathed. "I feel like I'm standing inside one of my dreams or something. Knowing that the simulator is only an illusion dulls the excitement after a while, especially after being shot down a few times only to restart the exercise to try again. But this," he placed his hand against the titanium, "is real. The danger is real. The lasers are real, the enemies are real, the stars are real. The battle is real."

"Not something to be too excited about, in my opinion." Damien's voice came from behind the two. "If you get shot down out there, your career is over, along with your life."

"But if we win," Arus responded with a grin, "the victory is real."

" _When_ we win," Kitreena put in, smiling. "We've struggled against the Armada for far too long to lose here."

Damien nodded in agreement, though the optimism never reached his face. "Let's get moving," he said softly. "There are people dying out there."

As if to punctuate his remark, a series of explosions rumbled across the hull of the _Refuge_. Damien said no more, turning on his heels and heading for his starfighter. Kitreena threw her arms around Arus the moment Damien's back was turned and nuzzled her face against his shoulder. "Be safe out there, all right? If you get into any trouble, you let me know, and I'll come for you."

"The same goes for you," he said, holding her close to him. "Don't let pride keep you from calling for help if you need it. You're not perfect, and no one expects you to be. Be smart, and we'll get through this just fine."

She nodded and gazed up at him, running her fingers across his implant before cupping his cheek in her palm. "If there was anything I could do to reverse all that has happened to you—"

"Don't," he interrupted. "I don't think I would be who I am today if not for the things that have happened, both good and bad. Nothing can change what was, and no one can predict what will be. I'm going to worry about today today, and worry about tomorrow tomorrow. It's all I _can_ do."

She nodded and kissed him softly before backing away. "Take care out there." A sudden gleam in her eye reminded Arus of the day he first met her. "I don't want to think of what I'd do if something happened to you." The grin she flashed before turning away made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

With a final shake of his head, Arus climbed into the cockpit of his ship and pulled the glass hatch closed. He strapped on his harness and activated the communications device as the hangar crew initiated takeoff procedures. Just as it had in the simulator, the floor began to descend, lowering the fighter into the departure bay. When the sliding panels had locked together above, the bay doors began to pull apart in front of his ship. He'd gone through the procedure countless times in the simulator, but seeing his first real space battle unveil itself before him was both thrilling and terrifying beyond words. The first three switches beside his computer's flight screen brought both the stabilizers and main engines online, and once the craft had risen from the floor, the red switch below them retracted the landing struts. Preparations were complete. There was nothing left to do but . . . fly.

Gently, he pushed forward on both foot pedals, and the ship glided smoothly into space. He could see Damien's black and silver ship exiting to his left, and Kitreena's fighter to the right. Several more ships followed from either side, joining them in a diamond formation inside the half-sphere of the Aeden fleet.

"All craft, report," Damien called.

One by one, each pilot identified themselves and reported ready for combat operations. Several familiar voices had joined them, such as Rollock and Nat, and two Svodesian men named Tomba and Runk. Arus was seventh out of twelve, and he spoke in a clear voice. "Arus Sheeth here. Ready for combat." Doman followed him, along with Samas and Orchi, then a human male named Theisan and a female Thanai named Shinal. The entire squadron curved downward, moving in perfect synchronization. Arus had little trouble keeping up, recognizing each code transmitted and each formation commanded. It wasn't long before they were headed straight for the _Black Eagle_ , engines powered to maximum, weapons armed and ready.

The war that raged around them was larger than anything the simulator had ever reproduced. Across the stars, starfighters and assault transports twisted and turned amidst a glowing sea of lasers and explosions. It was as if there was no end to the fighters; each ship destroyed seemed to be quickly replaced by three more. The larger Vezulian starships were in the middle of shifting their formation—into what, Arus couldn't tell—but they continued to fire an endless barrage of lasers into the battlefield as they moved. The implant's sensors provided an unexpected surprise; Arus could track the location of every enemy ship mentally without even having to look at the starfighter's radar. That was an advantage he hadn't had in the simulator because the enemy pilots were not real and therefore did not register as life forms to the implant. And it was that advantage that gave him their first indication of trouble.

"I think we've been spotted," he warned, glancing into the space above. "Two squads of ships just altered their courses and are headed in this direction."

"I see them," Damien responded. "Keep heading for the _Black Eagle_. We'll engage them once they attack, but I want anyone who does not come under enemy fire to stay on course. Our priority is Kindel, and we can't let the Vezulian fighters tie us up for too long."

If the Aeden squad maintained their course and speed, they'd reach the _Black Eagle_ within ten minutes. The Vezulian ships were set to intercept in three. A battle was inevitable, though the Alliance fighters outnumbered them by four. That, of course, was provided that no other ships joined the fray. The bulk of the battle was still ahead of them, centered mostly around Kindel's ship and nearby escorts. As Damien took them closer, the threat of attack would grow substantially. Arus had practiced boarding an enemy ship plenty of times, but never against an enemy with so many starfighters defending it.

"I've been targeted!" Rollock shouted out. His ship rolled out of formation ahead of Arus and twisted back, cannons firing a barrage of lasers at the incoming fighters.

"They're on me," Nat's voice followed. His ship pulled up as well.

Arus didn't need to hear the beep of his computer's target alert system to know that one of the Vezulian fighters had set its sights on him. The implant continuously monitored the movements of the surrounding craft, projecting the paths of each. At least two would intercept with him if they continued on their present course. "Got a couple on my tail," he announced. "Breaking formation."

While there were several other rookies taking part in the battle, Arus was the only one to be piloting his first mission. Damien acknowledged the fact with a quiet "Be careful, Arus," over the comm. Arus clenched his jaw and fired his thrusters as he pulled the craft around to face the oncoming enemies. They were longer than they were wide, about half the width of the Aeden fighters with no wings and curved forward hulls where the glass cockpit hatches melded seamlessly with the rest of the ship. Palms sweating around the control stick, heart pounding through his chest, he targeted the closer of the two enemies and adjusted his energy shields to full capacity.

"Here we go," he thought aloud.

Enemy lasers flashed in streaks of blue and red through the sky, rattling Arus' ship as they beat away at the shields. Arus rotated sideways and returned fire as the Vezulian fighters split around him, their sleek black plates shining against the sun. They cut into tight loops in either direction as Arus pulled down on his control stick, bringing his ship around for another pass. Again, the ships exchanged fire, this time as Arus twisted in a constant spiral. One of the ships broke away before passing, darting away beneath the skirmish. Arus targeted the second and fired, successfully landing several laser blasts before the two passed each other again. Through the implant's sensors, Arus could see the second Vezulian ship coming around on his tail, and the missile-lock alarm went off. Without thinking, he fired the rear stabilizers and accelerated, driving his ship into a sharp downward turn. The fighter's computer showed the incoming missile on the radar as a blinking red dot, and it was quickly gaining. A whine came from the engines as he rerouted power from the laser systems into the thrusters for more speed, twisting and turning his ship. The other Vezulian ship came at him from above, and the implant made a calculation Arus could never have considered on his own. Without thinking, he eased off of the thrusters, bringing the starfighter to a mere crawl. Both the projectile and the enemy fighter gained quickly, the Vezulian ship opening fire the instant it was in range. A readout on the computer showed three seconds to missile impact. Two. One.

Again, he kicked the pedals to their maximum, and his ship rocketed away from the enemy lasers. The errant blasts that missed their target instead crashed into the missile, detonating it in a fiery explosion well behind Arus' starfighter. With a grin, he brought his craft around behind the Vezulian ship and launched a missile of his own, destroying it in a rolling ball of flame.

The remaining starfighter swooped around the blast and opened fire, pummeling Arus' shields to near depletion. Arus decelerated to allow for a sharper turn as the Vezulian ship passed, then shot after the craft at full speed, firing lasers as the computer tried to attain a missile lock. The enemy fighter twisted and turned in typical evasive maneuvers—nothing Arus hadn't encountered in the simulator—and was abruptly torn apart by a missile from the opposite direction. Another Aeden ship burst through the billowing explosion.

"I'm sure you could've gotten that one," Kitreena said over the comm, "but since we're in a hurry, I figured I'd help out."

"Thanks," he responded, resetting the power generator for his shield systems. "I'll be sure to return the favor if it becomes necessary."

"I need some help over here," Nat called suddenly. "I've got two on me!"

Arus tried to sort through the countless life signs swirling around on the implant's radar, but he couldn't identify which was associated with Nat. That left the starfighter's targeting systems, and it took him a few moments to cycle through the friendly craft before he found Nat's ship. It was heavily damaged, but still operable. Blasting off at full speed, he targeted one of the pursuing fighters and opened fire. Kitreena swept in beside him, her own lasers crashing against the casing around the Vezulian ship's engines. The fuel tanks ignited, blowing the fighter apart in an explosion of fire and debris.

"Nice shooting," Arus said, pulling over her ship as he targeted the next enemy. A missile sent it spiraling away in a crimson blaze, and he brought his fighter down beside Nat's ship. "How's it going over there?" he asked.

"I don't know if I can make it to the _Black Eagle_ ," he said slowly. "Even if I make it _to_ the ship, I'll never get through her defense in this condition."

"We'll cover you as best as we can," Damien said as he flew in above Nat. "It would be far more dangerous to send you back to the _Refuge_ alone."

The rest of the squad formed up around the cluster of fighters in a tight formation, resuming their course toward the _Black Eagle_. More fighters tried to intercept them along the way, only to be taken down by a few well placed lasers and a missile or two where such attacks failed. The battle intensified as they grew closer to their destination, and Damien ordered a resumption of the diamond formation as they entered the heart of the struggle.

"The _Black Eagle_ uses a docking system similar to the _Refuge_ ," he told them. "We'll need to wait until they open the doors to launch ships before we'll be able to force our way inside. Do _not_ try to blast the departure bay doors open. You will not be able to safely enter the main hangar if there is nothing to separate you from the vacuum of space. We'll have to—"

"We have trouble." That was either Samas or Orchi; sometimes their voices were difficult to tell apart. "There is a battleship moving to intercept us."

Arus had seen the ship moving in his sensors, though it appeared as a tightly knit cluster of countless white dots that represented the life signs of every person onboard. The trouble was that it was difficult to predict precisely what the massive starship's intentions were this deep into the firefight. Life signals swirled about on his radar like bees around a hive, and any one of them might decide to open fire. "How can you be sure they're coming for us?"

"Whether they've realized our intentions or not is irrelevant," she said in that calm voice the two sisters always managed to maintain. "Their present course takes them between us and Kindel's starship, and we will be forced to either pull back or fight."

The battleship moved with surprising speed for a craft of its size, its countless turrets and missile launchers pointed toward the approaching squadron. It almost looked like an enormous grey boat, complete with three supercannons in the forward section that measured nearly three times the length of the _Refuge_ and almost as wide. Arus couldn't fathom the amount of energy that would be required to fire such a laser, but then, he didn't really care to find out, either. More turrets, larger than the standard size but smaller than the supercannons, were arranged across the upper hull like archers atop a castle wall, poised to decimate anything they targeted. The first question that came out of Arus' mouth was clearly not what the rest of the squad had expected. "Can twelve starfighters take down a ship of that size?"

For a moment, there was only silence. It was likely that the others had been hoping to evade the battleship in some way, though the details of such were hard to fathom. With such powerful weapons at its disposal, they would have to fly a good deal out of the way in order to get around the craft with any amount of safety, and even then they would have to fight their way through enemy starfighters. There was no time for that, not with Kindel on the brink of insanity and Terranias at his mercy. If that battleship wanted to place itself in their way, then they might just have to go through it.

Damien, apparently, was considering the same. "It's not going to be easy, but it can be done. The weakest point—"

His voice was drowned out by a deafening whine from the battleship. A blinding red bar of energy burst from one of the supercannons like something out of a nightmare, tearing a hole through a nearby Aeden starcruiser as though it were nothing more than paper. The thunderous explosion unleashed a shockwave that violently jostled the starfighters. Arus gripped the control stick tightly as he fought to keep his craft steady, his blood pumping so hard that he could feel it in his ears. When he finally managed to level his fighter, his gaze gravitated toward the two smoldering halves of the wrecked cruiser as they drifted apart from one another. "That was unreal," he muttered to no one in particular.

Doman's words were solemn. "How many people were on that starcruiser, Damien?"

There was a long silence before Damien replied. "At least six thousand. At _least._ "

Just like that, six thousand lives had been extinguished. Arus couldn't help but feel at least _some_ guilt, knowing that the conflict has escalated to this level because of his rash decision to grab the Lifestones from Kindel. Nevertheless, what was done was done, and he again reminded himself that Mateo had said that getting the stones had been nearly as important as retrieving the Blade of Kaleo itself. It didn't help to ease the sting of having lost so many, but their deaths didn't change what had to be done, either.

The devastating display of force had certainly sparked fear in Rollock. "With that kind of firepower, they're going to tear us apart in no time!"

"Doubtful," Damien responded. "No normal power generator can contain that kind of energy on its own, not even the larger ones sold illegally on the black market. The only thing I can come up with is they obtained several such generators and rigged them together, but even then, a blast that big would drain at least two dozen generators to the coils. It will take them a while to gather that kind of power again."

Arus was still staring at the wreckage of the Aeden starcruiser when Damien finished. Finally, he asked, "So, what's our next move?"

This time, the response was immediate. "That battleship must be stopped."

While Damien called for support from one of the Alliance battleships, Arus took a glance at his starfighter's instruments. His shielding had fully recharged, and his fuel tank had only diminished by a quarter. Kitreena and Damien had been right; the simulator was a perfect match for the real thing. Still, the constant threat of destruction added an element that the simulator had never been able to reproduce. Not only that, but the ships he destroyed had been piloted by real people with real lives, and knowing that his actions had killed them tore a hole in his heart despite the fact that they fought alongside Kindel Thorus. That, perhaps more than fear, made the reality of piloting a starfighter much clearer to Arus. He'd enjoyed the simulator, enjoyed shooting down enemy ships, enjoyed flying missions against computerized enemies that tested his limits and pushed his reflexes. But there was no joy in downing real enemy fighters. He was killing people, to put it bluntly, and that was something in which he'd never find pleasure.

Kitreena's voice, clear as a bell, appeared in his head. _How are you holding up?_

I don't think I'll ever get used to killing, but otherwise I'm all right.

If someone can get used to killing, then there is something wrong with them. That's why we do what we do. It's our job to stop those people from hurting the innocent.

But that's exactly what Kindel claims to do. How are we any different from him, then?

Kindel enjoys killing. He revels in it, embraces it, and looks forward to it. His definition of innocent is limited only to those who bow at his feet. He claims to be a liberator, but he's truly an oppressor.

"All right," Damien's voice came back over the comm. "The _Stardiver_ , the _Azura_ , and _Crimson Twilight_ are responding. We're going to split our team in two here. Doman, Samas, Orchi, Kit, and Arus will accompany me to the _Black Eagle_. The rest of you will be transferred to Captain Grut of the _Azura._ He is going to send additional starfighters and a few assault transports to join you in taking on the battleship. Nat, the _Azura_ will be waiting for you to land so that you can get a new starfighter. I know several of you are rookies, but have faith in yourselves and in each other, and you will succeed. Are there any questions? All right then, everyone get moving, and good luck to you all."

The six ships ordered to Captain Grut's command immediately dropped out of formation and curved toward a starcruiser in the distance that Arus could only assume was the _Azura_. The remaining members of the squad tightened up as Damien went over the plans. "We're going to hang back here for a moment while the fleet gets into position. The _Crimson Twilight_ will likely reach the Vezulian battleship first, and that will be our chance. While they're distracted, were going to slip past as quietly as we can and make for Kindel's ship. But until then, we're going to try to thin the enemy fighter presence out here. Let's get moving!"

The Aeden fighters scattered as each targeted an enemy and opened fire, lasers and missiles tearing through titanium in explosions of red and orange. More Vezulian ships entered the fray, no doubt seeking to avenge their fallen comrades. Across the battlefield, streaks of red and blue cut through the darkness of space where the two factions struggled for survival. From the surface of the planet, the battle likely resembled little more than a meteor shower to the naked eye, and neighboring galaxies were no doubt unaware of the conflict, but whether or not they knew what was transpiring, the outcome of the war between the Alliance and Armada would send shockwaves across the entire universe, the rippling effects of which would be felt even on seemingly insignificant worlds.

Arus brought his craft level with the battleship once more as his lasers destroyed another starfighter. Without warning, a missile smashed into the front of his craft, sending a ball of flame and debris rolling across the hull. Fire encompassed the ship in a instant, and Arus knew he was finished. The cockpit heated immeasurably as flashes of memories and hopes and fears and regrets flickered through his mind like the rippling pages of a grand storybook whose tale had never finished. Unsaid goodbyes to his mother, repeated apologies to Vultrel, it all welled up inside him in the blink of an eye. With his arms raised to shield his face, Arus waited for the end to come.

It never did. When he opened his eyes, he was still in the cockpit of his fighter, though the craft had sustained considerable damage. The forward laser turret on the port side had been completely destroyed, and the mechanism that had fastened it to the hull of the starfighter was now a melted lump of metal. Blackened scorch marks covered the front of the ship, including the lower portion of the glass hatch. The computer indicated that the blast had completely depleted the forward shields and disabled the port lasers—that much was obvious, of course—but other than that, the ship was still in good condition. The shields were already beginning to recharge, and the starboard turret was still online.

It had all happened in such a flash that the others were only just beginning to react. Not surprisingly, Kitreena's voice came first. "Arus! Arus, are you all right?"

Next it was Damien. "Arus! Can you hear us?"

Then Doman, though he sounded much more relaxed. "That was quite a hit, young man. Are you all right over there?"

Finally, Arus managed to clear his throat and respond. "I'm fine," he said. "Lost my port cannon, but other than that, I'm all right. What was that? My ship didn't warn me of any missile lock."

"Could've been a stray," Doman answered.

"When a pilot manages to gain enough ground on a missile, it loses its target and becomes just a blind warhead that keeps going in a straight line until it either runs out of fuel or hits something," Damien explained. "Radar doesn't pick them up most times because there _is_ no lock; it's just a random missile."

_I'm just glad you're all right,_ Kitreena said telepathically. Even her thoughts sounded shaken.

_I'm fine, Kit. Don't worry about me._ He hoped he didn't sound as relieved as he felt; she didn't need to know that he'd been all but certain that his life was over.

Damien's report interrupted them. "The _Crimson Twilight_ is just about into position." Ahead, a large Aeden starcruiser was moving between them and the Vezulian battleship. The sight made Arus' hands shake; he half-expected the battleship to tear the cruiser in half as it had done moments earlier. "We're going to try to slip beneath both ships," Damien continued, "and head for the _Black Eagle_. The aerial battle is concentrated higher up, so we'll have a better chance flying underneath. However, once we get beneath the _Crimson Twilight_ , there will be no room for retreat, so it will be all or nothing. If anyone else has other suggestions, they are welcome."

"That is the best option we have," Orchi or Samas said. "Either side will provide less surface area to shadow our movements from the Vezulian fighters, and the majority of the battleships weapons are fixed to its upper deck."

"Agreed," Doman added. "If we just make for the _Black Eagle_ at full throttle, we may have a chance of making it."

"Then comes the obstacle of getting onboard," Kitreena muttered, "but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Damien's ship pulled back into formation ahead of Arus. "All right, then. Form up. Once everyone is back in formation, we're off."

Samas and Orchi lined up to Damien's right, and Kitreena joined Doman ahead of Arus on the right. Damien gave the signal for an arrow formation before kicking his engines back to full throttle, leading the squadron toward the lower hull of the _Crimson Twilight_. Lasers cut through space around them as Vezulian fighters attempted to pursue. The _Crimson Twilight_ derailed their attempts with blasts from its rear cannons, providing enough cover for Damien's squad to fly beneath the cruiser. The enemy battleship came into view quickly, its countless turrets firing away at the Aeden starship. The cruiser returned fire, and Aeden starfighters launched missiles and lasers as they flew in repeated loops of attack. Vezulian fighters poured from the battleship's hangar and into space, creating a towering commotion of battle above the six Aeden fighters.

"By the Maker!" Arus muttered, unable to tear his gaze away. "It's all-out chaos!"

"Focus, Arus," Damien said firmly. "We must concentrate on what we have to do, or the chaos may never end."

Arus nodded and turned his attention back to the job at hand. The squad flew beneath the battleship with throttles pushed to the maximum, and soon they were staring at the _Black Eagle_. The battle had thinned in front of Kindel's ship as many of the Vezulian fighters had gone to the aid of the battleship, and that made it easier to approach the Armada's flagship.

"There's no way the _Black Eagle's_ sensors haven't picked us up yet. They should start launching additional fighters any second now," Kitreena told them. "That will be our opportunity."

"Spread out," Damien ordered. "Choose a departure bay and line your fighters up with it. When they open up, make your move. But be careful; too much speed will send you crashing into the back of the bay. Too little will get you caught in the doors when they close again. You've all practiced this on the simulator, so I'm sure you're aware of the difficulties of this maneuver."

Arus followed the routine he'd developed during his time in the simulator, lining himself up with one of the departure bay doors and cutting his throttle to half. The _Black Eagle_ remained strangely silent for an unguarded flagship. The six ships approached all but unnoticed until a sudden wave of laser fire began to pour from its surface turrets. As he had during his practice runs, Arus rerouted his laser energy to the fighter's shields and slowly began to do the same with his engines. A flickering blue glow surrounding the craft each time a laser collided with the shield, every blast weakening it ever so slightly. As the ship slowed further, he put more engine power into the shields, adding to their regenerative strength in a perfect balance that kept the starfighter's deceleration constant and the shields almost fully powered.

"Damien, why aren't they launching?" Kitreena asked. She made no attempt to hide her nervousness. "We're getting too close."

"If they don't, we'll have to swing around and—"

The next five seconds may as well have lasted fifteen years. The doors in front of Arus began to slide apart, revealing one of the Armada's square-shaped assault transports. _That_ had not been something he'd ever encountered in the simulator before. Assault transports were both more durable and more powerful than the standard starfighter, but a great deal slower. Still, at such close range, speed was irrelevant. There was no time to ask for advice, no time to shout warnings, no time to flee. The transport opened fire immediately as it left the hangar, its four forward cannons pelting Arus' fighter with such intensity that each impact seemed to resonate through his chest.

In a panic, his thumb tapped the missile launch button several times, launching three warheads at point blank range. The transport tried to dive to evade the attacks, but it had barely begin to dip when the missiles pounded into the craft in a series of explosions that sent the entire thing up in a billowing wall of flame that engulfed both ships. Knowing he had to pull over the transport whether he could see it or not, he yanked hard on the control stick and then pushed it back to realign himself with the hangar. That was when the flames broke apart enough for him to see that the departure bay doors had begun to close. He panicked again, pushing harder on the foot pedals than he had intended and pulling them off of them just as fast. The fighter shot into the departure bay and screeched to a halt, its nose slamming hard into the far wall. A dull thud from behind told him that the doors had securely latched. Somehow, though he couldn't explain how, he'd made it.

And he suddenly realized he hadn't exhaled since the transport appeared.

With a sigh of relief, he set the fighter down gently and deactivated the engines. Blood surged through his veins with every heartbeat, and he nearly felt as though he might collapse on the starfighter's console in exhaustion. He couldn't fathom how Damien and Kitreena did this on a daily basis, though he knew he'd have to learn to manage the pressure if he wanted to be able to fight beside them. Until now, he'd only trained in fighting techniques and starfighter simulations; handling the immense stress and jittering nerves had never crossed his mind. Fear of being hurt or killed was always there, but it was never as real to him as it had been moments earlier. _I have to be stronger_ , he told himself silently. _Kindel will not have mercy on me just because I'm afraid. I have to do what must be done._

When he lifted his head from the starfighter's console—apparently, he _had_ collapsed—he noticed that his ship had not been raised into the main hangar. The doors remained sealed overhead, and there was no indication that he was going to be permitted entry. It was to be expected, of course. Why would the Armada invite its enemies onto the flagship of the fleet? "Is anyone there?" he called into the communicator. "Did everyone make it onboard?"

Just a moment, Arus.

Laser fire erupted overhead, along with distant shouts and the trampling of feet. "What's going on up there?" he called. Telepathically, he tried to speak to Kitreena. _Can you hear me? Is everyone all right?_

Suddenly, his ship began to rise as the overhead panels slid away. Lasers sailed over the ascending fighter, and shouts turned to screams as men died. The implant's scanners showed about fifteen life signals on the far side of the hangar, and one more quite close to him. As he surfaced, his gaze fell on Kitreena, who stood at a control panel beside the docking bay. Across the way, the others were engaged in combat against the Vezulian hangar personnel. Arus popped the hatch open and leapt out, drawing his sword as his boots hit the floor. "Let's go," he said, sprinting toward the others. Kitreena was right behind him, whip in hand.

They were spotted quickly, and lasers darted toward them. The implant drove his arms with precision, whirling the sword around to meet every blast. His steel blade rang with each deflection, sending a spray of sparks into the air. As soon as he was close enough, he began cutting down soldiers. Every drop of blood made him wince, and every scream of pain twisted his heart. Master Eaisan had never said that doing the right thing was going to be easy, but he never told him that it would be so hard, either. "If any of you wish to surrender, drop your weapons and kneel!" he shouted, hoping some would listen.

It didn't take long for the Vezulian soldiers to fall, and soon the Aeden fighters found themselves alone in the hangar. Not one soldier had surrendered.

"Is everyone all right?" Damien asked, grabbing a fallen soldier's pistol.

Arus shrugged as he surveyed the hangar. "How did you guys get in? They locked me inside the departure bay."

"Damien blasted his way out," Kitreena said with a giggle. Her finger directed his attention to a gaping hole of twisted metal where an intense explosion had blown the floor panels apart. "He managed to get Doman's ship up while fighting the guards, and between the two of them, they brought in the rest of us."

"Now, we must do what we came to do," Doman said, brandishing jagged knives in both hands. "Let's find Kindel Thorus and end this once and for all."

Damien peered toward the connecting hallway. "I don't think he'll be on the bridge. All indications are that he's shut himself away from the rest of the crew. And since we don't know where his office is, or if he is even in his office, we should split up into pairs and start searching. Samas and Orchi, you two go together. Doman and I will be the second group, and Arus and Kit will be the third. If you find Thorus, _do not_ confront him. Call us, and we'll come to you. Any questions?" Samas and Orchi shook their heads, while Doman simply said nothing. "All right then. Avoid detection as much as possible, and make sure to clean up after any battles. We don't need anyone tracking us. Maintain communication silence unless you've got something extremely urgent to report. Move out."

The two dark-skinned women nodded at Doman, who bowed in return. There was a silent exchange there, Arus was sure, but he had no idea what it meant. The ladies turned and ran down the hall, their bare feet making almost no sound. Damien gave Kitreena a hug and Arus a pat on the shoulder before he and Doman headed off. When they had vanished around the corner, Kitreena turned back to the hangar.

"There might be some clues in here that we can use," she suggested. "We don't have access codes for the terminals, but maybe one of these soldiers has a code on them."

It seemed to be as good a place to start as any, though Arus wasn't particularly happy about the idea of rummaging through corpses. And there were other factors to consider. "Are you sure we should stick around here? They probably called for reinforcements when we blasted our way in."

"It's possible, but we won't stay long," Kitreena replied. "Besides, your scanners will tell us if anyone is coming, right? We should have plenty of time to hide before anyone shows up."

With a sigh of resignation, Arus slid his sword back into its sheath. "All right, let's check them out."

*******

"Keep the pressure on!" Muert shouted. "Give them everything you've got!"

The battle between the Kyrosen had escalated to unexpected levels. Somewhere along the way, each faction had separated across the middle of the cargo hold, men and women alike fighting hand to hand along the dividing line. Magical bursts of fire and electricity and raw energy sailed back and forth over the skirmish, exploding with enough force to throw bodies into the air. Still forms of the dead lie everywhere, some covered with fresh blood while others had simply been charred to a crisp. When Muert had first arrived onboard the _Falcon Mist_ , he'd never expected that his desire to bring his wife and child to safety could've led to such carnage. As it was, he'd seen neither hide nor hair of his family since the battle had begun, and while he hoped that meant they had fled for safety, the uncertainty was eating away at him.

Though he would have preferred to be on the front line of battle, Muert's followers had insisted that he be moved to the rear for safety. "A leader is only good to his army when he's alive," they told him. He'd never asked to be any kind of a leader; that had been Keilan's doing. Still, her purpose had been noble, and she had a way of convincing him that her ways were best. How _this_ was best, he couldn't see, but usually when Keilan dug her heels regarding a subject, she wound up being justified in the end. Hopefully, this would be one of those times.

As he launched another arc of electrical energy over the crowd and brought it down upon Truce's supporters, one of his closest friends appeared at his side. Leuwin, an average-sized man with a scruffy beard of brown and a nose that looked as though it had been intentionally put on sideways, wiped sweat from his brow and needlessly brushed off his pants before addressing Muert. The combination of screams and cries and blasts and explosions forced him to nearly shout into the big man's ear. "Boss! We're doing well so far! Early assessments estimate that they've lost nearly double the men that we have. Karoth said that one of Truce's men actually tried to surrender to him before he died!"

"Died?" Muert repeated, looking back at Leuwin in shock. "No, Leuwin. Any who wish to surrender must be allowed to live! Murdering the defenseless is Truce's game, not mine. Do you understand?"

Leuwin looked momentarily shocked before he nodded in agreement. "Yes, Sir!"

"Spread the word!" Muert ordered, firing a series of smaller fireballs into the air. "Tell everyone up front that we will hear the plight of any who wish to walk away from Truce!"

"Right away, Boss!" With another nod, Leuwin disappeared into the crowd. The man had been close friends with Muert since before they'd landed on Terranias, a talented tactician and able to hold down more mugs of ale than Muert could even bring himself to look at. He was someone Muert had known he could count on from the beginning of the whole ordeal, and yet another reason he hoped the entire thing could somehow be brought to a peaceful conclusion.

"Sir!" another voice called. Muert glanced to the left to see Jarvaad weaving through the throngs toward him. A solid man in his late forties, Jarvaad had a black mustache that always managed to draw a person's stare. Thick as a cat's tail and reaching nearly the entire span of his face, it was a common target of his young son's hands. "Sir," he said again as he reached Muert, "there are rumors amongst the men that you have gathered an arsenal of weaponry. Is this true?"

It was partially true, though he hadn't done it alone. During the journey to Terranias, Muert and Vultrel had managed to collect a large number of Vezulian uniforms and laser pistols, along with an assortment of knives and swords. It wasn't nearly enough to arm every one of his followers, but some help along the front lines would be better than none. "It is," Muert answered, "but I don't know if I can get to them. They're on deck twenty, hidden inside the storage closet of an abandoned office. If I had known this whole thing was going to explode today, I would've made arrangements to have them available."

"If we can get you to the lift, do you think you and a group of men could retrieve them? We need all the help we can get."

"Maybe," Muert answered, "but I can't leave you all down here alone."

"We are soldiers fighting for what we believe in," Jarvaad told him, smoothing the long ends of his mustache. "Though you lit the fires inside us, they now burn without your tending. We can hold our own just fine."

Silently, Muert begged for a way out of the cargo hold. It wasn't that he wanted to get away from the battle—leaving his people behind wasn't exactly something he would be proud of—but he wanted to find Keilan and Sienna to ensure that they were alive and well. And even if he sent a group to retrieve the weapons without him, they would not be able to carry much without his large arms and strong back to shoulder some of the weight. "Get a team together, then. Inform me when you are ready."

"Yes, Sir!" Jarvaad saluted with a smile. He vanished into the crowd nearly as quickly as Leuwin had.

Screams pierced the air with every blast, and fires raged in several areas where crates and blankets had been set ablaze by errant streaks of flame and smoldering debris. The opposing sides had begun to merge as the fighting intensified, blending together where the front lines of each faction pushed forward. The soaring balls of fire and arcs of electricity began to diminish as more soldiers were drawn into the hand-to-hand struggle. The cargo hold was filled with grunts and shouts, cries and curses, blood and sweat. For every man that Truce's allies lost, they took one of Muert's. Soldiers were falling, Kyrosen were dying, and neither side seemed to be making any progress.

To the left, Jarvaad appeared again, his eyes meeting with Muert's just long enough for the two to exchange nods. The man stroked his mustache with a smile before turning toward the lift and screaming something Muert couldn't make out. Several of the men and women involved in skirmishes near the door dropped to the floor, and Jarvaad made a long sweeping motion with his hand, launching a wide wave of pure energy toward the standing troops. One by one they were sent skidding across the floor, momentarily clearing the path in front of the lift. Jarvaad's eyes turned expectantly toward Muert.

With one last look over the crowd, the burly Kyrosen started plowing his way toward the lift. Shouts floated in his direction as enemy soldiers spotted him, but he refused to take his eyes away from the lift. Jarvaad and his group of men stood in a half-circle formation in front of the doors, blasting away at Truce's followers so that the path would remain clear for Muert. A brilliant yellow aura to the right attracted Muert's eyes, and his heart nearly stopped as a giant stream of energy that almost resembled molten rock burst from the hands of a Kyrosen who sat atop one of his comrade's shoulders. Before Muert could react, Jarvaad launched himself into the air, arms and legs spread far apart so that his body might take the brunt of the blast. Instinct clashed with duty as Muert screamed out, arms reaching for Jarvaad while his feet propelled him toward the now-open lift doors. His fingers barely grazed the back of his comrade's vest before the churning energy engulfed Jarvaad with a thunderous roar. Muert screamed and leapt for the lift as the man's body was thrown into the wall like a child's doll.

When he opened his eyes, Muert was lying beside the lift, and the group of soldiers standing guard had expanded to surround him. Next to him, a burned and bloody Jarvaad looked up at him with wide eyes. "Go, Boss," he whispered. His entire body was little more than a smoldering and charred corpse, but he still had a few moments of life left. He visibly struggled to speak, watery eyes wincing with every word. "Free us from his reign. Allow us to be who . . . we really are, not the mindless killers . . . he's made us into." With an exhausted groan, he slumped back against the wall, eyes eternally staring into nothingness.

"Boss," a woman called from the wall of Kyrosen protecting him. "We'd better get moving."

"Right," Muert reluctantly agreed. He took one last look at Jarvaad before rising. "Your death will not be in vein, my friend."

Including himself, seven people piled into the lift. Muert pressed the button for the twentieth deck, and the doors quickly slid closed. The ride was silent as each member mourned not only for Jarvaad's passing, but for the many others who had given their lives thus far. Muert had hoped and prayed that such casualties could be minimized, but that had already proven to be wishful thinking. The only thing that would curb the bloodshed would be a swift solution, and such an answer didn't seem to be on the horizon.

The sight that greeted them when the lift doors opened on level twenty didn't help to lift their spirits. A group of as least twenty-five of Truce's Kyrosen, each armed with rifles and those in front surrounded by magical shields of electrical energy, blocked the corridor less than ten paces away. The foremost man, an old childhood enemy of Muert's named Axian, motioned them forward. "Nice to see you, Muert," the muscle-bound man said with an awkwardly pleasant smile. Dangling black hair ran to his shoulders, and his vest strained to fit over his burly physique. A long scar ran from his right ear to his mouth, and another lined his left forearm. "Word has it that you're the one who started this mess. You and that little rodent of a wife."

Muert's hands balled into fists, but that only caused Axian's companions to focus their rifles on him alone. "What are your intentions?" he asked, getting right to the point. The seven of them slowly exited the lift and lined up beside one another across the width of the hallway. "What will you do with us?"

Axian flipped his hair away from his face arrogantly; the man had always been overly proud of his looks. "As the leader of the insurrection, I'm sure Truce will want you kept alive for questioning. He's on his way down here as we speak, and I can assure you, he is most displeased."

"I'll no longer submit to his selfish will," Muert said through tight lips. "I'd sooner die."

"Then it will be arranged," Axian responded. Excitement coated his voice. "After the Boss interrogates you, that is."

Muert's fingers twitched as he forced himself to remain calm. Every urge within told him to blast his way through the man, but submission to anger was a trait of Truce's, not Muert's. The Kyrosen on either side of him seemed anxious as well, some openly sneering while others continuously glanced at Muert for instructions. He shook his head slightly in hopes they'd recognize it as a signal to stay quiet and calm. The right opportunity would present itself as long as they were patient.

Axian's soldiers bound Muert's arms behind his back and shackled his ankles, then proceeded to the same to the rest of the group. They were led down a series of corridors before arriving at what looked like a conference room of some sort, where they were thoroughly searched before being shoved inside. Two long brown tables had been pushed together in the center of the otherwise plain room, and seats with blue cushions surrounded them. Muert was ordered to sit at the head of the table, while the others were simply told to sit wherever. Once everyone was inside, the door was closed and locked. Each prisoner was guarded by two or three soldiers with the exception of Muert, whom Axian watched personally.

"You think you're some kind of hero, don't you?" the cocky Kyrosen asked, sitting casually on the table beside him. "Trying to liberate people from an oppression that doesn't exist?"

"You know as well as I that Truce went too far with the human boys," Muert answered quietly. "What happens when there are no foreign races to experiment on? Who will be his test subjects? Will it be us? Our children?"

"I'd gladly give my life to Truce if it meant that the Kyrosen race might live on," Axian sneered. "Some of us take _pride_ in who we are."

"And some of us see need for a change," Muert told him. "Plenty of races out there live by peaceful means. There's no reason why we cannot do the same."

Axian leaned beside Muert's ear and nearly hissed. "Peaceful means are for the weak. They try to avoid confrontation because they know they aren't strong enough to prevail. But we have always prevailed. We are strong, and we use that strength to our advantage! There is nothing wrong with that!"

Now Muert met his stare, eyebrows raised in surprise. "We've always prevailed? Then tell me, why is it that we were stranded on Terranias for so long? Why have our numbers dwindled as they have? Why is it that there are no races or factions out there who are willing to help us? It is because the Kyrosen have become heartless murderers, dishonest thieves, and merciless destroyers."

Axian straightened and turned away with a laugh. "You say those things as though they are a dishonor to our race! We are who we are because we have no other choice. It is how we survive. It is all we know. You have taken part in it yourself, so don't act so innocent, Muert. We are who we are, and you are the same."

"I was like you at one time," Muert admitted. "I'll not argue that. But I have made the choice to change my ways, to alter my path, and to lead my family toward a brighter future. The dangers presented to my daughter by her own people are astounding and terrifying. I cannot continue to expose her to this reckless and violent environment. I can't watch our people continue to drag the name of the Kyrosen through the mud. It is time for something better. Something more noble."

Abruptly, Axian brought his rifle around, hitting Muert across the face with the butt of the weapon. "It is you who drags our name through the mud, traitor. The beautiful sunshine lifestyle that you seek does not exist for us. We have been shunned by the universe for generations, and that is what forces us to do what we do. If Truce weren't about to order your execution for treason, I'd almost encourage you to go out there and try to make it on your own. You are nothing without us, Muert! Truce will show you what it means to be a true Kyrosen, this I promise to you."

"I'd rather die as a man than live as the monster that Truce would have me be," Muert responded calmly. Looking over the rest of the friendly faces around the table, he added, "We all would." They nodded in unison.

"That is one wish," Axian began, his smile returning, "that I can assure you will be granted." He backed toward the door as he spoke, pointing a threatening finger at Muert. "When I return, it will be with the true boss of the Kyrosen at my side. Be careful what you wish for, traitor! You might just get—"

In a flash, the door slid open behind him, and a shining blade burst through his chest. His rifle fell to the floor as he gurgled in wide-eyed agony, then he, too, dropped. The hall behind him was empty, but Muert recognized the sword lodged in Axian's back. It was one of several that he'd put in the storage closet for safekeeping. Some of Axian's soldiers began filing into the hallway and looking back and forth before heading off in one direction or the other in search of the killer. Before long, there was only one man guarding each prisoner, and Muert knew it was up to him to make the first move.

He stood with a roar, charging his fists with powerful energy so that the steel bindings around his wrists were blown apart. The act put him in the targeting scopes of the remaining guards, but the rest of his allies made certain that not a single shot was fired. They jumped from their chairs and loosed their own magical blasts, some of fire, some of energy, shattering their shackles in a sequence of flashes that seemed to disorient the enemy soldiers. The split-second of confusion during which Axian's men seemed torn about who to shoot first gave Muert's team the opportunity to go on the offensive, and they took full advantage of it. A few carefully directed gusts of wind threw the enemies into the walls, and a couple of stiff punches sent them to the floor. Muert instructed each of his soldiers to grab a rifle before he crouched beside the open door. The others followed his lead, gathering beside him with their newly-acquired weapons raised.

The face that finally came through the door was not the one Muert had expected, and he quickly raised his hand to signal the others not to fire. "Keilan!" he exclaimed, leaping to his feet. "I was so worried. Are you hurt? Where is Sienna?"

She carried a Vezulian rifle in each hand, and her face and hair were dusted with soot as though she'd gotten too close to an explosion somewhere along the way. "I am fine, my love," she said. The rifles clacked together behind him as she wrapped her arms around his middle. "Fortunately, I managed to get a few things from the stash before Truce's supporters found it."

Her words immediately slipped to the back of his mind as he repeated his second question. "Where is Sienna?"

Keilan glanced nervously through the doorway before whispering softly into his ear. "I cannot say for fear it may be overheard by the wrong person. But I promise you that she is safe, and I doubt she'll see any more of this bloodshed."

Not knowing where she was put a cloud over his head that wouldn't be escaped until he had her in his arms. Still, Keilan's point was to be considered. Whatever kept Sienna safe was best. "I thought I told you to find safety as well."

Keilan smiled at him as though he were the biggest fool in the universe. "I am Kyrosen, am I not? The other women are fighting alongside their men, and I intend to do the same. Besides, I knew that Truce's soldiers would start searching every room for Vezulian soldiers and weapons once they took control of the various decks. I wanted to try and salvage _something_ from the stash before they discovered it."

Now, her statement registered. "They found it?" he repeated in dismay. "We came up to retrieve what we could. Is it all gone?"

"All except what I've got on me," she responded, pointing toward the two daggers latched to the front of belt and the pistol and sword tucked behind the back. "When I saw them lead you in here, I made sure to grab an extra one of these from the guards outside." She handed him one of the rifles and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. "The others will be back soon, I fear. We must move quickly."

Without the weapons that Muert and Vultrel had gathered, there was little point in being so far away from the battle. The only thing to do was to take the weapons they'd recovered from Axian's men and return to the cargo hold. Poor Jarvaad died for nothing, it seemed. Muert sighed heavily and glanced into the hall. There were a few fallen bodies—Keilan's work—but it was otherwise clear. "I have failed our people," he said, motioning for his group to follow.

"You've failed no one," Keilan told him. "In life, there are victories and defeats. Things happen that no one can predict, and all you can do is adapt and learn from the experiences."

"How do I explain that to the others who follow us?" Muert asked, hugging the wall of the corridor as they crept toward the lift. "They are expecting me to return with an advantage that will push us toward victory."

Keilan grabbed his arm and stopped, turning him halfway toward her. "So give them something better." That devious smile that he'd come to fear crossed her face as she gazed up at him. "Give them Truce's head on a platter."

"Have you gone mad?" Muert nearly laughed. "We have no idea where he is, and the rest of the ship is probably under his control by now."

"We know he's using Vezulian communicators," she told him. "If we take one from one of the soldiers, we can try to track him through his communications."

Somehow, despite the deaths and the bloodshed and the murder, the reality of the situation didn't really strike Muert until the idea of facing Sartan Truce in battle became a reality. If he could be defeated, his supporters would have no pillar to hold them up, no leader to look to, no ideology to defend. At the same time, Muert's followers would be emboldened, driven to take what they'd decided to reclaim. If Truce were to be killed, perhaps his people might be coerced into surrendering. Regardless of the effect, the man had to be defeated by someone, and Muert wasn't so sure that Vultrel was a likely candidate.

Looking into Keilan's large eyes, he slowly nodded. "Head back to the cargo hold," he ordered the rest of his men. "Take what weapons you can carry, and tell them . . . Tell them that I'm going after Truce."

### Chapter 7

With the positioning of the battleship between the _Black Eagle_ and the rest of the space battle, the interior of Kindel's flagship was eerily quiet. Distant explosions were little more than quiet pops, and the screech of lasers and missiles had long since silenced. Still, many of the Vezulian soldiers had already launched starfighters while others were manning the outer turrets, and that left the hallways all but barren. An occasional soldier or platoon sometimes appeared, but for the most part, it seemed like the last thing any of them had expected was an intrusion. Thorus himself was nowhere to be found, of course, but then again, knocking on the door to the bridge and asking for him was not exactly a viable option. And so, they searched.

It was hard to say where Kindel might have placed his personal office. The interior of the ship would be more ideal in the event of an attack, yet the man had always been fascinated with the stars, so it was hard to imagine he'd have chosen a room without viewports. The upper portion of the ship would provide easy access to the bridge, but the lower portion would give him the peace and seclusion that he seemed to relish. There were too many possibilities to try to pinpoint a specific location. That left the Aeden boarders to comb the ship for clues, a process which Damien hated, if possible, more than the idea of actually fighting his brother. Walking around the ship in a random search while his soldiers died defending him would not have been his first choice of duties, but then, there were many difficult jobs that came with his line of work. Facing his brother in combat, for example.

"This seems to be a storage level," Doman noted, peering through another open doorway. Many of the rooms they'd inspected had been unlocked, though Damien's magic had easily blown through any latches that were otherwise. "More crates in here. Smells like spices, if I'm not mistaken."

"Arigine," Damien nodded, his eyes fixed on the far end of the hall. His nose had a way of picking apart scents that he'd never understood, though his mother had simply told him it was akin to someone having better than average eyesight. "I can smell it."

Doman dusted his hands and returned to Damien's side in the center of the hall. "Well, that does it for this level. Shall we move on?"

He said nothing, silently heading down the corridor toward the intersection. A Vezulian soldier exited a room beyond and, upon seeing the Aeden soldiers, reached for the laser pistol at his hip. A shot from Doman's own pistol eliminated the man before he could draw it. Damien simply frowned and shook his head as they turned left where the hallways crossed. The lift was the second door on the right. "What do you think we'll find on the next deck?" Doman asked as they entered.

"Got me," Damien shrugged. "I just hope we find Kindel before _everyone_ dies out there."

Doman nodded, his usually hard face taking on a solemn look. "Agreed."

The next floor was the prison level, which Doman nearly passed over for the next before Damien stopped him. "If there are any of our people being held here, we need to release them."

Like the other decks, the prison was all but silent. Most of the cells were empty, though a few held unidentifiable remains of men that had been left to die of starvation. None wore Aeden uniforms, but that didn't mean they weren't being wrongfully held by Kindel before they died. Around the corner, a long line of cells stood empty with the exception of one about midway along the hall. Inside, a beautiful Belvid female sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed with her hands placed flatly against each other below her chin. Her green skin sparkled against the lights of the corridor, and her deep red hair looked freshly brushed. She didn't seem to notice the arrival of the men. As soon as he saw her, Damien knew her identity. He had done everything in his power to reach Belvidia before Kindel, but when he'd arrived, he was informed that the High Lady Almatha had been abducted along with her two servants. The long white bands of silk that ran from her back identified her. "High Lady Almatha, I presume?"

Her eyes burst open as though she'd been startled. It seemed to take a few moments for her pupils to focus before she looked up at them. "And you are?"

The Aeden captain made a majestic bow. "My name is Damien. I am Captain of the _Refuge_ , a starship of the Aeden Alliance. This is Doman."

"So," Almatha said through twisted lips, "you finally come for me. I was beginning to think I had been forgotten." She rose with the grace and elegance of a swan.

"Presumed dead would be more accurate," Damien answered. "This is not an easy ship to board. It's taken an all out war between the Alliance and the Armada to get us here."

"The Aeden Alliance went to war . . . for me?" Almatha asked, almost sounding disappointed. "But such bloodshed is needless. I cannot be worth the lives of the men who'll die because of—"

"Not just for you," Doman said with a shake of his head, "but for every person on every planet of every galaxy who has ever been oppressed by the Vezulian Armada. We have taken a stand here and now, and when we win the day, the universe will no longer have to bear the burden of fear any longer."

Almatha's eyes shimmered as she looked at Damien. "Is this true?"

"That's the plan, anyway. Whether or not we succeed remains to be seen." Turning to Doman, he gestured toward the end of the hall. "See if you can find some keys. I don't want to risk blasting this door so close to her if it can be helped."

The burly soldier nodded and took off, leaving Damien momentarily alone with Almatha. She seemed to be examining him for some reason. "Your eyes say that you are happy to have found me, and yet your face . . . It is full of despair."

"I don't like what is transpiring out there," he replied. "Yet the only thing that can stop it is something I do not know if I can do."

She shook her head and whispered, "I don't understand."

Damien snorted and raised his hand. "That's all right, it isn't important. I'm simply having trouble ignoring my emotions. But I know that feelings will only get in the way here. On the battlefield, I mean."

"Feelings about what?" Almatha asked. She reached through the bars and took his face into her hands, gazing deeply into his eyes.

Something compelled him to reply, and he spoke before he could stop himself. "Kindel Thorus is my brother."

Instead of gasping in horror or jumping away from him as he'd expected, her gaze seemed to intensify, and she simply nodded. "And you don't want to be forced to kill him. Have you considered the possibility that killing him may not be required to end all of this?"

Damien furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

Finally, she released his face and stepped back, smiling warmly as she did. "When my sisters and I would have a disagreement, mother would always force us to sit and drink tea until we could come to a resolution. No one was permitted to leave until the problem was solved, which presented certain . . . biological problems, if you follow. It had a way of forcing us to resolve our issues."

Damien couldn't help but chuckle. "Forgive me, but I'm pretty sure that Kindel is beyond reasoning with."

The Belvid's wings fluttered softly, and the gem in her forehead twinkled as she raised an eyebrow. "Are you certain? You might be surprised how open to change people can be when fighting is no longer an option."

"Unfortunately, the details of my relationship with my brother are far more complicated than that. He pounces on every weakness I am not strong enough to hide, which is why I must subdue my compassion for him. I can't allow my feelings to stand in the way of what must be done."

"But your feelings might be the only thing that can get through to him," she countered. "How long have the Alliance and the Armada been at odds? How long have you both been fighting? Perhaps it is _because_ you put on an emotionless front that he sees you as a hostile enemy rather than a caring brother."

That brought Mateo's words to the surface of his mind. _Damien, you have long sought to remove emotion from your work, yet compassion and love are key ingredients in what you do._ He shrugged them off with a dismissive wave.

"It doesn't matter. He's gone mad, and no amount of words can reach him now."

Almatha frowned at that, tilting her head to the side. "Don't abandon hope, Damien Thorus. The bonds of family are not so easily broken."

The rapid trampling of distant boots gave only a brief moment's warning before voices shouted out at the end of the hall. "There he is! Freeze, intruder!"

When Damien looked up, the barrels of at least fifteen rifles were focused squarely on him. The Vezulian soldiers stood at least twenty paces away where the hallway turned to the left. Clad in padded black uniforms and matching solid helmets, they were clearly prepared for battle. "Hands above your head!" one of them shouted. Damien complied, though he had no intentions of surrendering. "On your knees!" the Vezulian man ordered. With a defiant grin, Damien slowly lowered to his knees, waiting for the opportune moment to act. The three foremost soldiers moved in slowly, fear glimmering in their eyes. His resemblance to Kindel had to be obvious; it was probable that his likeness was rattling some nerves. His height certainly added to the menacing air about him. Even kneeling, he was nearly as tall as the shortest guard. Two of them shifted to either side, and the other approached him from the front. The soldier's hand jittered visibly against the shaft of the rifle.

"You're afraid of me," Damien said plainly. "And with good reason."

His fists moved as lightning, meeting the noses of the men on either side before bringing the soldier before him to the ground with a strong uppercut. Immediately, he focused his energy into a magical shield around his body. Lasers began to fly within seconds, each disintegrating upon collision with the energy field. He stood and raced toward them, fire surrounding his hands as he extended them with a grunt. A white-hot stream of flames burst forth, incinerating two men. He whirled as he leapt into the air, swinging a boot around to send another to the floor. Mixed shouts and orders came from the remaining guards as they scampered backward. Lasers pummeled away at his shield, and the strain of sustaining it began to wear on him. They had to be stopped quickly.

A knife flashed and lodged itself in one of the men's ribs, and Doman appeared seemingly out of nowhere in a whirlwind of steel. Blades flew from his endless supply, piercing necks and chests while he cut down others with quick stabs and wide slashes. Before long, there was only one Vezulian soldier left standing, the captain of the squad. Damien released his hold on the energy shield as Doman disarmed him, and they both pinned him against the wall.

"Where is Kindel?" Damien demanded, wrapping his huge hand snugly around the soldier's throat. "Tell us now!"

Sweat poured down the man's face, and he licked his lips as his eyes darted back and forth between them. "I-I don't know," he stammered. "No one has seen him since he ordered us to return here."

Doman pressed a razor sharp knife against his neck. "Tell us the truth, or your blood spills!"

Damien held up a warning hand. "I believe it to be the truth, Doman. Put away the knife."

The big man complied, if reluctantly, and stepped back. "We need passcodes to grant us access to your systems. What are yours?"

"In-In that thin case on the side of my belt is an identification card," he said. His eyes squeezed tight as if he was either expecting death or disgraced that he was assisting the enemy. "My codes are imprinted on it. They won't allow you access to everything beyond what a squad captain is permitted, but it's all I have."

Doman took the thin plastic card and examined it before nodding and slipping it into his own pouch. The man's helmet came off next, exposing a bushy bowl of sweaty black hair. Doman's eyes turned to Damien expectantly. "I suppose that only leaves one thing left."

With a regretful nod, Damien looked at the soldier. "Thank you for your help. I'm sorry, but I can't allow you to follow us or alert anyone else to our presence."

The soldier's eyes widened as Damien clubbed his skull with a stiff forearm, knocking the man out cold. Damien lowered him to the ground gently, then turned back toward the direction of Almatha's cell. "Did you find the key?"

"I found several," Doman replied, removing several rings lined with various keys from his belt. "They were inside a locked glass case in what looked like a warden's office. One of them must open her cell."

"Good," Damien said, jogging down the hall. "We'll release her and find a way to get her back to the _Refuge_ before we get back to looking for Thorus."

"Do you think she'll be better off out there than in here?"

He pursed his lips in a dejected frown. The space battle was not exactly an ideal location to send a transport containing the High Lady of the Belvids, but then, given the options, it seemed to be the best choice. "The further away from Kindel she is, the safer she'll be. Come on."

*******

Truce's fingers rapped impatiently along the rim of the control panel. Olock's report had not sat well with him, though the situation onboard the _Black Eagle_ had complicated matters. What should've been an exceedingly simple task had somehow turned into a bothersome chore, but then there was only so much Olock could do on his own. Not that he was alone, exactly; F'Ledro had joined him with a group of his own friends, and while the shifty Kyrosen wasn't exactly gifted in the art of war, his talent for smuggling was unmatched. If there was anyone who could retrieve the supplies they needed from Thorus' ship without alerting anyone, it was him.

"Standby, Boss," Olock's voice came from the communicator. "There are a lot of supply crates here."

Truce frowned in displeasure. "Hurry it up. I could use your help."

With the exception of the two Kyrosen guarding the door, Truce was alone in the library on the fourteenth deck of the _Falcon Mist_. Upon hearing news that deck twenty had been secured by the rebellious traitors, he'd elected to make the library into his own base of operations. There were scanning terminals available there, usually used for research and study by cartographers, and that was all he really needed to combat an insurrection. Commander Enzulia's login codes would've helped a great deal, but the man's corpse had been incinerated by the blast that Truce had used to kill Vultrel. The head librarian's codes worked well enough, though. Truce could scan the _Falcon Mist_ for life forms and track movements between floors, and he could issue orders through the communicators recovered from the Vezulian troops. The majority of the fight was still contained within the cargo hold, but as was evident by the loss of deck twenty, the conflict had begun to spread. The whole situation was going to make the original plan of destroying the _Black Eagle_ a bit more difficult to carry out, but Truce wasn't going to be stopped by a few black sheep.

"This would've gone a lot faster if we hadn't been forced to lay low when that Aeden soldier showed up," Olock told him. "I assume they're looking for Thorus."

"Let them find him," Truce snorted. "They can eliminate each other for all I care. All I want are those capacitors."

"You said the inventory readout indicated they were in this room, right?"

Truce glanced at the terminal screen absent-mindedly. "Yes."

"We'll find them. I'll contact you when we're on our way back."

"Hurry it up, Olock. Our window of opportunity will not be open for much longer."

With a grunt of frustration, Truce returned his communicator to his belt. All indications were that the _Black Eagle_ was not prepared for an attack, especially not from an allied starcruiser. Whoever was in charge of the Vezulian Armada's battle strategy seemed to have placed a great deal of faith in the battleship they'd positioned in front of their flagship. But the Alliance was hitting it hard, and unless something drastic happened to push the Aeden forces back, that massive starship was going to fall. That would be the opportunity Truce needed, but with preparations still incomplete, he had to hope that the battleship held out a bit longer.

"Sir!" a soldier called as he burst into the room. A stocky man named Brent, he had been appointed as Truce's official messenger amongst the Kyrosen who had yet to acquire communication devices. "I have troubling news!"

"Great," he growled, shaking his head. "What is it now?"

"The second floor has reported at least five mysterious deaths," Brent said, nearly stumbling over the words. "Guards murdered by blade, it seems. No other evidence was left behind. The trail of bodies led from the hall outside of the crewmen's lounge to the lift, so it is possible the killer escaped to another level. I don't know how, but it would appear that some of Muert's men made it to the second level."

Truce shook his head, laughing in spite of himself. The boy had survived. Somehow, Vultrel had lived. If there was one thing that Truce should've learned from his years spent on Terranias, it was that Eaisan's blood was not to be underestimated. Yet again and again, he failed to give credit where credit was due. "No, it isn't a Kyrosen at all. Alert all decks to be on the watch for a young man dressed in black. If and when he is found, I want him captured and brought to me. Kill him only if absolutely necessary."

Brent's pudgy fingers scratched at the shaggy blond hair on his head. "Are you certain of this, Boss? A kid?"

"Positive," Truce nodded, turning to the scanning terminal. "But tell the men to beware. The boy is the son of Eaisan Lurei, and he possesses the same cunning talent as his father."

The Kyrosen finally nodded acceptance as he removed the communicator from his belt. "As you wish, Boss." He spoke into the device as he raced back toward the door, his thick legs moving as fast as could be expected for a man of his build. "Attention all Kyrosen, I have orders from the Boss. A young man named Vultrel Lurei has been sighted on level . . ." His voice faded through the door.

Truce clenched his teeth and pounded the top of the terminal with his fist in frustration. "I can be just as foolish as my enemies, sometimes," he muttered. "No matter. With my men spreading across this ship like a plague, it won't be long before that child is in shackles, pleading for his life at my feet."

*******

Kitreena watched as Arus wiped fresh blood from his sword for what seemed like the millionth time before he moved to join her in the lift. It was clear that he hadn't gotten used to killing just yet, though admittedly she wished she could share that feeling. The fact that she was able to murder soldiers, regardless of their allegiance, without hesitation or remorse was something of which she was both proud and ashamed. While it was true that the men she killed were criminals that posed a danger to the peaceful races of the universe, it didn't change the fact that they were people, men and women with lives and families and hopes and dreams. If she could give them second chances, _she_ probably wouldn't, but in her heart she knew they deserved it. Everyone did. It was a conflict of emotion and morality that had been raging inside of her since the day she'd met Arus.

The ride in the lift was silent; neither enjoyed what they were doing. There was satisfaction in knowing that their actions were helping to save millions of innocent lives, but any joy that might have come from that eroded away with each killing stroke. The preservation of life was the driving force behind everything the Aeden Alliance did, yet the pursuit of that had seen many lives ended in the process. It was a tragic irony that could not be helped. Negotiations were certainly not an option. Damien had been trying to talk his brother away from the path he'd chosen for hundreds of years without success. And now, with the Blade of Kaleo twisting his mind, no amount of reason would ever get through to him.

The two stepped onto the next deck cautiously, weapons drawn and ears alert. The halls on this level stood several paces higher than on the previous floors. Kitreena could hear far more than Arus could, but nothing seemed to indicate any enemy soldiers within a considerable radius. When she activated the door to the first room, she was greeted by a mix of neatly stacked and lazily piled crates. "Storage," she muttered, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Damien said that he and Doman already checked the storage levels, didn't they?"

Arus nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the end of the corridor. "Yes. They didn't anything useful."

Kitreena backed away from the door to let it close. "Then I doubt we'll find different. Anything on your scanners?"

"Looks like a few scattered patrolmen," he said, pointing to the left. "Around that corner and past a split in the hall. There are also several readings coming from one of the larger rooms near the center of the level."

"I wonder what they're looking for." There was certainly no shortage of weaponry across the ship. Every corpse carried at least a pistol, and most guards were also equipped with rifles. "Rations? Energy cells?"

Arus shrugged. "I suppose those laser rifles won't last forever. The probably need to recharge. Either way, there is nothing on this floor of value to us."

"Right," she agreed, turning back toward the lift. "We'll move onto the next level and—" A voice perked her ears, so faint that it took her a few moments to realize that it had come from the distant corridors. Arus hadn't heard it, of course; his ears weren't as sensitive as her own. It was the voice that had haunted her memories for years, terrorizing her dreams until they became nightmares. How or why he'd come to the _Black Eagle_ , she couldn't fathom, but the fact that he was here was enough to make her alter their plans. She looked over her shoulder toward the end of the hallway with a grin of excitement.

"What is it?" Arus asked, following her eyes. "What do you see?"

"Not see," he responded. " _Hear_. I hear him."

Arus scrunched his eyebrows. "Who?"

"F'Ledro."

Before he could say anything, she was off, tracking the sound of the Kyrosen's voice like an animal following the scent of its prey. Each foot touched the floor just long enough to push off again, propelling her down the corridor in a streak of blue. Arus' boots echoed behind her, indicating that he'd either decided to come along or intended to stop her. He said nothing, which seemed to suggest that he had no objections, but then he had proven to be difficult to read in the past. _Do you intend to stand in my way? You know what must be done, don't you?_

His response was clear as crystal, though not quite what she'd hoped to hear. _I know what must be done. He must be arrested and handed over to the people of Aerianna—your people—for sentencing._

"Are you mad?" she asked aloud without looking back. "What if he escapes or—"

She nearly ran over a small Vezulian soldier as he exited a washroom. Beady eyes widened at the sight of her, and he grabbed for the pistol at his side. Kitreena pulled her whip back as she ran past, preparing to snap the weapon from the man's hand, but Arus beat her to him, bringing the hilt of his own weapon down on his head with a dull clunk. The soldier's eyes rolled back as he fell to the floor. The two never stopped running.

"Kitreena, killing F'Ledro will not solve your problems," Arus called to her. "It won't get rid of your pain, and it won't help to quell your anger."

"We've killed so many soldiers already," she countered. "What's one more?"

"Those men forced us to kill them in self-defense. If any had given us the chance to take them into custody, I would've jumped on it."

"And what if F'Ledro forces us to kill him?"

"What if he doesn't?"

She twisted her lips in frustration. "F'Ledro would never surrender to us, Arus. He may be a coward, but he's still a Kyrosen."

"That's not for you to decide, Kit," he told her as they rounded another corner. Vezulian lasers streaked toward them, but Arus' sensors had already picked them up. There were three soldiers at the far end of the hall, rifles firing a continuous stream of shots. Arus leapt in front of her with a flash of his blade, deflecting each shot with precision only a machine could duplicate. They came up on the enemy soldiers quickly, and his boot knocked the first to the ground while careful snaps from Kitreena's whip swept the legs of the other two away. They slipped past the fallen men and continued running, pausing for nothing until she had tracked the voice to its origin.

They came to a long section of the hall where there was but a single door, wide enough for large cargo to be loaded and tall enough that Damien would have had to stand on his own shoulders three times before he'd be within reach of the top. Not surprisingly, it was guarded by two Kyrosen. A swift punch from Arus' artificial arm took one down while Kitreena's whip lashed against the other's face. He dropped to the floor, clutching his head in agony. Arus opened the doors, and they quietly entered the enormous storage room. A large stack of titanium cases stood more than halfway toward the ceiling just a few paces away. Arus and Kitreena crouched against them with their backs pressed to the cold metal and listened.

Immediately, F'Ledro's voice filled Kitreena's ears, though he was somewhere to the distant right. "Who was that?" he asked. He was nearly whispering, but Kitreena could hear every word. "Jenkin, go find out who just opened the doors." Footsteps followed. Footsteps that seemed to be drawing nearer.

"Arus, this way," Kitreena whispered, motioning for him to follow her to the left side of the cargo stack. Around the corner, the black garb of a Kyrosen's back appeared briefly before vanishing behind the far side. He hadn't looked to be armed, but then again, Kyrosen were skilled users of magic. They were _always_ armed. "How many men are in here?"

"Four," Arus replied. "It looks like there are two patrols and two men together in the far right corner."

"One of those two is F'Ledro," she told him. "His voice is coming from that direction."

"Let me take point," he said, returning his sword to its sheath. "There are several cargo stacks between us, and I can navigate through them without crossing paths with either of the patrolmen."

Kitreena agreed and followed him quietly, weaving in an out of crates and boxes and stacks marked with a variety of labels that listed everything from food and clothing to weapons and other assorted munitions. He paused multiple times, no doubt in response to the movements of the Kyrosen, but it was never long before they were on the move again, making their way toward the far end of the room. Solid black shelves of metal lined the rear wall, each topped with an assortment of small cases and crates. Some were opened and overturned, and a variety of electronic gadgets and pieces were scattered about, suggesting that someone had been rummaging through the supplies in a frantic search.

It wasn't until Arus noted that they were closing in on F'Ledro and his unknown comrade that a voice shouted out over the expanse of the storage room. "The guards are down! Someone has infiltrated the area! We may have an intruder in our midst!"

He spared Kitreena an uneasy look. "I suppose we should've expected that. We have to move quickly."

They rounded another corner and crawled past a pile of large satchels filled with grain, passed two more stacks of wooden crates, these piled three high so that they barely reached above Arus' head, and made one more turn before Arus raised a hand. "They're around the corner," he whispered.

F'Ledro's words were clear as crystal now, as were his companion's. "I'm telling you, we've got to get out of here and come back when it is safer! I have no intentions of letting myself be taken prisoner by Kindel Thorus!"

"Hey, I think I've found them! Here they are!" That was the second voice. Olock's voice. "Great, then let's get moving. The sooner we're out of here, the better."

Olock seemed to be in no hurry to flee. "Would you relax? We're Kyrosen. We can handle a few Vezulian dogs."

Kitreena couldn't stop herself. She jumped around the corner, cracking her whip in the process, and snarled, "What about an Aeden tiger?"

Olock looked up from the small black case in his hands and frowned, looking neither startled nor afraid. F'Ledro stood a few paces away beside a waist-high crate of wood. His skin made paper seem colorful. "Y-You? How did you get here?"

Arus stepped out beside her, and Olock's complexion suddenly matched F'Ledro's. "If the two of you surrender to us now, no harm will come to you," the young man told them. "I cannot guarantee the same should you try to run."

Despite the obvious fear in his face, Olock tucked the case under his arm and spoke with the steady voice of a nobleman. "Kyrosen do not surrender," he said plainly. "I would think that you, of all people, would know this, Arus."

"And I would think that you would know what I am capable of," Arus responded just as calmly. "Give it up, Olock. Anything other than surrender will likely end with your deaths." As much as she didn't to admit it, that suggestion made Kitreena's heart leap.

Olock tilted his head and smiled in his own twisted way. "You think I don't remember? You and I have dueled before, back in your village. You had trouble keeping up, and I wasn't even showing you a quarter of what I am capable of. In a real duel between us, I would tear you limb from limb."

Kitreena ground her teeth. "I would love to see—"

Arus' sword appeared inches from her face as F'Ledro's weapon fired, and a burst of sparks showered over her. Had the boy's blade been stopped a fraction higher, the laser surely would've killed her. That set Kitreena's blood ablaze, and she morphed with a scream that shook the walls and rattled the floor. Her body was encompassed by a blanket of white, pale hair billowing behind her like a raging inferno. Crimson light outlined her form, and she could feel that strange pain of the energy surging through her, a sensation that was both thrilling and exhausting. As Damien had predicted, the transformation seemed to be easier this time. Briefly, she thought that she might finally be learning to control her emotions, but as soon as her gaze focused on F'Ledro, she knew that was anything but true. She very nearly dashed forward to tear his throat out when two voices from behind stopped her.

"Freeze! Stay right where you are!"

Without even turning around, she knew it was the other two Kyrosen. Kitreena tilted her head just far enough to make eye contact with Arus, who nodded. _They are about four or five paces behind us,_ his voice told her. A smile formed on her lips, though it was likely shrouded by the white light surrounding her body. Together, they lunged backward as they turned, Arus swinging his sword and Kitreena hurling a streak of white-hot flame. Both Kyrosen dropped to avoid the attacks and responded with fiery blasts of their own. This time it was Kitreena's turn to protect Arus, and though she wasn't sure _how_ she did it, she extended her energy in a sphere around them both, absorbing the Kyrosen's fireballs before they could find their targets. Then, with a bone-chilling roar, she threw her hands forward, channeling the energy from the shield along her arms and into her palms where it exploded in two streaks of oozing green light that threw the Kyrosen soldiers into the air. Their bodies crashed through a stack of wooden crates, burying both in mess of wood and splinters.

"They're running." Arus said with a sigh.

His statement didn't click in her mind until she turned around. F'Ledro and Olock were gone, presumably having climbed over the heavy black cases on the right. Arus sheathed his sword and motioned for her to follow him as he began weaving his way back toward the main entrance. They arrived just as the doors closed, and that meant that they were only a few seconds behind. Outside, the two Kyrosen guards had seemingly gone with Olock and F'Ledro. They were nowhere to be found.

"Where are they headed?" she asked, her voice firm and calm.

"The lift, by the looks of it," he replied. "If they've found whatever it was that they were looking for, then they're likely on their way to the hangar bay. I'm not going to let them get away. Whatever they're up to, it can't be good for anyone but Truce. If we can capture them, he'll be without his most trusted officers. Come on, we don't have much time."

And Arus wasted none of it, darting down the hall as fast as his boots could carry him. Kitreena kept up easily, though the energy she held in her morphed state threatened to overwhelm her. While the act of Morphing had been a bit easier, controlling the power seemed as difficult as ever. _No matter. Once I kill F'Ledro, I'll be able to let go of the anger, and my hatred won't control me anymore._

_Do you really think it will be that easy?_ Arus' voice drifted through her mind.

_You don't understand,_ she responded. _I have to avenge my parents. If I don't, it will be like I don't care that F'Ledro murdered—_

Arus came to a sudden halt. "I don't understand?" he asked, turning his head halfway toward her. "Truce's father killed mine. And Truce forced _me_ to kill my mentor, a man who was more like a father to me rather than just a teacher. Believe me, Kitreena, I understand. There is a part of me that would like nothing more than to see Truce die slowly, sliced apart by my blade inch by inch from the toes upward until he is no more. Trust me, Kit. I know how it feels. But I can't allow those feelings to overwhelm me. If I do, I am no different than them. No different from Truce, from F'Ledro, and from Kindel Thorus. I would be a heartless murderer acting on my own selfish desires rather than the noble warrior that my father and Master Eaisan taught me to be. And I'd do anything to keep from being like the very people we are struggling against. I'd sooner die than become one of them."

He did not wait for a reply, though Kitreena was not sure that she could give one. As much as his words made sense, the burning rage that drove the energy which coursed through her veins was borne of anger and hate. No amount of reasoning could ease the turmoil, and her sole desire was to spill F'Ledro's blood. _And if Arus tries to stand in my way, I'll kill him, too._

A jolt of fear ran through her at that thought. It was just as she had feared; the strain of Morphing was once again distorting her perception of right and wrong. _No! No, he is_ not _the enemy!_ she told herself over and over again. _He is on my side! He's trying to help me! He cares about me!_

If he cares so much, then why does he stand in the way of what will make you happy?

The internal struggle continued as she followed Arus down the hall, her two sides arguing silently as her anger fought to maintain its dominance over her growing desire to better herself. She felt as though she was drowning in her own pain, her throat gripped tightly by her relentless hatred. And as much as she knew what she needed to do—or _not_ do, rather—turning her back on something she'd dreamed of for so many years was not a simple as flipping a switch. _Once he's dead, it will be easier for me to change my perception of life._

This time, it was Arus' voice that responded to the thought. _Yet F'Ledro will be dead. What about his life? Does that not matter to you?_

Admittedly, the very concept of _caring_ about F'Ledro's life made her stomach churn. _The weasel didn't care about the lives of my parents. The Kyrosen don't care about any of the lives they end._

_That's why you must be different._ Even in her mind, his voice was soft and compassionate. _Show them what it means to have mercy. Treat them as you would've wanted them to treat your parents._

That prompted Kitreena to reply aloud. "Why do you care so much about F'Ledro's life? What is so important about him that he must be allowed to live?"

"Not just _his_ life," Arus told her. "Every life must be treated with equal respect. Every life is special, something that can never be regained once lost. Look at Muert. He, just like F'Ledro, is a Kyrosen man who grew up under the callous rule of the Truce family. Yet deep inside, Muert still knows right from wrong. Everyone does; it is a code of morality that is written on the hearts of every one of the Maker's sentient creations. F'Ledro's got it, too. He's just got to learn to listen to it."

"Sorry, Arus," she said, shaking her head emphatically, "but you don't know F'Ledro like I do."

They came to the lift just as the doors were closing. Arus frantically tapped away at the call button. "Come on, come on! They're getting away!"

"They won't escape," Kitreena assured him. Her hands quivered, and she could almost feel the sweat trickling down her back. She wasn't going to be able to remain in her Morphed state for much longer. "They still have to get to a ship, power it up, activate the hangar doors, and complete the departure process. It won't take us that long to get down there."

They stood in relative silence beside the lift, and Kitreena turned her focus toward maintaining her transformation. The energy within burned with every heartbeat and pulsed with each motion, rolling about within as though her veins were filled with nothing but magma. Making matters worse, each searing wave of pain served to increase her anger, and she found herself blaming F'Ledro not only for the loss of her parents, but for the very pain she was experiencing from having Morphed. _If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be in this agony right now. If it wasn't for him, I never would've learned to Morph, and I wouldn't have to suffer like this. But soon, he'll suffer. Soon, he'll know what it is like to live in undying agony!_

Arus watched her nervously, his mechanical eye emitting a faint electronic buzz with each movement. He only wanted what was best for her, and she understood that, but he didn't have to see the universe through her eyes. She was proud of him for having learned to have a positive outlook on life—and envious, in many ways—but it didn't change her own perspective of things despite how much she wanted to share his view. Changing one's perception of life was no simple matter, and it was proving to be a challenge that she just wasn't ready to face. _I'm sorry, Arus, but I just can't let him survive. I'll never be able to live with myself._ _Please don't stand in my way. I don't want to think of what might happen._

The lift doors startled her when they opened, but she was all too happy to join Arus inside and get moving again. He drew his sword, and Kitreena glanced at the whip in her glowing hands. She seemed to remember the weapon being transformed along with her when she'd last Morphed, but now it remained in its natural state. Still another aspect of her abilities she had yet to understand.

The hallway that connected the lift to the hangar was barren, but the nearby whine of starship engines told them that the Kyrosen were well on their way toward escape. Kitreena sprinted alongside Arus down the short corridor and around the corner where the corpses of the guards they'd earlier been forced to kill were still lying in motionless heaps. To the far left, a Vezulian transport ship was beginning to descend through the floor to the departure bay, and Kitreena could clearly make out Olock in the pilot's seat. With no time to spare, she unleashed a white burst of flame upon the control panel beside dock, demolishing it in a massive burst of sparks and fire. The transport stopped midway through the floor.

"Nice work," Arus said as they ran toward the ship.

The side door was already opening, and the two Kyrosen guards climbed out of the partially descended floor. "You've made a big mistake by following us here," one of them grunted. A thin man with arms that looked a little too long for his body, he brandished a knife in one hand and a Vezulian rifle in the other. Beside him, a shorter man with a bowl of brown hair atop his head scrambled up with no weapons at all, suggesting he intended on using his Kyrosen "gifts" to fight.

"By order of the Aeden Alliance," Arus began, readying his sword, "you are all under arrest."

Kitreena could hear F'Ledro and Olock arguing inside. "How am I supposed to fix it when the terminal is fried?"

"I don't care how, just do it!"

"But I don't have the supplies to—"

"Don't argue with me, F'Ledro, just do it!"

Her attention refocused on the Kyrosen before her. "You have no idea what you're getting yourselves into, boys," she heard herself say. The power within seemed to leap for joy. Moving like a bolt of lightning, she shot forward and drove a fist into the face of the armed soldier. His body tumbled backward like a rolling log, weapons clattering across the floor on either side. Somehow, she sensed the manipulation of fire coming from the second man just before he threw a powerful blast toward her, and she countered it with a precisely aimed streak of lightning. The bolt literally cut through the fireball, disintegrating it before striking the soldier's chest. He was thrown into the departure bay, where he lay in a motionless pile beside the transport.

Again, she sensed the manipulation of fire, this time coming from the cockpit. Arus' sensors must've picked up the energy buildup as well, because he threw himself onto her as a blinding bar of red exploded through the ship's forward viewport. They crashed to the floor just as the energy beam sailed over their heads, heating the air with a thunderous crackle before it crashed into the far wall in a rolling plume of smoke and fire. When Kitreena opened her eyes, F'Ledro was already on the move, scurrying toward one of the Aeden starfighters. Olock was climbing through the jagged hole in their starship's viewport, that small black case under his arm.

When she rose to chase him, Kitreena expected to hear protests from Arus. Instead, he simply stood and said, "Be careful."

For a moment she simply looked at him, staring at her glowing reflection in his eye. She'd never seen herself in her Morphed state before, but the vision was enough to chill her to the bone. Despite the blinding light that encompassed her, the amethyst light coming from her eyes made her look almost . . . demonic. "You be careful, too," she finally said.

She couldn't feel her feet against the floor as she raced after F'Ledro. For a moment, she wasn't sure if she was running or gliding. Regardless, it took mere seconds to intercept him, and he came stumbling to a stop when she stepped between him and the Aeden craft. Fire engulfed her whip as she cracked it above her head, and crimson flames left a brief trail behind it. A quick lash knocked the pistol from his hands—shattered it, actually—and another left a blackened scorch mark across his chest where his shirt and vest had instantly dissolved in the heat of the flames. F'Ledro screamed and turned to run away once more, but she wrapped her whip around his ankle, and a sharp tug sent him crashing to the floor. He cried out in pain as another snap seared a burnt swath through the back of his vest, and still another cut a slash through his thigh. "This has been a long time in coming, F'Ledro!" she growled in fury. Another snap, another burn, another scream. "You deserve all of this and more for what you've done!" she shouted, cracking her whip against his body again and again. His screams echoed across the hangar bay, and he rolled onto his back, open hands raised as he shook his head.

"Please, no more!" he begged, tears rolling down his cheeks. "I'm begging you, no more! I'll do whatever you ask! I surrender to you, please!"

She whipped him twice more across the chest and middle before his words registered, filling her with a mixture of both compassion and rage. _He surrendered. I_ should _take him as a prisoner._ The energy in her body swelled, driving her anger to new levels, and she suddenly found herself kneeling beside him with her hands wrapped around his throat. _But I_ want _to kill him! I want him to suffer like Mother and Father suffered! I want him to feel the pain he's left me with for so many years!_

"I'm sorry!" he choked, trying to pry her hands away. She hadn't realized she'd been screaming those thoughts, but the reverberations of her voice were still repeating across the hangar. "I'm sorry! Please, I'll do anything you ask! Just don't kill me!"

Across from her, Arus and Olock had crossed swords. But while his attention seemed to be completely focused on the duel, Arus was clearly aware of what was going on. _He's surrendered to you, Kit. Please, stop this madness. Don't be like them! Don't do it!_

"Why should I show him mercy?!" she shouted. Tears of her own were rolling down her cheeks, now. "He's never shown an ounce of mercy to his victims!"

Surprisingly, it was not Arus' voice that replied, but Mateo's, echoing the words of advice he had given her in the Fourth Dimension. _Do not let anger and hatred drive your strength anymore; replace such feelings with hope and love. Show mercy on those who would show you none, and love those who hate you. These are the greatest weapons of all._

It was all too much to handle. The wiry man continued to struggle under her grip, desperately gasping for life. Her feelings raged like the energy within, a battle of her desire to do the right thing against the pain that had dictated her actions from the moment her parents had left her. Though she knew it was wrong, she wanted nothing more than to strangle the man until his lungs collapsed upon themselves. But that would make her no different from him, no kinder, no wiser, no better. _I can't do it! I can't let myself be like that! I won't allow it to happen! I won't accept it anymore!_

And for the first time since the day her parents died, Kitreena chose compassion over anger. Mercy over revenge. Love over hate.

The flow of energy within her doubled, bursting through her body in brilliant streams of white light that cut through the air like spotlights in a starless night. She felt her body lift into the air, arms and legs extended as the pain turned to comfort, anger to compassion, darkness to light. A soothing warmth encircled her in a whirlwind of energy as her body transformed once more, becoming something like her human form yet capable of wielding more power than she'd ever dreamed. When her feet once again touched the ground, she was a new being, herself yet stronger, Morphed with a power not seen in generations. Light of the purest white shed from her body like smoke from kindling fire, intense streaks of lightning slithered around her form with sharp crackles, and her eyes were blue as ice. The power of the elements was at her fingertips.

Her transformation was complete.

F'Ledro stared at her with eyes wider than dinner plates, his body still as a statue. "By the authority of the throne of Aerianna, the Light of Lavinia, I am placing you under arrest, F'Ledro," she proclaimed. "You will be handed over to the Royal Guard of Aerianna, and they shall decide what to do with you from there. I have little doubt that you'll find a noose around your neck soon enough, but that is not for me to decide."

To her surprise, the little man merely nodded. Across the way, Arus was focused on his fight with Olock, but Kitreena knew that he was fully aware of what had happened. _Good job, Kit,_ he said telepathically. _I knew you had it in you. I'm proud of you._

*******

Arus twisted his body in mid-air as he flipped away from Olock's sword, his own weapon creating a streak of silver around him. Blades clashed once more the moment his boots touched the floor, and Arus moved with the fluidity and expertise of a battle-tested warrior. Olock had certainly underestimated his skill—that much was evident in the Kyrosen's expression—but then Arus himself had not anticipated such a struggle. There was no doubting that Olock had been holding back during their initial battle on Terranias, a duel which had been Arus' first real fight, one that set a chain of events into motion that had taken the young man to places he'd never imagined. As a boy, he'd dreamed of nothing more than joining the Keroko Militia and defending his village. Now, that goal that somehow seemed meager in light of everything he'd been through. A tiny drop of paint on a much larger canvas.

"Give it up, Olock," Arus said sharply, twisting his sword in a high parry. "You can't win."

Blood dripped from Olock's mouth where an earlier punch from Arus' cybernetic fist had split his lower lip wide open. Despite the crimson streaks running down his chin, the Kyrosen actually smiled. "Do you honestly think I would surrender to you? I am a Kyrosen, Arus." Their weapons connected again, hairs away from Arus' neck. "You have improved, I'll give you that. But beneath that implant, you are still the nervous little boy I encountered in Keroko."

Across from them, Kitreena's whip snapped over and over in a deafening sequence of cracks that split the air like thunderclaps. Arus spared a brief glance in her direction, and his heart sank. F'Ledro was lying on the floor, writhing in agony as Kitreena lashed away at him with her weapon. He was screaming apologies. _He's surrendered to you, Kit. Please, stop this madness. Don't be like them! Don't do it!_

"Why should I show him mercy?!" she screamed without looking up. Her cheeks glistened with tears. "He's never shown an ounce of mercy to his victims!"

It was all the attention Arus could afford to spare. Olock pushed harder, and the dull edge of Dayne's sword brushed against his throat. "You fool!" the Kyrosen taunted. "If you had embraced the fighting techniques and styles that Truce and I programmed into the implant, you'd be able to defeat me without sweating a bead. But you foolishly _chose_ weakness over strength, and that weakness will see you dead today!"

Arus grinned as he put his weight behind the mechanical arm and pushed as hard as he could, throwing Olock onto his back. He swung his sword around his body in a grand flourish as the Kyrosen scrambled to his feet. "Weak, you say? If you ask me, sitting back and letting a machine live my life for me would be weak. I would rather be my own person than a slave to the implant. Besides . . ." He slammed his sword down on Olock's, this time pressing so hard that the Olock nearly collapsed to his knees. ". . . I happen to believe that I've improved a bit since we last fought."

The Mage dropped onto his back and kicked both feet into Arus' chest, knocking him back a few paces. "Perhaps," Olock told him, rolling backward into a crouching position, "but my talents still surpass yours by far!" He clasped both hands around the hilt of his weapon and closed his eyes, funneling a concentrated stream of fire into the blade. "Let's see you match this kind of power!" The weapon whirled in a wide trail of crimson flame as he leapt into the air.

Arus couldn't help but grin. With both arms raised above his head like that, Olock's middle was wide open for attack. A quick slash of his sword could certainly spill the Mage's innards all over the floor, but Arus instead took a quick step back, rotating his body sideways. He threw his foot out in a high thrust as Olock came down, kicking the Kyrosen in the throat with such force that his body was sent sprawling across the floor of the hangar. As he rolled onto all fours, a blanket of white ensconced them both, accompanied by sharp tremors in both the floor and walls. Instinctively, Arus raised his arms to shield his vision, but his sensors told him where the explosion of energy had originated.

There was not much time for him to look toward Kitreena. As soon as the light had died enough for silhouettes to become visible, Olock lunged again. Arus' sensors drove him to react, deflecting strike after strike as he tried to see Kitreena through the fading shroud. A sharp jolt along his right shoulder where Olock's blade made contact forced him to refocus on his fight, but it wasn't long before he heard Kitreena's voice like a chorus of trumpets. "By the authority of the throne of Aerianna, the Light of Lavinia, I am placing you under arrest, F'Ledro. You will be handed over to the Royal Guard of Aerianna, and they shall decide what to do with you from there. I have little doubt that you'll find a noose around your neck soon enough, but that is not for me to decide."

The words brought a smile to Arus' face. _Good job, Kit._ _I knew you had it in you. I'm proud of you._

The announcement startled Olock enough to draw his eyes. Arus drove his steel fist into the Kyrosen's temple the moment his head was turned, and leapt on top of him as his body hit the floor. The Mage's sword clattered away and fell into the departure bay with the half-descended transport. "Surrender, Olock," Arus growled, resting his blade against the Kyrosen's flesh. "It's over."

For a moment, it almost looked as though the exhausted Mage might comply. In Arus' experiences under Truce's control, Olock had always been the more sensible of the two. Still, he was a Kyrosen at heart, and his blood flowed with the pride of his people. "I will never surrender to you," he said, his voice steady and firm. "I am sorry, Arus, that you were drawn into this. And I will admit that I never really agreed with the implant project, myself. But what's done is done, and it boggles my mind that you can possess the unimaginable potential of the device and yet refuse to embrace it. How can you live with one of the most powerful inventions ever known to the universe at your fingertips and _not_ take full advantage of it?"

"Because, unlike you, I do not embrace the ideals that this device was designed to further," he answered, just as calm. "Violence, anger, hatred, conquest; they're all characteristics of the Kyrosen, and I'll have no part of any of them. This implant could program me to be the perfect fighter once again, I know. But I would rather be an imperfect human than a perfect machine."

Olock's lips curled into a snarl. "Then you _choose_ mediocrity over greatness."

"Some would say that my father, Dayne Sheeth, and my mentor, Eaisan Lurei, were mediocre. They were both farmers, swordsmen, and soldiers. They embraced honor and nobility, defended decent morality, and gave their lives in defense of those principals. The Kyrosen would call them mediocre. But to me, they are the two greatest men I've ever known, and I hope that one day I can live to be a quarter of what they were."

A deadly gleam came to Olock's eyes. "I'm sorry, Arus, but I'm afraid I can't allow that to happen!" As he spoke, he pressed his hands against Arus' chest. The implant's sensors flashed a warning, and Arus rolled away just as a thick bolt of electricity shot from Olock's hands. The resulting thunderclap so intense that Arus thought the entire hangar bay was going to rumble apart. Olock was on his feet before the tremors had even begun to die down, and his hands crackled with electricity.

"Arus!" Kitreena was running toward him, her form now visible through a constantly regenerating outline of white light that rose from her body like wisps of smoke from a freshly extinguished candle. Olock turned his hands toward her, slithering crackles of light intensifying. Arus reacted out of desperation.

"Kitreena, look out!" he screamed, lunging in a panic. His sword went right through Olock's back and burst through his stomach, drenched in crimson. The glimmers of electricity vanished, his arms fell, and he dropped to the floor, clutching his middle while his eyes settled into the distant stare of death. Arus immediately retracted his sword with a silent curse, grinding his teeth in anger. "The bloody fool! I gave him every chance to live! I didn't want to have to—"

Kitreena's shining hand touched his shoulder. "It's all right, Arus," she said softly. "You tried your best. I know you did."

He shook his head regretfully as he wrapped her in his arms, the light of her body providing soothing warmth that seemed to rejuvenate his weary limbs. "I'm a hypocrite," he whispered, forcing down sobs. "I told you not to kill F'Ledro only to go and finish off Olock."

"You're not a hypocrite," she whispered, running her fingers through his hair. "F'Ledro surrendered to me. Olock didn't follow his lead. You did what you had to do to protect not only me, but all of the others that he could've hurt in the future had he escaped."

The mention of F'Ledro brought another question to Arus' mind, but it was answered as soon as he looked up. The little Kyrosen was sitting about ten paces away, arms bound against his body by Kitreena's whip, head hung between his knees. There was no indication that he might be planning an escape, but only a fool took his eyes away from a Kyrosen prisoner. "We've got to get him back to the _Refuge_ somehow. It's going to be difficult—" A look at Kitreena's face startled him, and he stepped back to get his first real look at her fully Morphed appearance.

The first thing that struck him were her eyes; they had reverted to their normal state, albeit more vibrant than ever. The light that had previously obscured her body was now more of an outline, and if possible, whiter than freshly fallen snow. Also absent was the red aura, replaced by the slithering streaks of electricity that trailed her every movement. Her new visage reflected the true nature of her soul, a spirit cleansed of the lust for revenge that had tainted her since that fateful day so many years ago. She smiled sheepishly at him and kicked her feet, blood turning her cheeks to crimson. "Arus, you're staring," she giggled.

"I'm proud of you," he said at last. "How do you feel?"

"I've got so much power at my disposal that I don't know what to do with it all," she admitted. "I can command the winds, control fire and ice and water with less than a fraction of a thought, and if Damien is right, then I will someday learn to become one with the elements themselves. I'll be able to perform feats far greater than any sorcerer, manipulations of nature that most men dare not dream of." She paused and looked away, her face blushing further. "Thank you, Arus. Without your understanding and support, I don't think I would've ever learned to control my abilities. Or my feelings."

The implant's sensors showed three life signs exiting the lift, and the repetitive echo of rapid footfalls floated from the corridor. Damien and Doman rounded the corner first, trailed by a green-skinned woman with narrow wings and a shimmering jewel embedded in her forehead. Damien's eyes lit up when he saw the two. "What are you two doing—" He nearly stumbled to a halt when his eyes fell upon Kitreena. "What . . . happened?"

Kitreena spoke as though there was nothing unusual about her appearance, but tiny curves at the corners of her mouth gave her away. "We've managed to capture F'Ledro," she replied, motioning toward the bound man several paces away. "We were not so fortunate with Olock, I'm afraid."

That made Arus hang his head in shame despite what Kitreena had said to encourage him. "I apologize, Damien. I wanted to take him alive, but—"

"Don't apologize," he said with a wave of his hand. "You can't keep kicking yourself for the mistakes of other people, Arus. You did what you had to do to stop a violent and dangerous man. You didn't act out of vengeance, anger, greed, or hatred. You admit that you didn't _want_ to kill him at all! That speaks volumes about your character, Arus, and it means your heart is in the right place."

"I just . . ." Arus shook his head with a heavy sigh, "I don't want to be like them."

"You're not," Kitreena told him, taking his hand into hers. "The mere fact that you value the lives of the men who enslaved you and forced you to do terrible things against your will is evidence that you're not like them. Don't dwell on this any longer, Arus. Even Eaisan killed men when there was no alternative. What's important is that you fight for a noble cause, and that's precisely what you are doing."

Doman had lifted F'Ledro to his feet and was escorting the Kyrosen over to the rest of the group. "We'll need to get this one back to the _Refuge_ along with the High Lady Almatha."

Arus and Kitreena both spoke in unison. "Who?"

After opening his mouth, Damien paused and looked at Kitreena once again. "We have much to go over, it seems," he said, smiling as he removed the communicator from his belt. "But it will have to wait for the time being." Using the device, he summoned Samas and Orchi to the hangar before continuing. "Doman, I want you, Samas, and Orchi to escort the High Lady and our Kyrosen prisoner back to the _Refuge_. I needn't remind you that F'Ledro is a Mage, and that's why I'm sending Samas and Orchi along with you. I want them watching him at all times."

Doman removed a thick leather cord from the pouch at his belt before loosening Kitreena's whip. "Of course, Sir. We shall see them both back safely." F'Ledro made no effort to escape as Doman unwound Kitreena's weapon, then tied his hands behind his back with the leather cord. Kitreena coiled her weapon and returned it to her belt. She was about to turn away when the Kyrosen spoke.

"Kitreena," he said softly. "Thank you. For sparing me, I mean."

There was a split second of shock on the young lady's face when Arus thought her jaw might hit the floor. She regained her composure just as quickly, though, and faced him with a blank stare. "Your cooperation will be noted when you are handed over to the Royal Guard of Aerianna." She refrained from saying any more, likely to keep from speaking words she'd later regret.

The woman that Doman had referred to as Almatha, an elegant creature with a regal air about her, eyed Kitreena openly, her expression torn between fear and excitement. "You possess incredible powers," she finally said. "I cannot say why or how, but the spirits of nature bow to your command. How can this be? You are a mere child!"

The statement was more observation than insult, and Kitreena took it as such. "It is difficult to explain," she said with a warm smile. "Perhaps when we have more time, we can discuss the subject at length. Your people have always been well attuned to the elements of nature. I'd be very interested in your input, if you'd be willing."

"I would be delighted," Almatha replied, sounding satisfied. "Truly, I have never met any being with talents such as yours. I look forward to learning more about you."

As Doman and Damien escorted Almatha and F'Ledro to a Vezulian transport on the far side of the hangar, Olock's communicator came to life. "Olock, what's going on? Have you found them yet? We're running out of time; that battleship is about to blow!"

Arus couldn't stop himself. He snatched the device from Olock's belt and raised it to his mouth. "I'm sorry, but Olock isn't available at the moment. May I take a message?"

Dead silence reigned for several moments. There was little doubt that Truce recognized the voice, but for whatever reason, he played the fool. "Who is this?" he finally asked.

"That hurts, Truce," Arus replied. Kitreena had to cover her mouth to stifle her giggles. "I would think you'd know the voice of your greatest creation."

"Arus!" The man snarled so harshly he may as well have been foaming at the mouth. "Where is Olock? What have you done with my men?"

"Olock is dead," Arus said coldly. "F'Ledro is on his way to Lavinia to be handed over to the Royal Guard of Aerianna, and any other surviving Kyrosen will be rounded up before the day is done." A long string of obscenities buzzed through the speaker. Arus grinned at Kitreena before speaking again. "Truce, I want you to listen close, because I'm going to give you a glimpse into your future." Without waiting for a reply, he dropped the communicator to the floor and crushed it beneath his boot.

Damien returned minutes later, brushing his hands off as he approached. "Once Samas and Orchi get down here, we can get back to work. But I don't want to leave until—"

A series of distant explosions preceded a deafening boom from outside, an ear-shattering blast that Arus felt in the center of his chest. There was barely time to take a breath before a barrage of explosions pummeled the hull of the _Black Eagle_ , throwing everyone to the floor. The ship rocked violently, tossing supply containers about and scattering assorted tools across the hangar. Arus scrambled over Kitreena and shielded her face with his steel arm. "What's going on?" His voice was all but squelched by the commotion.

"Sounds like a starship exploded," Kitreena shouted back. "The battleship, I'd guess."

Thunderous bangs and crashes continued outside, and Arus couldn't help but wonder about the structural integrity of the ship. Even if it _was_ the flagship of the Vezulian Armada, a starship could only take so much damage. If one of those clumps of debris hit the fuel tanks, the mission would certainly come to an abrupt halt. The lights flickered on and off, and distant whines suggested that at least some of the craft's systems were beginning to fail. Arus' scanners relayed erratic readings of scattered life signs that seemed to dwindle with every hit. The battleship had to have been somewhat over the _Black Eagle_ when it blew; that was the only explanation that Arus could come up with as to why the hangar bay hadn't been torn apart yet. Being in the belly of the ship was the best place to be, if that were indeed the case.

Slowly, the rumbles died down, and the screeching smashes of metal against metal became more sporadic. When the floor had stabilized enough for them to stand, Arus took Kitreena's hand and helped her to her feet. "Is it over?" he murmured.

"Not for long," Damien said, brushing himself off. "If that was the battleship, then the Alliance forces have managed to press their way through to the _Black Eagle._ They'll be starting their attack at any moment. Perhaps we should think about returning to the _Refuge_ ourselves."

"What about Kindel?" Arus asked him. "We came here to take back the Blade of Kaleo."

"Nothing can destroy that sword," Damien pointed out, "but if the ship goes down then Kindel will go down with it. We can always retrieve the blade from the wreckage afterward."

"Are you sure that the Alliance will be able to—"

The lights blinked once, then shut off completely. The glow from Kitreena's outline illuminated a small cone around the three, but aside from that, darkness blanketed the hangar bay. A quiet sound drifted through the shadows, a faint chuckle that developed into open laughter as it grew louder, repeating upon itself over and over in an endless loop that filled the expanse of the room like the tolling of an enormous bell. A deep blue light flashed—from where, Arus couldn't tell—and a voice cut through the darkness like a razor. "It seems we are destined to spill one another's blood on the battlefield. I had hoped you could be persuaded to see the truth of things, the reality of life which I have embraced. But you seem intent on gutting yourselves on my precious blade, and so it appears I must grant that wish." A cold wind brushed against Arus' skin, raising the hairs on his neck with a chill that inched down his spine. Another flash and Kindel Thorus was standing before them, Blade of Kaleo held lazily at his side. His skin had become a disgusting mix of green and brown where the angles of his jaw outlined his face, and his hands looked shriveled and bony. Black and green streaks marred his usually snowy hair, and his eyes shown like azure stars. The power of the sword was eating away at him, that much was certain. "It is so very hard for me to say goodbye to this ship, but then, I'll delight in taking your precious _Refuge_ once I have left your burning corpses behind."

"The _Refuge_ will never fall under your command, Kindel," Damien shot back. "I don't care if you drain every ounce of blood from my veins, I vow that I will not stop fighting until the Blade of Kaleo is back where it belongs, and the threat you pose to the universe is ended for good."

"Don't count on that sword to save you, either," Kitreena added, yanking her whip from its place at her side. Electrical flows surrounded the length of the weapon, crackling and fizzling as they slithered about. "Some of us still have a few surprises for you."

"I hunger for the challenge, my dear," he cooed. "I hunger . . ." The word trailed off like an unfinished thought. He tilted his head in Arus' direction, and his smile grew wider. "I shall have what is mine, boy. And you, like a mindless dog retrieving his master's sandals, will bring it to me."

There was another flash, and Thorus vanished in a tower of black flames. When the hangar lights illuminated once more, the presence of Samas and Orchi surprised Arus. They stood a few paces to the left of where Kindel had been looking almost disappointed that they'd been unable to launch an attack before he disappeared. Doman had returned as well, and he stood beside Damien. Arus opened his mouth to ask what their next move would be, but a beep from Damien's communicator stopped him.

"Yes, what is it?" Damien asked into the device.

"Sir, this is Lieutenant Meni. You wanted us to inform you the moment we noticed any atmospheric changes on the surface, right?" Damien shot a look at Kitreena and Arus. They were being baited. "An unnatural shift in the clouds has created a dangerously powerful storm just south of the kingdom called Asteria. It is currently over the sea, but is moving quickly toward the shore. I estimate that it will make landfall in five minutes or so."

"Understood," Damien responded. "Thank you."

"We must hurry," Kitreena said, heading for her ship. "It was hard enough to bring the transports down through the rocky weather of Arynias. If a storm like that got a hold of our starfighters, we'd probably be torn to shreds."

Damien raised a pale blue hand. "Kit." She stopped and looked over her shoulder. "We'll never make it to the surface safely in less than five minutes. You know that."

She furrowed her brow and spread her hands apart. "We have to try! I mean, what are we going to do? Stand back and let him have the planet?"

"Of course not. But taking ships down there is out of the question. As much as I don't like it, I don't see any choice but to use teleportation."

Arus knew how uneasy Damien was about using such an ability. He himself had only experienced it once; whether or not Damien had used it on other occasions was unknown. But if the situation was one that led him to believe that teleportation was the only way, then Arus preferred that over navigating a starfighter through an unstable atmosphere. More than once he had thanked the Maker that they'd managed to survive the transport ride to the surface of Arynias, and he had no interest in repeating that little adventure, especially if he was the one at the controls.

"Are you sure about this?" Kitreena asked, slowly walking back. "You've said yourself that teleportation is dangerous."

"Our options are limited, I'm afraid," Damien said, shaking his head. "I will do what I must."

"We will ensure that the High Lady Almatha and the Kyrosen prisoner make it to the _Refuge_ safely, Sir," Doman said with a salute. Samas and Orchi, now at his side, mimicked the gesture. "Our thoughts and prayers will be with the three of you. For the sake of every peace-loving planet across the universe, come back alive."

"Thank you, Doman," Damien replied, returning the salute. "You've fought well. The three of you have done the Alliance proud. Return to the _Refuge_ , and continue to take the fight to the enemy. Inform Captain Angeles of my whereabouts; he has been instructed to take command of the battle should I become no longer able to do so."

"I will tell him," Doman responded. Without another word, he turned on his heels and made for the transport with Samas and Orchi close behind.

After a long look at the departing soldiers, Damien took a deep breath and turned toward Arus and Kitreena. "Well, there's no sense in prolonging this any further. It is time to go. If either of you have any objections about joining me in the fight against my brother, now is the time to voice them. I'll not force either of you to—"

Kitreena almost laughed as she reached a hand to his shoulder. "Damien, you know I'll stand by your side to the end, no matter what that end might bring."

"As do I," Arus added. "Besides, this is my homeworld. I'm not going to stand by and watch Kindel destroy it."

For a long time, the Zo'rhan warrior simply looked at them. His eyes glistened with a thousand unsaid thoughts that he seemed to be trying to sort out. Finally, he simply smiled and said, "You know, the two of you may be young, but I feel more comfortable having you at my side than I would with any other soldiers the Alliance has to offer. Thank you."

With that, he clasped his hands in front of him and closed his eyes. A white glow surrounded the three of them momentarily, wrapping Arus in warmth. His gaze locked with Kitreena's just before the world vanished. _Don't worry, Kit. I have no intentions of letting anything happen to you or my homeworld._

Though it was telepathic, he thought he heard a giggle. _Worry? Who's worried?_

### Chapter 8

"Truce, I want you to listen close, because I'm going to give you a glimpse into your future."

There was a brief clatter, a sharp fuzz, and then silence.

With a violent scream that reverberated throughout the halls, Truce threw his communicator across the library in a livid rage. Who in blazes did that boy think he was dealing with? The leader of the Kyrosen would not be disposed of so easily! "When this is all over, I'm going to find that boy and slowly tear him limb from limb, then yank out that implant and give it to someone more deserving of the effort I put—"

A roll of explosions could be heard somewhere in the distance, and then a massive blast cut through space, rocking and jostling the _Falcon Mist._ Without checking the scanners, Truce knew that the battleship had gone down. The window of opportunity for attack had opened; the _Black Eagle_ was practically defenseless. It wouldn't be long before one of the smaller battleships moved to protect it, or perhaps a Vezulian cruiser, and any chance of destroying the Vezulian flagship would be lost. After all, there was a war amongst the Kyrosen to deal with, and Eaisan's bothersome child. This would very likely be the only opportunity, and not only had it been spoiled by Arus—the warrior Truce had created!—but Olock, his best friend since childhood, was dead. F'Ledro was no big loss; the spineless wretch of a man should've been done away with long ago. But Olock . . . "Curse you, Arus! Curse you to the Abyss!"

Truce's fists came down hard on the terminal, denting the steel frame. There was nothing more that could be done. The plan to destroy the _Black Eagle_ would have to be abandoned. There was too much at stake to risk pushing further, not with everything else that was happening. Perhaps he could quell the conflict amongst his people fast enough to return his attention to Kindel's ship, but even then, without the capacitors he needed, there would be no way to complete his modifications to the laser turret. Everything had been going so well until the bloody Aeden Alliance interfered. But they would soon pay. All of them would suffer for defying Sartan Truce!

"Boss!" Brent came running into the room, arms flailing in a panic. "They've taken two more floors!"

"What?" Truce ground his teeth as he looked up. "Who?"

Brent nearly skidded to a stop beside the station. "The traitors, Boss!" he wheezed through heavy breaths. "They've captured our men on deck nineteen and driven the soldiers from twenty-one into the emergency stairwells!"

Truce fingered his beard for a moment before issuing orders. "Very well. Instruct our men on the other floors to barricade every emergency stairwell on this ship. Likewise, I want the lifts disabled. I don't care how you do it, just get it done. I'm going to take the stairs down to the cargo hold and see what I can do to calm the situation."

He turned away, expecting that to be all, but there was no acknowledgment from Brent, no rushing for the door, no clip-clop of boots. When Truce looked back at him with a questioning eyebrow raised, the soldier spat out another bit of news. "Sir, we continue to find corpses scattered across the ship. They're popping up everywhere. Deck five, nine, thirteen, and they've all been killed by blade."

"He is hunting for me," Truce muttered. Vultrel was moving quickly, and he was drawing closer. Deck thirteen was but one level away. "Any on this floor?"

"None reported thus far, Boss." Brent spread his hands as if to absolve himself of responsibility should any unreported deaths have occurred. "All security stairwells and lift doors are being closely monitored."

That wouldn't be enough, Truce knew. The young man was the blood of Eaisan Lurei. He would find a way to get to his target no matter what he had to go through. Unconsciously, Truce's hand found the pommel of his sword. He was anxious to kill the boy; to have him out of the way would be satisfying for more reasons than one. But with the plans for the _Black Eagle_ having fallen through, the Kyrosen became his top priority. "I want to be informed of his location the moment he is spotted. Take a map and mark down the locations where each corpse was found. Perhaps there is some sort of pattern to his movements. At the very least we might be able to come up with a list of areas he hasn't been through yet so that we may monitor them more closely."

"Uh, Sir, I'm not so sure we can muster the manpower for everything you're requesting," Brent said with a grimace. "The majority of our people are still fighting in the cargo—"

Truce's eyes thinned as his grip abruptly tightened around the hilt of his weapon. "Get the manpower, and see that everything I have ordered is done. I don't want excuses, I want results."

Now the bows and acknowledgments came as Brent backed toward the doorway. Truce grunted in disgust and went behind the librarian's station to search for a map of the _Falcon Mist_ to use for his own reference. He heard the doors slide open as he kneeled down behind the counter, followed by a short gasp and a choked cough. After so many years, Truce's ears had become accustomed to the sound of a man being run through with a blade, so it was no surprise that when he returned to his feet with a rolled up schematic of the ship in his hand, his eyes fell upon the very sight he'd expected to see. "I hear you've been causing a bit of a ruckus on my ship," he said, keeping his voice casual. "Not exactly becoming behavior for a guest."

Vultrel held Brent around the throat with one hand, and the sword he gripped in the other had pierced through the Kyrosen's heart and burst from his back. There was nothing but hate in the boy's eyes as he threw the man's carcass to the side with a snarl. "If you hadn't assumed I was dead, I wouldn't have had to tear through half of your men until I found you."

"A mistake I admit," Truce replied, calmly stepping around the librarian's desk. "Forgive me for not being thorough. You must understand that I have a lot of responsibilities on my shoulders."

Vultrel moved forward into the circle of couches in the center of the library and wiped Brent's blood from his blade on one of the green cushions. "That will soon change. Your opponents among the Kyrosen are making progress, Truce. They want to spill your blood as much as I do."

The corners of Truce's eyes tightened. "You don't know when to quit, boy. I nearly incinerated you on the bridge. Was one brush with death not enough for you?"

Vultrel shifted his feet and readied his weapon, ignoring the question. "This time, we finish it. No running, no hiding. The fight does not end until one of us is _dead_. Agreed?"

The rolled map fell at Truce's feet, and he drew his blade with a defiant grin. "Agreed."

*******

Sweat beaded on Vultrel's forehead and trickled over ridges in his brow where his undying hatred for Truce had created permanent creases. Inside, his blood churned with anger, but he knew he had to maintain his composure if he wanted to stand a chance against the Mage. Truce was a good swordsman, there was no doubting that—although he was nothing compared to Vultrel—and he would surely capitalize on any foolish mistakes. And judging from what had happened on the bridge, such mistakes could prove to be fatal. Images swirled in the young man's mind; pictures of Truce broken and bleeding at his feet, his blade driven through the Kyrosen's skull while Eaisan Lurei looked on approvingly. If Vultrel had his way, it would happen before the day was done.

He stepped backward as Truce joined him in the center of the library. The Mage grinned as he did, likely assuming that the movement had been provoked by fear. But Vultrel wasn't afraid, nor was he stupid. _He_ would decide when the right time for attack would be, not Truce. The Kyrosen held his sword vertically in front of his chest with both hands. "You know, most men gifted with a talent for magic tend to rely on fire and lightning as their main weapons. I fall into that trap way too often, myself. They are, after all, quick and destructive. But the other elements are just as powerful, if not more so in some cases. And since I have been unable to best you in our previous encounters, I think perhaps I should learn to think beyond my usual repertoire."

Vultrel inclined his head with a wary look. "What do you mean?"

"Just watch!" Truce released his sword, and the weapon floated in midair an arm's length away from his body. A cold wind brushed Vultrel's skin, and the sword rotated, twisting and floating in a pattern that resembled two rings joined side-by-side. Faster and faster it spun, circling his body in a continuous pattern that effectively shielded the man with a wall of blade. A constant and repetitive whoosh filled Vultrel's ears as the sword cut through the air, and Truce nearly had to shout to be heard over the sound. "You see? Wind has its uses as well!"

Vultrel swallowed hard. Getting through that kind of defense was going to be more than difficult. His mind raced with possibilities. Truce had to have some kind of weakness. He _had_ to. He was mortal, and thus, imperfect. A smart warrior could find a way around any defense. _Father would know what to do. I just need to think like him. Come on, Father! What would you do in a situation like this?_

"You look nervous," Truce noted with a chuckle. "You should. Allow me to show you another use for wind." He raised a casual hand, palm up and fingers open, and a solid burst of air lifted Vultrel from the floor. He could feel the wind pressing at him from all sides, immobilizing him, paralyzing him. It was the strongest at his feet; it almost felt as though he was _standing_ on a platform of air. Truce laughed openly below, his hand now high above his head. "And if we take it one step further . . ."

Suddenly Vultrel was flying, soaring across the length of the library toward the long rows of bookshelves that filled the library's right wing. There was no stopping the imminent collision, but he knew that if he didn't rotate his body at least _some_ , he was going to slam face-first into the solid end of the wooden case and likely break his neck. Shifting position within the pocket of air in a matter of seconds was like trying to escape from center of a pile of boulders, but somehow he managed to lower his head far enough so that his back and shoulders took the brunt of the impact. A web of cracks split through the end of the bookcase where his body collided with the fixture, shaking dozens of books to the floor and dislodging one of the shelves. He came down on his right shoulder, a sharp jolt of pain numbing his arm as he crashed to the floor. His sword clattered to a stop several paces away.

"You know," Truce began, stepping around the couches. The weapon spiraling around his body passed through one of the cushions as though it wasn't even there, but the fresh cleave it left behind was evidence enough. "Water is another often underutilized element. I suppose it is because there aren't many perceived uses for water in the middle of a battle. I mean, what does soaking down an opponent do to improve my advantage?"

Rolling twangs of pain shot up and down Vultrel's arm and into his back and shoulders. He groaned unconsciously as he pushed himself to his knees. _What would father do?_ To the right, his sword glimmered under the library lights. Sweat rolled down his back, though he wasn't sure if it came from the day's rigors or fear. _No! I'm not afraid of a bloody Kyrosen, least of all Sartan Truce!_ he told himself silently, crawling toward his sword.

Truce was still rambling on about the uses of magic. "Yet, just as I can manipulate heat and air to create fire, I can also draw heat away from objects. And what happens to water when its temperature is lowered?"

Vultrel's hand found the handle of his weapon, and he groggily rose to his feet. "You're going to throw ice at me next?" he grumbled, readying his weapon defiantly. "Go ahead, take your best shot."

For a moment, the Kyrosen simply smiled at him. Then he raised a single finger just in front of his face. "Do you know how much water there is in the human body, Vultrel?"

Pain seized him in an instant, pain unlike anything he'd ever before experienced. Searing ripples enveloped every muscle, every bone, every organ. Nausea hit him hard as the library began to waver, and the sound of his blade clanging to the floor cut through his ears like a razor through butter. Truce's image blurred along with the rest of his surroundings, and suddenly he was on his knees, emptying his stomach all over the thin carpet. Something, a color unlike any he'd ever seen and nothing he could begin to describe, encompassed his vision, slowly creeping in from either side no matter how much he tried to blink it away. He was dying, he knew that, and with Truce's sword spinning that protective shield, it was unlikely that anything could be done to stop it.

"I don't know how many times I told you that you crossed the wrong man," Truce snarled, his hatred for Vultrel finally manifesting itself in his demeanor. "I warned you and warned you, but you were so blindly determined to get yourself killed that you stopped at nothing to hunt me down. Well, Vultrel, congratulations. Your wish is granted!"

With no other options left, Vultrel's hand came upon his sword once more, and he grabbed the weapon and threw it at Truce with all the strength he had left. Even through his distorted vision, he saw the blade collide with the Kyrosen's own, and the two weapons went clanking across the rug. Surprise caused Truce to momentarily cease his attack, and Vultrel's adrenaline surged. A blood-curdling scream came from his mouth as he lunged for the Mage, driving his good shoulder into Truce's middle before the two of them collapsed in a heap beside the couches. Somehow—he wasn't quite sure how—his fist found the Kyrosen's cheek, then his temple. The pain had immediately begun to subside, and that encouraged him even further. One punch landed, then two, then three. Somewhere in the back of his mind he began to wonder why Truce didn't appear to be fighting back despite his squirms, and he realized he was kneeling on both of the man's arms. A fourth punch. A fifth. A sixth.

Truce's hands suddenly latched onto his ankles, and intense heat flowed up his legs. For a moment, Vultrel considered enduring the pain for the sake of pounding on him, but he had no desire to let the Mage kill him out of his own stupidity. He rolled away and immediately began visually combing the room for his sword, but it was nowhere to be found.

"I'm impressed," Truce growled, wiping blood from his lip as he stood. Another crimson streak trickled from the corner of his eye. "Truly, I am. You've shown far more drive and tenacity than I'd anticipated, though I suppose I should've expected as much from Lurei blood."

Vultrel opened his mouth, and his voice came out hoarse and heavy. "Nothing short of death will stop me, Truce. I will avenge those you've murdered for the good of the universe!"

"The good of the universe?" He drew a small white cloth from his rear pocket and dabbed the blood away from his eye. "You still believe you're doing some sort of service to the universe? Don't be foolish, Vultrel. You even admit that you're trying to avenge the deaths of the people you love, primarily your father, I assume. You're not fighting for anyone but _you._ You simply tell yourself otherwise in a futile attempt to justify your actions."

"Don't speak as though you know what my motivations are," Vultrel hissed, flexing his throbbing shoulder. "I won't let what happened to my father happen to anyone else!"

"And yet, you didn't respond this way when Dayne Sheeth was murdered," Truce noted. "Granted, you were just a boy, but then incidents like that have a way of imprinting themselves on the minds of those who are truly traumatized by them. What about Anton? His fate certainly upset you, but you didn't begin your hunt for me then, did you? How about the others who've been hurt by the Kyrosen over the years? The people injured when we attacked your village? What about the Narleahans? Shouldn't their circumstances have driven a supposedly justice-seeking warrior like yourself into action? No, you didn't stand up until you were personally hurt."

"Perhaps I didn't realize the severity of the threat posed by the Kyrosen until then," Vultrel shot back. "Plenty of people need to personal affliction to motivate them into action."

"That doesn't mean that _your_ actions are noble. You aligned yourself with Kindel Thorus, one of the most dishonorable and wretched men in the known universe, just so that you could remain within striking distance of me. You embraced his vision of conquering the weak to survive—a vision the Kyrosen share, if only from the opposite side of the battlefield—so that you could grow stronger; a goal which I have no doubt was driven by your obsession with killing me. Face it, boy. You are just like us. The only difference is that you and Kindel deny that you are tyrants, and I embrace it. You seem to think you're pulling the wool over the eyes of everyone else, but you've had your own head in the sand the whole time."

It was a reality that had been tugging at the back of Vultrel's mind ever since he'd agreed to work with Thorus. He knew he'd become a person far different from what his father had raised him to be, yet the circumstances of the universe had propelled that change. The truly great men were crafty and powerful; honor and decency had little to do with it. Sartan Truce didn't respond to peaceful methods of persuasion, and Kindel Thorus certainly wouldn't either. The only way to defeat such men was to become one of them, to beat them at their own game. Vultrel admitted that he'd chosen to do just that, but his motivations behind the choice had been noble. _Hadn't they?_

It didn't matter, really. What was done was done. "You don't understand," he muttered, shaking his head. "The methods of my father were limited to his experiences on Terranias. He knew nothing about the ways of the universe other than what we knew in Keroko. Our society revolved around honorable men who stood up for what was right and valued every life whether it be a criminal's or otherwise. But out here is different. That kind of thinking has no place among the stars. Murderers like you don't listen to reason, and you exploit the compassion of people like Eaisan Lurei. I had to change my perception if I was to survive. I had to realign my goals in order to stand a chance against you. And here I am, determined to bring your tyranny to an end. My methods may have changed, but my motives remain pure."

"Pure?" Truce nearly spat the word. "You call yourself pure? Absurd! The only thing you've done since joining with Kindel is leave a trail of corpses in the wake of your burning hatred for me. You can try to reason it out by whatever twisted logic works for you, but the bitter truth is that you've succumbed to your anger, something I'm sure would disappoint your dear father."

Vultrel's hands trembled for reasons he couldn't quite explain. Deep in the recesses of his mind, something ate away at him like a plague, an acid that was searing through his soul. Images of Mateo mingled with the sound of his voice, echoing his pleas for Vultrel to give up the path he'd chosen. "You're trying to break my confidence," the young man growled, eyes burning. "You're trying to rile me so that I'll lose focus. It won't work. I do not harbor the hatred you claim I have. I am not as you say! I'm not like you!"

"Really?" Truce flexed his fingers as he grin spread further. "We'll just see about that."

A sharp pain pierced Vultrel's temples. Images began to swirl in his head, memories of distant days mixed with flashes of recent events. For a moment, he was a boy, helping his father tend the cornfields. In the next, he was dueling with Arus in the forests outside Keroko. They were days he missed, days that would never come again, all things taken from him by Sartan Truce. The Festival of the Souls, and Melia's sweet laughter, followed by the pain and fear in her face when he'd shoved her to the ground. Arus and Anton, side by side, glowing eyes fixed on him. Explosions across Keroko, homes burning, people dying. The duel between Arus and Truce encompassed his eyes as though he was there witnessing it happen all over again. His best friend cried out as his arm was severed at the shoulder, and crimson covered Vultrel's vision. A flash, and now he was a child, lying in bed as his father read him a story. Another blink of red and he was running, from what he couldn't remember, but he knew he was on the Mayahol, and Eaisan was right behind him. He turned to hurry his father along, but the man had vanished along with their unidentified pursuers. The visions kept coming, some real and some seeming more like dreams or nightmares, until he finally found himself in Castle Asteria, watching helplessly as Arus drove his blade through Eaisan's heart amidst the echoing laugher of Sartan Truce.

Emotion erupted in scream that just might have been heard on the surface of the planet. Vultrel's blood may as well have been on fire, and he hissed through clenched teeth with every breath. If it weren't for Truce, he'd still be living happily in Keroko with his father as his teacher and Arus as his best friend. If it weren't for Truce, Anton would still be alive, the implant wouldn't exist, and Damien and Kitreena would've had no reason to come to Terranias in the first place. It was all his fault, his doing. The life Vultrel had lost—a life he'd never get back—had been taken from him by Sartan Truce and the Kyrosen, and now, Vultrel was going to return the favor.

In a blind rage, he lunged forward, fists balled so tightly that he could feel his nails digging into his palms. His knuckles were inches away from Truce's chin when he felt an excruciatingly sharp pain shoot from the front of his left shoulder to the back, a cold jolt that sent agonizing twangs laced with tingles of numbness along his arm. When he opened his eyes, his face paled. Amidst his fury, he'd failed to notice that Truce had retrieved his sword, and the Mage had planted it to the hilt through his shoulder.

"There is one more aspect of magic that I forgot to tell you about," Truce said through a satisfied smile. "Some of the more talented sorcerers have learned how to manipulate people's emotions."

The Mage released his grip on the sword and let Vultrel collapse to his knees. His left arm dangled lifelessly at his side, wide eyes staring in disbelief at the weapon's steel pommel. _Is this really how it ends?_ His breaths began to quicken as panic overtook him, sudden nausea churning in his stomach once more. Truce placed his hand on Vultrel's forehead and sighed.

"Remember, Vultrel. I didn't create the hatred. I simply enhanced it."

Again, his body was overwhelmed by burning ripples of pain as Truce drew the heat from his body. Every fiber of his being told him to stand up and fight despite the sword that was lodged through his shoulder, but his body refused to cooperate. Somewhere in the distance, he thought he heard Mateo's voice again. _Oh, Vultrel. What have you done? You could've turned your life around. You could've disowned your hatred, atoned for your crimes. I know you don't think it to be possible, but Arus did it. He has held fast to the teachings of your father, and he has thus far proven that fighting for the right cause does not require a sacrifice of morality. He did it, Vultrel. You could have, too._

It was as though he was being kicked while he was down. For so many years, Vultrel had been better than Arus in more ways than one. He had looked upon the boy almost like a student of his own. But now, everyone applauded Arus while he received nothing but condemnation. Arus was given all the praise, and all Vultrel got was disgusted shakes of the head. Everything was all about Arus now, and Vultrel had been thrown to the shadows as the failed student of Eaisan Lurei that couldn't measure up to the son of Dayne Sheeth. _That's why I chose the path I did. I was forced into it by Arus. There was no other way for me to prove myself to everyone. It's his fault that my father died. It's his fault that I joined with Kindel. And the blame for my death rests squarely on his shoulders as well._

A booming voice from the doorway cut through his thoughts. "Sartan Truce!"

Truce whirled to face the intruder, and Vultrel was able to get a glance toward the library's entrance. Muert stood just inside, a brilliant sphere of electricity surrounding his body. His two massive hands were clasped together at his right side, and he seemed to be drawing the electricity into them. Streaks and slithers of light crackled and popped around the angles of his body; the amount of energy he was drawing seemed to be a strain on him. Light gleamed across his bared teeth, and his arms shook visibly under the intense power he'd gathered. "I'll no longer allow you to drag the name of the Kyrosen through the mud. It is time for a new direction, a new focus, and a new leader!"

Beside him, a woman wearing a dress embroidered with assorted flowers stood with her own hands pressed together at her middle, and a shining white fire encompassed them. Thick black hair was tied behind her head with a large red ribbon, and she wore a peach-colored shawl around her shoulders. There was the steadfast determination of an experienced warrior in her face—something Vultrel was certainly not surprised to see in a Kyrosen woman—and her dark eyes glistened with the reflection of the flame's light. "The Kyrosen demand better, Truce!" Her commanding voice filled the library. "And with your death, we shall have it!"

Truce's icy grip on Vultrel vanished, and the leader of the Kyrosen stepped toward the two. "Muert, Keilan, you must understand that my actions were all done in the best interest—"

" _We_ shall decide what is in our best interest, Truce!" Muert cut him off with surprising authority. "You will terrorize the innocent no longer!"

Both Mages threw their hands forward, hurling dual streams of magical energy. Spiraling streaks of lighting burst from Muert's hands and crashed into Truce's chest while Keilan's blinding bar of fire enveloped his entire body. Truce's screams rang across the library, throughout the corridors, and across the expanse of the _Falcon Mist_ as the flames swallowed him, obscuring him in a tower of fire that scorched the ceiling. Lightning cracked and popped throughout, filling the air with a continuous rolling thunder that toppled bookcases and shook other assorted books from their shelves. Eventually, Muert and Keilan ceased the flows of fire and lightning, and when the tower of flame finally dwindled into nothingness, Sartan Truce was no more.

Vultrel was still on his knees, he realized, though his tunic was now soaked with blood and there was little feeling left in his arm. With a sigh of exhaustion, he slumped to the floor, the blade sending fresh waves of pain through his shoulder that made him grind his teeth in agony. The world had begun to fade long ago; the loss of blood was certainly taking its toll. But his eyes still worked enough for him to see Muert and Keilan at his side, the big man standing back to let his wife take a closer look at his injury.

"Are you all right, Vultrel?" Muert asked.

"I've seen better days," he heard himself say. His voice sounded groggy and weak.

"We may be able to save him if we can get him back to one of the secure decks," Keilan said. "We'll have to call Grisdan and Tonulle up from the cargo hold to operate. The Maker willing, they're still alive."

"Hang in there, Vultrel." Muert's voice seemed to bounce around in his skull. "We're going to take care of you."

So after all he'd gone through, after everything he'd sacrificed and every battle he'd survived, Vultrel had still failed to kill Sartan Truce. And if Muert and Keilan hadn't shown up when they had, he would most certainly be dead by now. As it was, there was still little hope for survival as far as he was concerned, though he was aware that medical practices in space were much more advanced than those back on Terranias. _But even if I manage to survive, then what? I have no place anywhere, now. There is nowhere I'll be accepted after all I've done. Keroko had no use for me, Kindel Thorus has lost his mind, and Sartan Truce is dead. On top of all that, I've disgraced the Maker, myself, and my father. Perhaps it would be better if I just died._

Curse you, Arus! None of this would've happened if not for you! Curse you to the Abyss! If you and I ever cross blades again, I swear I'll put you in your place for everything you've done to me. Mark my words.

*******

The stars above the ocean were quickly obscured by rolling clouds, a tumultuous wall of black that billowed like smoke. Lightning forked from within, scattering into complex webs of streaking light that rained down upon the South Sea. The wind on the beach was calm for the moment, though that surely wouldn't last. In the distance, waves rose beneath the swirling sky where the border of the storm turned peaceful waters into raging white-capped mountains of blue. On the beach, a figure shrouded in black stood where the ocean's foam licked at his boots. What little white remained in his hair gleamed with every lighting strike. At his side, the Blade of Kaleo shed its oily black light like a lantern of darkness.

The first breath of wind brushed Arus' skin and swept across the beach, causing the treetops lining the distant edge of Keroko Forest to sway. It was a feeling that made his spine shiver, and unnatural breeze that vanished as abruptly as it had appeared. Though night had long since settled over this side of the planet, the implant allowed him to make out everything clearly. The spiraling clouds that crept toward the shore were eerily reminiscent of the skies during their last encounter with Kindel, though Arus knew he should've expected as much. His sensors had been rendered inoperative since they'd arrived on the surface, just as they had on Arynias. He had little doubt that tornadoes would soon begin to funnel down from each swirling core, but a tiny strand of hope suggested that they might be able to stop Kindel before such events took place. A _very_ tiny strand. This was not how he'd envisioned his homecoming.

To his left, Damien and Kitreena stood, their faces set with determination. Kitreena seemed to be having an easier time controlling her abilities; remaining in her Morphed state didn't appear to be much of a strain. The ribbons of light that rose from her body did little to beat back the night's darkness, but if the menacing threat of the coming storm had sparked any sort of fear in her, she didn't let it show. Outwardly, she was as prepared for battle as anyone could be, much like her partner. Damien's face made ice seem warm, and he appeared to be unaware of the way his fingers constantly flexed. Still, the sadness in his eyes betrayed his true feelings; he very much regretted what he was about to do. For every bit of anger and frustration that showed in his clenched jaw, twice as much remorse and compassion swelled within. There was no hate in that stare.

They were within twenty-five paces of Kindel when he spoke, his voice carrying across the shoreline. "So this is what it has come to, has it? Brother against brother, Zo'rhan against Zo'rhan. I suppose my inability to open your eyes gives the Ma'tuul a sort of moral victory, but I will make one more plea. Aldoric, will you not reconsider? Will you not join me to end the fighting and restore order to the universe?"

Damien's voice was as cold as his expression. "The order you seek to press upon the planets of the universe is one of fear and intimidation. You have spent your years since leaving Zo'rhan building up your power so that you could forcibly persuade innocent people to do as you wish. To bring sovereign nations to their knees. You treat kings and queens as mere tools in your quest for glory, and average citizens are valued even less. Arus, Vultrel, the High Lady Almatha, the innocent creatures of Arynias, and all of the other lives you've irrevocably altered over the years; they all have a right to their freedom, a right to choose what _they_ want for their lives, and nothing gives you the authority to take that away from them! I'd sooner die by my own hand than help you, Kindel. Not unless it is to turn you away from this path."

Thorus didn't bother to turn around. He stared out at the sea for a moment before speaking again. "When a deer grazing in the field is attacked by a hungry lion, does anyone interfere? Does anyone rush to the aid of the weaker animal? No, they all stand back and say that it is simply the course of nature. The circle of life, the law of the wild. The weak are weeded out, and the strong reign supreme. That is the way of the universe. It is a lesson we were taught by the Ma'tuul, and I will not ignore it. Those who truly wish to carry on must do so by whatever means necessary, despite what your sad sense of morality tells you. Morality is a weakness of mortals, Aldoric. It holds us back and keeps us from reaching true greatness."

"True greatness?" Damien spat. "You call the abandonment of morality to be a mark of greatness? It is a mark of the Ma'tuul, Kindel! A mark of the conqueror! Anyone can cower to the sinful desires of their flesh, but it takes a truly great man to stand for what is right in spite of those desires! You think I didn't want to see the Ma'tuul torn limb from limb? I was there, Kindel! I watched what they did to Mother and Father just as you did! But I knew that if I let myself be overcome by hatred, I'd wind up in the very position you now find yourself. You have allowed your bitterness to consume you, and now you are so deeply immersed in your anger that you may as well be drowning in it."

Kindel's shoulders rose and fell with a heavy sigh. "I had hoped you might finally see the truth of things, but it is clear that you are content to hide behind your rhetoric of peace and honor. You don't seem to realize that peace is not attainable, with or without the Vezulian Armada as a part of the galaxy. There will always be wars, Aldoric. There will always be those that try to exalt themselves above the rest. Your vision for the universe is unrealistic and unattainable. So I have chosen to prepare myself for the challenges that I know will come rather than adhere to your outdated ideology."

Damien closed his eyes and shook his head. "Then we will always be on opposite sides of the battlefield." From beneath his cloak, he produced a weapon that looked like a cross between a short sword and an axe, a wide blade with two points and an inverted curve that was sharpened on its inner edge. A Zo'rhan design of jagged shapes was cut out of the middle of the blade, leaving some sections completely hollowed through. "I'm sorry, Kindel. I know that Father would've liked to see a reconciliation between us."

Now Kindel turned, his shining eyes radiating azure light. "Only you stand in the way of such an event, Aldoric. My arms are open."

"Your conditions are sacrifices that I will not make. Not now, not ever."

The Blade of Kaleo left a wide streak of darkness in its wake as Kindel readied it for combat. "To the death, then."

Thunder split the sky as the brothers darted forward, weapons clashing with a shower of sparks. They exchanged two blows before Kindel disappeared and reappeared behind Damien, the Blade of Kaleo coming within inches of his scalp before he got his weapon up. Again Kindel vanished, appearing this time to Damien's left. Miraculously, he blocked the attack yet again and retaliated with his own series of strikes. They continued in this manner; Kindel repeatedly teleporting from side to side, left to right, back to front, while Damien struggled to keep up. Somehow, he managed to block every slash, every stab, every swipe, and when a particularly hard strike sent him stumbling backward, Arus drew his sword.

Damien motioned for him to step back. "This is between my brother and I. Should I fail, you two will be the universe's last hope for peace. But as long as I am standing, please stay clear of the fight."

Arus opened his mouth to protest, but Kitreena simply nodded and trotted back several paces. _What are you doing?_ he called out to her. _You've seen what Kindel can do with that thing! You're going to leave Damien to fend for himself?_

_The Zo'rhan are a warrior race, Arus,_ she responded, waving for him to follow her. _You may have trouble following Kindel's movements, but Damien has been honing his battle skills since he was a boy. His reflexes are so attuned that he can react the very instant that Kindel appears so long as he has no distractions. That's why we can't interfere. If Damien has to worry about where we are so that he doesn't accidentally hurt one of us, it will slow his reaction time._

Arus glanced at her and nodded slowly. Despite how much he wanted to be more than a mere spectator, her explanation made sense. How Damien could react with less than a second to do so was beyond him, but then, he hadn't had hundreds of years of training, either. _I can't imagine having such . . ._ his thought trailed off as a particular part of her explanation raised his eyebrows. _Can_ you _follow Kindel's movements?_

_My senses are heightened hundreds of times above their normal level so long as I'm in my Morphed state,_ her reply came back. _I can almost feel his presence before he even appears._

So, of the three of them, it was Arus who was at the biggest disadvantage. With his sensors inoperative and his eyes nowhere near as sharp as Kitreena's or Damien's, he had the least to offer. Not that he would consider backing down from the challenge should it come down to that, but if he somehow wound up facing Kindel one on one, he didn't see any way that he could possibly survive, much less win.

An explosion tore Arus from his thoughts, and a mushroom of fire rose into the air above Kindel and Damien; who exactly had thrown the blast was unclear. Both men were shielding their eyes, but seconds later they were back at it, clashing blades as Kindel teleported back and forth. Damien seemed to be having an easier time keeping up as the fight wore on, but then Kindel vanished and didn't reappear. Thunder crackled with an ominous flash as the three of them looked this way and that, watching and waiting with eyes and ears alert. "Watch yourselves," Damien warned, circling slowly with his weapon poised. "He could appear anywhere."

The first drops of rain dotted Arus' arm. Harsh winds picked up in a heartbeat, roaring with intensity as though the beach sat in the exhaust path of a starship. Crashing waves beat against the shore, growing larger and larger with each swell of water. The rain went from a faint drizzle to a heavy downpour while lightning and thunder cut through the air together, sending tremors through the ground with each ear-splitting crackle. It was one of the worst storms Arus had ever seen, and certainly the worst to make landfall in Asteria in his lifetime.

And suddenly Kindel was there, shooting through the air with a foot extended toward Damien's chest. The kick connected with incredible force, throwing Damien backward and sending him tumbling end over end across the sand. He stopped on his back and somehow had the presence of mind to bring his weapon up to block Kindel's. The Blade of Kaleo inched closer and closer to Damien's chest, and he struggled with a grunt to hold his brother at bay. Even Kitreena seemed nervous; her fingers twitched beside her waist just inches from her whip. Arus understood how she felt. His own feet seemed ready to run out from under him to aid Damien.

"Surrender to the truth, brother!" Kindel shouted, his eyes flashing with a dangerous gleam against the lightning. "You have no idea what you are passing up! The power! The power of the Blade of Kaleo fills me like a gushing spring of life! It could be yours as well! We could share it and watch over the universe together!"

"I'd sooner carve my own heart out, Kindel!"

Kitreena's whip cracked with sparkles of lightning. Arus whipped his head toward her with wide eyes. "I thought we weren't supposed to help him!"

"We are to stay out of his way," she said, dashing toward Kindel. "But I'll not let him be killed while I stand by and watch! He can yell at me for it later!"

Arus raced after her, feet kicking up sand with every step. The snap of Kitreena's whip cut through the air less than a second after Kindel vanished. He reemerged from the darkness in front of Arus with that maniacal smile plastered across his face, teeth glistening against the intermittent flashes from above. Damien screamed something as Arus fell to his backside, sword raised in a vain effort to defend himself. With his human eye as wide as it would open, he watched as Kindel disappeared once again, and Damien's figure lunged through the space where he'd stood, nearly falling on top of Arus in the process. The two of them barely made it to their feet when Thorus appeared behind Kitreena, sword raised for a killing strike.

"NO!" Damien shouted, loosing a strand of lightning from his palm toward his brother. The band of electricity skimmed within inches of Kitreena's back and pierced the air where Kindel had been. Whether the attack found its mark or not was hard to tell through the blinding light, but when the afterimage faded from Arus' vision, he saw Thorus floating in the sky above the turbulent waves.

"Now, receive your rewards for your devotion to weakness!" His voice cracked as he screamed like a desperate madman. With the Blade of Kaleo high above his head, he commanded the winds, guiding twin funnel clouds down from the swirling black skies. Arus fell to his knees and dug both hands and feet into the sand in a vain attempt to keep from being swept away. Not too far to his left, Damien raised his cloak to shield his face from the stinging bits of sand that sliced through the air like tiny razors.

"Kitreena!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. She stood several paces ahead of them, the glow of her body nearly obscured by the black winds. No more words were exchanged; she simply looked back and nodded.

What happened next was something Arus couldn't have begun to properly explain. Kitreena's body separated and blended with the winds, seemingly dissolving into nothingness as she was swept away. Only the light remained, swirling through the air as though she and wind were one and the same. It took but seconds. Swaths of white filled the sky and cut through the clouds before darting toward Thorus. Kindel's tornadoes barreled onto the shore and rolled toward Damien and Arus as Kitreena's glow was swallowed by the dark funnels.

Arus, tell Damien to be ready!

Though he didn't understand, he wasn't about to leave her hanging. "Damien!" he called, "Kitreena says to make sure you're ready!" Damien responded with a nod of acknowledgment.

Immediately, Kindel's smile vanished, and he stared in what could only be described as astonishment as Kitreena's glow reappeared in the center of either tornado and grew, converting the darkness of each into the most blinding light Arus had ever seen. A faint whine grew into a piercing roar that cut through the rushing winds, and both twisters began to bulge like overfilled balloons. Damien rose to his feet and raised his arms above his head, summoning a surge of pure blue-white energy into his hands before clasping them together at his chest. A scream accompanied a brilliant flash of light from within the roaring winds, and the tornados dissolved in twin towers of sparkles. As the dissipating light showered down upon the sea, Damien threw open palms forward and unleashed a white-hot beam of intense energy toward his brother. The blast connected with a distracted Kindel's chest, knocking him from the air into the churning ocean waters.

Wide bands of light descended from the clouds and twisted together before coming to rest between Arus and Damien. They molded and shaped into the form of a young woman on her knees. When Kitreena's face appeared once again, she looked haggard and worn. "Did . . . it work?" she asked between panting breaths.

Damien kneeled beside her and rested a hand on her shoulder. "We hit our target, but I doubt the fight is won."

"That was incredible," Arus told her, dropping opposite Damien. "How did you do that?"

"Truthfully?" She looked up at him with a grin. "I have no idea."

"Her powers are manifesting themselves," Damien said. "And not a moment too soon."

Arus shook his head in wonder; the girl never ceased to amaze him. His gaze ran across the beach toward the furious ocean. "Do you think it's over?"

"Not by a long shot." Damien turned his attention to the sea and rose to his feet. "The Blade of Kaleo is not so easily overcome."

"How are we going to get that thing out of his hands?"

"Patience," Kitreena muttered. "And persistence. He's got to have weaknesses, and we have to exploit them."

"I don't suppose you read anything on your scanners, do you Arus?" Damien asked.

"Nothing. They've been useless since we arrived. Kindel's power just causes too much interference."

The winds pushed against them hard, and lightning forked down upon the forest to the north. Arus glanced back as thunder rolled through the clouds, and his heart sank. "Oh, no."

Kitreena took a deep breath and pushed herself up. "What is it?"

"Another tornado," Damien told her, pointing toward the sky above the trees where a funnel was beginning to descend. It seemed to be moving away from them. "He's trying to distract us."

Arus agonized over the bleak possibilities. The storm was headed straight for Keroko, and the village would be in no way prepared for such violent weather. Worse, there were none of the usual warning signs that came with natural thunderstorms and hurricanes, so the people would be caught completely by surprise. The tornado tore through trees and sent branches flying as it plowed away from the beach. "My hometown is in that direction."

"How far?"

Arus frowned. "By foot? An hour at best. But at the rate the storm is moving, we'll never beat it there."

Another crackling web of lightning spread across the sky and gathered above before darting down in one thick streak of white. The three scattered, diving in opposite directions to escape the blast. Echoes of laughter rippled through the air, and Kindel appeared overhead in a burst of flame. The flesh of his chest was charred and black from Damien's attack. "Worried about your people, are you?" he cackled. "Well then, let's make this more interesting!"

Although Arus had been growing accustomed to teleportation, a sense of disorientation overwhelmed him when the beach suddenly became Trader's Square. The sky was clear here—for the moment, anyway—and the stars twinkled above the soft glow of the street lanterns. Most of the shops were closed up for the night, though many appeared to be undergoing construction. New to Arus' eyes were four stone towers that were being erected at each corner of the Square. They looked to be guardhouses unless he missed his guess. Those exceptions aside, everything was just as he'd remembered it. The stone-paved ground was barren in the absence of the daytime peddlers' carriages and carts, and the orange glow of the lanterns flickered in the cool air. Autumn was well on its way.

He stood at the center of the Square with Damien and Kitreena at his either side, their faced filled with the same disorientation he'd felt. Kindel floated overhead, a satisfied smile plastered across his darkened face. "Is this better?"

Before Arus could answer, a shout rang out across the Square, drawing their eyes to an armored member of the Royal Guard of Cathymel. The soldier, covered from head to toe in shimmering steel and wearing the red tabard of Lord Sarathon over his chest, raised a cry that echoed in the night. "Intruders in Trader's Square! We have intruders in Trader's Square!"

Kindel's hand was already extended, and a ball of fire threw the soldier right through the wooden door of the fletcher's shop. Arus growled and tightened his grip on his weapon. "Leave them alone, Kindel! Your fight is with us!"

The Zo'rhan laughed as his body rose higher into the air. "You wanted to warn them of my coming, didn't you? Well, consider them warned!"

Streaks of lightning shot from his hands, demolishing rooftops and tearing through walls. Fireballs engulfed entire buildings, exploding through support beams and reducing whole structures to rubble in mere seconds. Destruction poured from his palms in a deadly shower that left nothing but charred ruin in its wake. People came running from every direction to see what had caused the ruckus, and terror flashed on their faces when they laid eyes on the man in the sky. Arus felt paralyzed, not only by Kindel's unimaginable power, but by his inferior abilities that left him powerless to stop the madness. Thorus' laughter went well beyond the boundaries of sanity; the shrieking cackle pierced Arus' ears.

"We've got to bring him to the ground, Kit!" Damien shouted. "We can't—"

Thunder rolled ominously over the village, a thunder more dense and powerful than anything that came from Kindel's hands. Arus turned his attention to the south just as the black clouds passed over the edge of the Square, bringing torrential rains and winds so powerful that homes began to collapse under their might. With no options left, he looked up at Kindel, and his mechanical eye glowed. "I'll not let you destroy everything that is sacred to me!" he screamed as a beam of crimson shot forth. The laser passed right through Kindel's left arm just above the elbow, and a second line flew wide of his shoulder. Had the implant's sensors been active, the first blast would've hit his head and the second his heart.

Thorus snarled and grabbed his arm before he disappeared, and thunder sent tremors through Trader's Square. A ring of terrified spectators encircled the area, men and women in robes and smallclothes filling the Square from every direction. Violent wind tore lanterns into the air and threatened to sweep children from the clutches of their parents. To the south, two—no, three—tornadoes approached the Keroko border, looming ominously over the village light the black fingers of Kuldaan himself. Villagers began to scream in horror, some simply frozen with fear while most others snatched up their children and fled. Arus looked to Kitreena, whose face was pale. Her exertions on the beach had clearly taken a toll on her body. "Can you stop them?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

"It was hard enough to unravel two of them," she said, wiping her rain-soaked hair from her face. "Three would be nearly impossible, especially without any time to recuperate. Our only hope—"

Kindel appeared beside Arus with the Blade of Kaleo held high above his head. Damien's hand moved in a flash, and his odd weapon stopped Kindel's a mere finger's width from Arus' skull. With a startled jolt, Arus leapt away and hefted his own weapon. Almost as if he'd expected the attack would be unsuccessful, Kindel drew back his sword with casual motion, eyes of azure fixed on his brother. "Your reflexes are more attuned than I'd expected," he said, almost too quietly to be heard over the howling wind. "But you are still nothing compared to me!" Blood soaked through his burned and frayed sleeve, though he behaved as though he didn't experience pain.

With his teeth bared, Damien brought his blade down hard, but Kindel teleported into the sky and raised his hands once again. A red aura surrounded his body and extended upward, encompassing the clouds and turning them blood red. Flames burst like molten lava from porous areas of each, illuminating the village with a crimson light that likely raised thoughts of the Abyss amongst the fleeing people. A stinging sensation prickled across Arus' shoulder, then another on his forearm, and still another on his wrist. To his left, he saw Kitreena yank her hand toward her chest and rub it as though she'd be stung by a bee. That's when he noticed that the raindrops had begun to glow like fire. No, they had _become_ fire. Each and every drip grew hotter and hotter, and every building that hadn't been set ablaze by Kindel's earlier assault was smoking. It wouldn't be long before the entire village was burning.

Damien wasted no time, launching a sequence of lighting blasts and fireballs toward his brother. Arus thought he saw Kindel grin as he vanished, and he reappeared right behind Damien. He said nothing, and gave Arus no time to shout a warning. Fire spewed from his palms and exploded against Damien's back, throwing the big man forward in a trail of smoke. He landed hard on his side and rolled several paces before coming to rest on his chest. Thick ropes of grey rose from the burning wounds in his back where his cloak and shirt had been incinerated. Not a muscle in his body moved.

"Damien!" Kitreena cried out. Again, her body separated and blended with the wind, and her twisting strands of light rose high above the village. A chill washed over Arus, an unnatural cold that almost seemed to be pulling him toward her. The searing rain of fire slowed, not in intensity but in speed. Each drop actually seemed to _lose_ speed as it neared the ground until something happened that made Arus blink twice. They actually came to a momentary stop in midair, then began to _ascend_ toward the clouds. No, not the clouds. They were being drawn toward Kitreena's glowing figure over the center of Trader's Square. Her body had reformed there—at least partially; she was more of an oblong orb of light than anything else—and she was pulling the fire from the rain, the sky, and the clouds. The light within her body swelled, and her entire figure was set ablaze with crimson flame.

"Kitreena!" Arus shouted. He couldn't tell if this was what she'd intended, but he knew how tired she'd already been. _Be careful, please!_

Don't worry. I'm fine.

When the final bit of red had drained from the clouds, powerful strands of lighting began pouring into her, spiraling around her with sharp sizzles and pops that could no doubt be heard miles away. Kindel stared up at her with that maniacal smile, almost daring her to attack. He held the Blade of Kaleo ready; Arus shuddered to think of what might happen if he managed to land a blow with the weapon. _He's prepared to attack you with that sword. Watch for it._

It won't help him.

The words had barely run through his mind when she shot forward like a streak of lightning—she _was_ lightning, Arus thought—and Kindel lashed out with the Blade of Kaleo in an expertly performed attack that would've cleaved most men in two. But a sword did nothing against wind, nor could it extinguish a raging fire or cut bolts of lightning to ribbons. The fiery blast of lightning crashed into Kindel's chest and sent him sailing through the air, his body engulfed in a blood-red flame. Higher and higher he rose, faster and faster, until he broke right through the clouds and disappeared. Kitreena hadn't simply hit him with her attack; she was now carrying him toward the stars in a burning ball of fire. A faint orange and red glow emanated through the clouds as she twisted back toward the village, and when they cut through the clouds again, they were moving faster than ever. Kindel's fiery form sped toward the ground in trail of flame and crashed through the stone paving like a meteor. Arus ran toward Damien's body as dirt and rocks and debris exploded into the air with frightening force and threw himself over the fallen Zo'rhan. Heavy stones pelted his back and legs, and a boulder the size of a human head smashed into his knee. That wrenched a cry of pain from him.

The cool rain had resumed, that was the first thing he noticed once the debris came to rest. It wasn't nearly as windy as it had been earlier, though a quick glance to the south showed that the trio of tornadoes was still approaching. They'd crossed the village border, by his guess, and it wouldn't be long before homes and shops and barns were decimated. But that wasn't the worst of it. Their continued existence suggested that Kindel was not dead; the possibility sent shivers of terror rolling down Arus' spine. If a fall like that hadn't been enough to kill the man, what would be? Could _anything_ hurt him, or did the possession of the Blade of Kaleo make him . . . immortal?

Bands of light swept beside him and coalesced to form Kitreena. She'd barely looked at him when the glow that had ensconced her since Morphing vanished, and she collapsed to a motionless heap beside Damien. Arus moved to check on her— _something_ was wrong with his knee; a stiff pop was followed by throbbing pain that radiated through it when he moved—he moved to check on her, taking her hand into his own and patting her cheek gently. She moaned something unintelligible and rolled her head slowly, but her eyes remained closed. _At least she's alive._ That was something he wasn't sure he could say for Damien, whose scorched back made Arus' stomach heave. Flesh and muscle and bone and sinew were all visible, albeit burned to a crisp. Doctor Nori would probably be able to help, but they were a long way from the _Refuge_.

"Arus?" a woman's voice spoke from behind. "Arus, is that you?"

Carefully, Arus shifted his weight onto his good leg and rose. He'd grown to know that voice second only to his own mother's. Veran Lurei looked worn and tired, but he wouldn't have expected anything else from someone who'd been torn from their sleep such as they had. Stray strands of black hair dangled from her soaked ponytail, and the creases in her face were amplified by the flickering of nearby fires. The rain had drenched her bathrobe so thoroughly that she held her arms close to her body as though snow was about to fall. Not surprisingly, her jaw dropped open when he faced her. "Good evening, Ms. Lurei," he said with a polite bow. The mere motion set his knee ablaze with pain. "Please don't feel it disrespectful, but I must insist that you flee the village immediately. A terrible storm is headed this way," he told her, pointing toward the approaching tornadoes. They seemed to be spreading apart; one remained to the south while the others were moving east and west. What looked like wooden debris was circling the outer rim of one, and his breath caught when he saw something that resembled a rooftop swirling through the dark funnel.

"We know," Veran said with a nod. "Keroko is surrounded by them. We've no place to go. Many have run to the shelter, but . . ." Her eyes were clearly fixed on the implant. "Arus, what has happened to you? And where is Vultrel? He told us that you had been killed!"

As much as Arus knew he should've been surprised by that, he really wasn't. "I don't know where Vultrel is. I haven't seen him in at least a week. As for me, there isn't enough time to explain that now. Please, Ms. Lurei, you must get to the shelter with the others."

"That old building won't hold against all of these twisters," she muttered. "It may be able to withstand _one_ , but the watchmen have reported at least twenty. It doesn't matter what we do. Keroko is finished."

"Such a defeatist attitude is not becoming of you, Ms. Lurei," Arus said with a shake of his head. "Master Eaisan wouldn't have wanted you to give up like that."

"I suppose not," she sighed, "but then it was always much easier to obey his commands when he was here to press me. Come, let us join with the others. Your mother will be delighted to see that you're alive."

As much as he wanted to see his mother, Arus had no intentions of leaving Damien and Kitreena to die. "I'm sorry, but I can't go with you. I have business of my own to take care of. And please, don't tell my mother that we met. I'd almost prefer it if she thought I was dead."

Veran tilted her head and pursed her lips, but she didn't protest. "Very well, Arus. Take care of yourself, do you hear me? And if you run into Vultrel, tell him . . . Tell him that I love him."

"I will see that the message is passed along," he assured. "Now please, get to the shelter, and see that anyone you come across along the way follows."

She nodded her acknowledgment and turned away just as an explosion of fire erupted from the crater where Kindel Thorus had been driven through the planet's crust. The blast sent Veran to the ground, and Arus stumbled back with an arm raised shield his face from the heat. Kindel ascended through the flames, lifting his arms in triumph. While his survival was nothing short of miraculous, Kitreena's attacks had certainly left their marks. Streaks of blood masked his face in crimson and matted his hair. His shirt was all but gone, along with his pants up to the knees. Also missing was his cloak, and bloody burns marred his entire body. Arus couldn't even begin to imagine the pain he had to be experiencing, yet Thorus grinned as though he had just awoken from a restful night's sleep. "It's not possible!" Arus murmured, shaking his head. "No one could've survived that!"

"No mortal, perhaps!" Kindel shot back, raising his weapon high. The blade billowed with darkness like the richest smoke he'd ever seen. "But with the Blade of Kaleo, I am invincible!"

Veran Lurei scrambled backward, staring in wide-eyed terror. "The . . . what?"

Thorus turned narrow eyes toward her, and Arus' feet moved without hesitation. In the blink of an eye, he was standing over the woman, his sword holding Kindel's weapon from severing her in two. His knee throbbed and popped with every movement, but Arus forced it to the back of his mind. Thorus glared at him and pushed hard against his blade, but he was determined to hold fast. "Ms. Lurei," he said calmly, keeping his eyes locked on Thorus, "you must get away from here immediately."

She didn't argue, she didn't nod, she didn't even blink. Immediately she rolled away and leapt to her feet before racing away from the Square without looking back. Kindel's eyes shifted to Arus. "So, now _you_ mean to kill the immortal? You fool! You're even weaker than my brother and his disgrace of a daughter."

Arus grit his teeth and yanked his sword back. "That may be," he said through a snarl, "but strength isn't everything."

Kindel's grin grew to an open smile. "My brother shares that fool notion. He now lies in a useless pile behind you. What makes you think you can avoid his fate?"

Truth be told, Arus wasn't sure he _could_. But everything he'd been taught, everything he'd experienced, and everything he'd learned told him that he had to stand up for what was right. Kitreena gave everything she had, Damien nearly sacrificed his life, and countless others were dying amongst the stars, all of them fighting for the hope of a brighter future. Master Eaisan had taught him to fight for what he knew in his heart to be right, and he knew without a doubt that Kindel Thorus was a menace to the universe, a cancer that had to be removed without fail. But first . . . "I'll give you one last chance, Kindel. If you surrender now, I'll do everything in my power to see that you are given a fair trial."

Thorus shook his head, his chest heaving with laughter. "You naive little boy. Tell me, what good would that do me? You think I should give up everything I've gained, the power I've built, the following I've developed, all of it just so that the Aeden Alliance can send me to the headsman's chopping block? What kind of fool do you take me for?"

"I can't guarantee that you wouldn't be executed, but you could set an example for any out there who've considered following the path you have. Your actions could help to sway many others from making the same mistakes."

"What mistakes?" Kindel spread his hands, and his body rose into the air. "Foolish child, I stand before you today as the most powerful man to ever fly amongst the stars! The Blade of Kaleo has granted me immortality, and I see no reason that I should throw such a gift away!"

Well, it wasn't as though Arus had expected him to jump at the offer, but it was an offer that had to be made, anyway. "You call _me_ foolish, yet you stand here claiming to be invincible. Perhaps it is time that we see just how invincible you truly are."

Kindel's smile vanished, his face turning cold. "It will be a shame to destroy such a wondrous invention, but then, I no longer have any need for Truce's silly technology." A clubbing forearm punctuated the sentence; Kindel teleported to his side faster than he could even blink. As Arus fell to his knees—something he immediately wished he hadn't done considering where the boulder had landed—as he fell, a burning line of heat shot across his back, a pain so intense his eye nearly fell from its socket. The Blade of Kaleo, no doubt. Arus knew he had to put some distance between himself and Thorus if he wanted a chance to defend himself, but the man's teleportation abilities made it difficult to move _anywhere_ without running headlong into an outstretched fist or a swinging blade. His injured knee complicated matters; how was he supposed to maneuver without full mobility?

He set his jaw and rolled away, and Kindel's sword grazed his ribs in the process. Everything hurt. His knee locked momentarily before popping loose again, and the pain that radiated through his leg was excruciating. Warm blood mixed with rainwater on his back, and that stung nearly as bad as the fiery rain had earlier. He could tell the wound was deep; simply bringing his arms together to grip the hilt of his sword made his back _feel_ as though it were splitting apart. There was no time to dwell on his injuries, however, as Thorus crossed blades with him the instant his weapon was raised. Somehow, Arus managed to deflect a few attacks before the Blade of Kaleo found its target again, this time slicing a deep gash in his injured knee. And he had thought the bloody thing couldn't have hurt any more.

"You're not even trying!" Kindel laughed. "Come on, at least give me some sort of challenge. After all of that talk, I truly expected better from you." Another slash knocked Arus' sword to the left, and Kindel drove his boot into his stomach. Arus doubled over, clutching his middle as he fell to his knees once again. Kindel gently pressed the Blade of Kaleo against his neck. "Now, give me what is mine. I want the Lifestone, and I want it now!"

Arus, please don't give up!

Her voice drew his eyes, and Arus looked past Thorus to see Kitreena, on her hands and knees, panting heavily as she stared at him with desperate eyes. Beside her, Damien appeared to be moving, and after a moment he began to push himself up. Kitreena's mouth moved wordlessly, but Arus heard her voice in his mind. _I know you can do this, Arus. Don't let him win!_

"What will it be, Arus?" Kindel demanded. His hands trembled so that the edge of the sword nicked at his neck. "I will have what I want. The question is whether you shall live or die."

A defiant sneer curled Arus' lips. "I'd sooner die then hand the Lifestone over to you." He knocked Kindel's weapon away with his steel arm and swiped his own sword out as Thorus vanished from sight. It was an effort to return to his feet, but he was determined not to go down without a fight. Master Eaisan had fought to the very end even knowing that he had little hope of surviving. And Arus' own father had given his life to serve the people. If it came down to it, Arus would gladly do the same, but he wasn't going to simply hand himself over to be beheaded. Kindel Thorus might be powerful, but Damien and Kitreena had been able to keep up with them. And if they could do it, Arus figured, then he could as well.

Meanwhile, the tornadoes ripped through the village in every direction, sending everything from stone houses to livestock flying through the air. Distant screams pierced the night despite the howling winds and roaring thunder as Keroko was slowly torn to shreds. Arus had trained for years to have a shot at defending his hometown, and while there was little he could do about the damage that had already occurred, he could certainly stop further carnage from taking place. But amidst the destruction, it was Kitreena's pleading face that hit Arus the hardest. She'd put her life on the line time and time again to defend him, and now it was his turn to return the favor.

Kindel appeared to his left with a whirl of the black blade, and his eyes widened when Arus met the weapon easily. Again, he teleported, and their blades met with a clang over the young man's head. Over and over, Kindel tried to finish the fight, but Arus stood tall, focusing only on the space surrounding him. By remaining stationary, he narrowed down the possible places where his opponent might appear to the space surrounding him, and that made it easier to be prepared for attacks. Adrenaline surged with each attack he blocked, and the look of amazement on Kitreena's face brought a grin to his own. _That's it!_ she called to him. _You're doing it!_

Meanwhile, Kindel's smile had been fading more and more with every blow deflected. "You arrogant little fool!" he growled when Arus knocked down an attack meant for his head. "I'll teach you the price for mocking a Zo'rhan warrior!" He vanished again, this time teleporting high over Trader's Square. With the Blade of Kaleo aloft, he called down three massive funnel clouds around them, each surrounded by slithering bolts of crimson. On either side of his body, orbs of red and purple gathered and grew before splitting into pairs and growing again. Soon he was circled by eight spheres of light, and with a flick of his wrist he sent them darting over the village in sharp streaks of color. "Your selfish actions have sentenced your people to death!" They looked just like the long slashes of energy that Kindel had used to murder the Ayaans.

Damien's voice cut through the wind. "Arus, the amulet!" He was on all fours, face contorted in pain. Kitreena knelt beside him. Her glazed eyes made her seem on the verge of passing out again.

"I'm not going give it back to him!" Arus shouted, shocked that Damien would even suggest such a thing. "I won't let him win!"

"Not for him!" Damien called. "For you!"

Thunder shattered the air, its deafening crackle mixing with Kindel's insane laughter. Arus reluctantly yanked the amulet and stones from his pouch and placed the larger of the two into the center of the pendant. They fused with a glow of purple light, and each of the gems sparkled as though freshly polished. _Mateo said to use it only as a last resort, and we're out of options,_ he told himself, slipping the chain around his neck.

The smile vanished from Kindel's face, and his voice cracked as he shouted. "No! What have you done?!"

White light purer than the finest cotton burst from the amulet, pouring like a fountain over Arus' entire body. An immense pressure formed in his chest, bringing him to his knees as a searing heat spread through him. It was power unlike anything he'd ever felt before, a surging energy that energized and revitalized his every bone and muscle with a newfound strength and vitality. Intense warmth combined with the flowing energy, drowning Arus in a strangely invigorating pain that threatened to consume him if he didn't find a way to control it. _I will not be defeated by this! Damien and Kitreena are counting on me! The safety of the universe is riding in our shoulders!_ Clenching his fists, he took hold of all his fear, all his pain, all his anger, and every last ounce of aggression, took hold of every bit of it and transformed it, replacing it with the endless determination to do what was right, an indestructible resolve to turn those who sought to do evil away from their wicked ways, and to crush those who refused to abolish their immoral and contemptible desires. Screaming, he leapt to his feet, the brilliant light enveloping him as his voice echoed amidst the winds. "I won't let you win!"

A sphere of white burst outward from his body and shattered into countless sparkles of light. With the shattering came a new world of awareness like the birth of a sixth sense. He could feel every particle of air around him, every shred of heat and every drop of moisture. Spirits and bodies were distinctly separate entities, as were darkness and light. The elements of the universe were at his fingertips, but that was just a fraction of what he gained. The rest of his senses had been boosted far beyond anything he could've imagined; he could hear distinct voices in the distance, much more than the simple screams of terror that had floated up from the village earlier. He could sense where energy and the elements were being manipulated unnaturally throughout Keroko. Every tornado was so clear in his mind that it was as if he was looking right at them. Each murderous sphere of energy, every bolt of lightning, the wind, the rain, the clouds, Kindel's very being; it all stemmed from Kindel Thorus, and the Blade of Kaleo was pushing his power to a level far beyond anything any mortal had ever been able to reach.

At least, until now.

"No more shall die at your hands, Thorus!" he heard himself growl as he sheathed his blade. The Lifestone began to glow as he raised his hands to the air and focused his mind on the eight deadly bands of energy that swept across the village. He could feel Kindel tugging at them, directing them toward the helpless men and women scattered throughout the streets. "I said no more!" With a harsh tug, he yanked the swaths of light from Kindel's grip and guided them back toward Trader's Square. They descended around Arus' body and condensed into spheres once more as they circled him. Kindel stared at him in a mixture of shock and incredulous fury.

"You shall pay for that, child!" The Zo'rhan's voice boomed like thunder. "The Lifestone is not some toy for your amusement, and I'm going to—"

"You'll do nothing, Kindel," Arus said coldly. "You were warned! You were warned, and you foolishly ignored every single opportunity you were given to turn away from your dishonorable ways! Now, you shall perish, and your fate will be in Kuldaan's hands!"

Thorus opened his mouth to respond, but a sudden roar drowned his voice as the ground began to tremble. Arus' lips curled as he held his palms out to either side. An orange glow came from the three tornadoes surrounding Kindel, an aura that spread through the funnels until each was made not of wind, but of fire. Bubbles of flame rose and burst from the surface of each as they rotated like a three towers of magma. Crimson lightning shot down from the heavens, forking and twisting before sending explosions of land into the air beneath Kindel's floating form. Arus slowly raised his hands, and the spheres of light surrounding him began to rise in a rotating ring of light. "I'm sorry that it had to come to this, Thorus! But you've left me no choice!"

Kindel opened his mouth to scream as Arus' closed his fists, and the twisting columns of flame began to converge upon the Vezulian admiral. Arus could feel him desperately tugging at the tornadoes through the Blade of Kaleo, but the battle had drained him so much that not even Azriel's sword could amplify his power enough to combat Arus' will and determination. The burning towers blended into one, a massive funnel nearly as wide as Trader's Square itself. As the flames swallowed Thorus, Arus hurled the eight orbs of light that had been meant for the Keroko villagers. They disappeared into the funnel and crashed into Kindel's writhing body with a blinding explosion that illuminated the Square as though it was noonday. Still, Arus refused to take his eyes away. He intensified the flames until the heat was more than he could stand—what good would his cybernetic arm be if he melted it to a useless lump?—then he abruptly dissolved the entire twister with little more than a wave of his hand.

The first thing that caught Arus' eye was the twirling black sword descending several paces away. The Blade of Kaleo landed upright in the ground, its tip piercing through the stone paving as though it were bread. A short distance away, Kindel's blackened body lay in a smoldering heap. His hair and clothing had been completely burned away, leaving him a naked and disfigured mess. To Arus' great surprise, he was moving, crawling ever so slowly toward the legendary sword.

"You've got to be kidding me," Damien muttered. For the first time, Arus noticed that he was on his feet, standing with Kitreena's support. Though, in truth, she looked like she needed someone to hold _her_ up. "He _still_ won't give up?"

"One of us has to get the Blade of Kaleo before he does," Arus said. "But Mateo said that it has to be someone of pure intentions. Otherwise, we might end up like Kindel."

"I can't think of anyone with a purer heart than you," Kitreena told him, her voice hoarse. "You disowned vengeance long ago, and have spent our days together trying to teach me selfless nobility. It has to be you."

Arus looked to Damien for help, but he only nodded in agreement. "I think it's clear that you are our best hope, Arus. If _your_ intentions aren't pure enough, ours won't even come close."

Kindel had struggled to his knees, and he licked burnt lips with a blistered tongue. Arus shook his head with a sigh of resignation and hobbled out toward their fallen opponent. His leg throbbed with every movement, and the loss of blood from his back was beginning to make him feel lightheaded. Thorus bared his teeth with a threatening snarl and stumbled to his feet. "You are just a child!" he said in little more than a rasped whisper. "How can this be possible! You're just a child!"

Arus stopped beside the Blade of Kaleo, no more than five paces from Kindel. "If there is anything I've learned from my encounters with you and Sartan Truce, it is that evil will always fall to its own schemes and devices. All of this could have been avoided, but you wouldn't back down from your selfish ambitions." He calmly placed his hand on the diamond pommel of the Blade of Kaleo, and the weapon immediately surged with a pure white light that vanquished the darkness formerly consuming the weapon. "You brought this upon yourself, Kindel." He hoisted the sword of legends high above his head, and the clouds tore apart with a deafening thunder, splitting down the center before being blown away by a powerful wind to reveal the dim blue sky. Dawn was fast approaching, and the stars were already beginning to wink out.

"Take your hands off of that sword!" Kindel hissed. "Just who do you think you are? It is mine, curse you!" He lunged at Arus like a feeble old man, and was easily shoved to the ground.

"I am the voice for those who have no voice," Arus proclaimed. "I am the power for those who have no power. I am the defense for those who have no defense. So many have died unjustly at your hands. So many helpless souls lost to your anger. I'll never let it happen again! Do you hear me? You're through, Kindel. The Aeden Alliance High Council will decide what becomes of you, but until then, know that I will be watching you, and should you try to escape, I will do what I must to keep you from spreading terror across the universe again."

Again, Kindel rose to his knees. "You are a boy," he muttered over and over, struggling back to his feet. "I cannot be defeated by a child. I won't be! Do you hear me?"

"I am a child no longer," Arus said, turning away. "I have taken on the responsibilities placed before me, and I shall perform my duties with honor." For a moment, he could almost feel the hand of Eaisan Lurei on his shoulder, then it was his father's. Looking at the now shimmering blade in his grasp, he made a vow to spend his life doing everything in his power to ensure the safety and security of not just Keroko, but the entire universe. He only wished Vultrel would've stood beside him. "Gather yourself together, Kindel," he said, walking back toward where Kitreena and Damien stood. "You're coming with us."

"Fool!" Thorus shouted, and a crimson glow grew behind Arus. "You are a fool!"

Damien and Kitreena screamed out in unison. "Arus, look out!"

A snarl of anger curled Arus' lips, and as a blinding bar of white-hot energy surged from Kindel's palms, the Lifestone amulet began to glow. The young man turned and lunged at the same time, his body twisting through the light, barreling through the attack, the Blade of Kaleo shielding him from harm. One long swipe of the glimmering sword cleaved Kindel Thorus in two, and the mighty Zo'rhan warrior's body fell to the ground with a dull thud.

For a while, Arus merely stood there, arm extended with the Blade of Kaleo shedding its light. He knew it was odd to feel remorse for the death of such a tyrant, but then, that was what separated the two of them. His compassion for life, in all forms, brought with it the inevitable sadness when one of those lives refused to respect the sanctity of the others. Kindel Thorus could've been a great man, a wise leader, and a powerful guardian of peace across the galaxy. It was a shame that his ambitions cost him his life. Arus flexed his steel hand and shook his head at how close he'd come to following the very same path.

At last, he drew in the sword and looked upon the fallen Zo'rhan. What he saw nearly made him jump. Kindel Thorus, severed at the waist, was looking back up at him. Even more startling was that the billowing blue glow had faded from his eyes, reverting them to their natural state of brown. He had brown eyes, just like his brother. "Why . . ." he whispered, mouth barely moving. "Why . . . did this happen?"

"I'm sorry, Kindel," Damien's voice came from behind. His own eyes glistened with wetness as he kneeled beside his brother. "I tried so hard to avoid this. I didn't want to lose you. You are my only brother, after all."

Kindel stared up at him for several seconds before his lips formed a faint smile. "You only . . . did what you . . . had to do." The words took a moment to register in Arus' mind, and even then he wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. Kindel Thorus, leader of the Vezulian Armada and the man who sought to control the universe through fear, almost sounded as though he was admitting fault for everything that had happened. "I wish . . ." he murmured, his gaze shifting to the early-morning sky, "that I'd never left . . . Zo'rhan." His words were growing faint. "Perhaps all of this . . . could have been avoided."

That put a smile on Damien's face wider than Arus had ever seen before. "I believe some would call that repentance," he said softly.

Whether or not Kindel heard him was hard to say. His eyes rolled closed as he spoke again. "Aldoric . . . Do you remember . . . the lullaby that Mother . . . sang to us as children?"

"I do," Damien replied, his voice catching. "I do," he said again after clearing his throat.

"Would you . . . mind?" he asked, though Arus had to repeat the mumbled words over and over in his head before he understood them. "One . . . last . . . time?"

A lengthy silence passed before Damien began to sing, his low voice resonating across Trader's Square in spite of the soft tune. Kitreena put her head on Arus' shoulder with a sniffle and a comforting arm around his waist. She looked haggard and exhausted, and with good reason. The battle had taken its toll on everyone and pushed the limits of many. Damien was in visible pain as well, both emotionally and physically, and Arus couldn't wait to have Doctor Nori work on his knee. Many had died—too many—both in space and on the surface, and there was still much left to be done. Rounding up the remains of the Vezulian Armada was going to be a chore. The Kyrosen would have to be dealt with as well, though that seemed more like a minor inconvenience after everything Arus had just survived. Still, a major battle had been won, and the day's events would undoubtedly send shockwaves across the universe.

Damien's somber song rose through the streets of Keroko with the sun, a stark contrast to the reaction that would surely ring out across the stars when news of the fall began to spread. It was a moment that billions of people across thousands of worlds had waited for, a moment that Damien had been dreading for centuries. The Blade of Kaleo was safe, the Vezulian Armada deposed, and a notorious tyrant vanquished for good. Such events should've been reason for jubilation, but there was little to celebrate in Trader's Square. The universe had lost a powerful warrior who, had he but opened his eyes, could've helped countless people with his strength and intelligence. Damien had lost his brother, his only remaining relative. But perhaps the most bittersweet part of it all was that it had taken death for Kindel Thorus to learn the price of vengeance.

### Chapter 9

News of Kindel's death spread fairly quickly, and it wasn't long before a cease-fire was declared between both sides of the conflict. The Vezulian soldiers threw down their arms in favor of negotiations with the Aeden High Council. Many were arrested, some were pardoned, and others fled before they could be captured. Memorial services were held for the thousands of dead while survivors thanked the Maker for a second chance to live peaceful lives. A pledge was made to move forward together in cooperation to serve and protect every planet in need, every nation in peril, every soul in distress. And while those that escaped took no part in such an agreement, their separation from both each other and their esteemed admiral reduced them to little more than interstellar pirates. The Vezulian Armada was disbanded within weeks, and the Aeden Alliance established themselves as major purveyors of peace and justice across the universe.

Amidst the aftermath of the war, word of a reconciliation within the Kyrosen began to emerge. Sartan Truce was dead, and Muert Bloodlust—now using the name Muert Lodi—had taken the reigns with a new vision for his people. He vowed that the violent and destructive Kyrosen were no more, and that he and his followers would find a quiet section of the universe in which to settle down and begin again. When that news reached Terranias, every kingdom and village rejoiced with a celebration that filled the atmosphere. With the threat of terror lifted from their shoulders, they could begin the rebuilding process full of hope and excitement, eager to learn what the future would bring. At last, fear would no longer cloud their lives.

The High Lady Almatha was returned to Belvidia, and F'Ledro was handed over to the Royal Guard of Aerianna. Kitreena opted not to escort him herself, saying that the political turmoil that would ensue upon learning of her survival would be more than she was prepared to bear. Emergency assistance crews were sent to both Arynias and Terranias to assess the damage left behind by Kindel and assist with the recovery efforts. Limited communication lines were opened with the remaining Ayaans as Aeden Ambassadors arrived to attempt to deliver apologies for the events that had disrupted their world. Cleanup crews arrived in Keroko the day of Kindel's death, though the heroes that had saved the planet from certain annihilation had taken the first transport available to return to the _Refuge_. There was one last task to be completed, but was postponed until the injuries sustained during the struggle had been healed. Teleportation required immense strength and concentration, after all. Especially when teleporting across dimensions.

Arus was in the gym when Damien arrived, working his sword for the first time since being medically cleared to return to his training. The captain of the _Refuge_ was clad his usual attire, though he'd replaced his cloak with one made of a silky black material, thick and soft, lined with a deep blue on the inside. It looked much like the one Kindel used to wear. "Are you ready?"

"I suppose," Arus said with a shrug. "Are you sure you've recovered enough strength?"

"The only things holding me back now are my nerves," Damien admitted, putting a hand to his forehead. "You know how I feel about teleportation. Doing it across dimensions makes it that much worse."

"But Mateo said you could do it," Arus reminded him. "Trust him. He hasn't led us wrong so far."

"Doesn't make it any easier. Where's Kitreena?"

"I'm here," Kitreena said, peering through the doorway. She was dressed in her black leather pants and a soft pink shirt that had had its sleeves torn off at the shoulders, a look Arus was convinced he'd inspired. Her hair was neatly pulled back in a thick ponytail that reached more than halfway down her back. "Is it time?"

Damien gave her a reluctant nod. "It is. Shall we?"

They headed down to the storage level together. By Damien's orders, security on the deck had been tripled, and Aeden guards patrolled the halls in pairs. A line of six soldiers greeted them when the lift doors slid open, and they parted with nods of acknowledgment for their captain. As they headed for the security vault, Damien drew a small flat key from the leather pouch at his hip; Kitreena carried its twin. A group of twenty men, heavily armored with rifles held ready, stood between the two consoles that controlled the vault's locking mechanism. They stood aside for Damien and Kitreena, and the two inserted their keys in unison. The heavy door slid open with a metallic thud.

"I get nervous every time I look at it," Kitreena said, shuddering. "To think of the damage it caused . . ."

A solid green box, long and slender and crafted from the finest titanium, sat in the center of the vault in front of the nearest storage containers. It had been crafted to store small, shoulder-mounted missile launchers, but that wasn't what it held now. A half-ring of soldiers surrounded it, weapons held at the ready. Inside, the Blade of Kaleo waited to be returned to the Fourth Dimension. "It wasn't the cause of the damage, Kit," Arus corrected her. "Thorus was the cause. A weapon in itself isn't inherently evil." He tapped a finger against the implant. "The selfish intentions of mortals make them evil."

Damien entered a ten-digit authorization code into a panel embedded within the side of the case, and the latches popped open. Reflections of light sparkled across the clear blade; remarkably, it looked as smooth and pristine as if it had never been wielded in combat. "Keep in mind that while this sword was used to bring great destruction, it was also used by Arus to end the war." His fingers drifted toward the hilt before he realized what he was doing and jerked them back. "Arus, it's all yours."

Arus couldn't help but grin. "I don't think it would hurt either of you the way it did Kindel," he said, lifting the weapon from the case. The instant his fingers touched it, a rolling white glow filled the blade. "You both want what is best for the universe, just as I do."

"After seeing what happened when it was in the wrong hands, I'd rather not," Damien responded. "Ready?"

"As ready as I can be," Arus said at the same time as Kitreena nodded.

Gradually, a glow of white light surrounded Damien before spreading to encompass all three. The world vanished into darkness, and a second later, they were standing on a floating island of dirt in the center of the Fourth Dimension. Waves of pink and blue rolled through the sky behind the glowing orb of Lifestone high above the various brown plateaus. Damien stood to Arus' left and Kitreena to his right. "Well, here we are. Now what?"

There was a gathering of light, and suddenly Mateo's shimmering form appeared before them. "Grace and peace be with you," he said through a wide smile. "The heavens rejoice at your safe return."

Arus smiled and bowed before hefting the Blade of Kaleo. "The threat caused by the Vezulian Armada is no more, and we've come to deliver the Blade of Kaleo."

Mateo extended his hands, and the sword leapt from Arus' grasp and rose into the sky, twirling with a light whiter than the finest snow. It ascended high above them all and slowed to a stop, hovering in mid-air. "Under the Maker's watchful eye, Azriel's weapon will be protected until Kuldaan's armies strike again. You have done remarkably well, although I see that we are missing someone."

"I'm sorry," Arus said, stepping forward, "but Vultrel did not heed your warnings, it seems. I've heard rumors that he was killed confronting Sartan Truce, but I don't know if that is true. I hope, for his sake, that it is not."

"You care more for your friend than you allow to show," Mateo noted with a raised eyebrow. "Why is it that you were not more vocal with him about his decisions?"

Arus had to think about that before responding. Vultrel had always been like an older brother to him, a more experienced fighter, more confident in himself, stronger, faster, braver, and more cunning than Arus could have ever hoped to be. To try to give him advice would've been like trying to tell Master Eaisan how to hold a sword. "I know I am inferior to him in many ways. Who am I to tell him what he should be doing with his life?"

"And yet here you are, alive and well after helping to quell a great danger to your universe while his fate remains uncertain. You see, each of us has the capacity to learn, yet not many realize that we each have the capacity within us to teach as well. You have more to give the universe than you think, Arus. Do not think so lowly of yourself. Everyone has a place, and everyone can have an impact."

That made Arus frown. "Are you saying that if I'd said more to Vultrel about his decisions, he might be alive today?"

"He _is_ alive," Mateo replied calmly, "and his fate will fall on your hands very soon."

Arus' shoulders slumped. More than enough had been placed on his back as of late, and he finally thought he was going to get some relief. No such luck, apparently. " _My_ hands? Why me?"

"Because you're his best friend. He needs you right now. For so long, he has supported you and encouraged you and defended you, and he's relied on his father to do the same for him. Without Eaisan Lurei, he is lost and confused, and he needs someone to guide him. Someone he knows and trusts."

"The few comments I've made regarding his choices were not well received," Arus pointed out. "I seem to upset him more than anything else."

"Just because you cannot see it at the moment does not mean that your words fall on deaf ears," Mateo responded. "Talk to him, Arus. Support him. No matter what it takes. He will come around, but you must stand firm."

Arus sighed and nodded. It wasn't that he didn't want to help Vultrel, but he'd never been good at fixing people's problems. And he knew that if he couldn't help someone or ended up saying the wrong thing, he'd forever blame himself for that failure. But, Mateo had predicted many things that had come true, so Arus conceded. He would try his best to help Vultrel and hope that his best was good enough.

"May I ask a question?" Kitreena asked, stepping forward. "When we first came here, you told us that we had been groomed for the tasks we were about to face since long before we even entered into the universe. Yet we are far from perfect people. I've had troubles letting go of my hatred, for example, but the tasks that were set before me were ones where mercy and kindness—two things I've never had an abundance of—were needed. Why was I chosen? There are so many people out there who are better suited to show love and kindness. Why did the responsibility fall on the shoulders of someone like me?"

"The same could be asked for the rest of us," Damien added.

"Let me ask you something," Mateo began, walking toward the edge of the island. "If a man of amazing kindness had rescued F'Ledro unharmed, what would _you_ have learned? If a warrior with unreal strength had been there to defeat Kindel Thorus with one swing of his sword, what would _you_ have learned? For that matter, if everyone went through life without facing situations that challenged them to better themselves, what would _anyone_ learn?"

Kitreena frowned, crossing her arms. "But how could you be sure we would make the decisions we did? Seems like a pretty big gamble to take, considering how many lives were at stake."

The warmth of Mateo's smile was soothing. "The Maker knows you better than you know yourselves, Kitreena. He was confident that you would do what you knew in your hearts to be right."

"Then what of Vultrel?" Arus asked him. "By all accounts, he did no such thing."

"Everyone grows differently, in their own way, in their own time. The Maker will continue to offer him opportunities to do so, but it is up to him to choose right from wrong."

Arus could only hope Vultrel opted for a change of focus sooner rather than later. He missed his best friend and wished that they could be fighting side-by-side against evil as the team they once were. But Vultrel had been given the opportunity to see his mistakes, a chance to relinquish his anger and tread more noble waters. He still had that chance so long as he breathed, but it would only take a single foolish mistake to change all that. How he could continue in such ignorance was beyond Arus; it wasn't every day that a messenger from the Maker came along to warn a person about the dangers ahead. Most people never received such a blessing, and for Vultrel to throw it away was downright stupid.

"Do not worry about your friend, Arus," Mateo told him. "He has a fiery spirit, but a good heart. As long as you do your best to steer him in the right direction, his eyes will open."

"I will do my best," Arus said, bowing politely. "Thank you for your wisdom."

Mateo stood before them with his back straight, and his voice resounded throughout the expanse of the Fourth Dimension. "The three of you have done well. The Blade of Kaleo is safe from mortal hands. As for the pieces of Lifestone, the Maker has entrusted them to your care. Guard them with your lives; placing them in the wrong hands would endanger the universe nearly as much as the Blade of Kaleo."

"Thank you," Arus said again. "We shall do everything in our power to keep them safe."

"Then, by the authority granted to me by the Maker Himself, I hereby grant you the right to enter the Fourth Dimension at will and to use this place as a sanctuary from evil whenever necessary. As for me, we shall part ways here. This is not my home, nor is this my body. My assignment here is completed as of this day, and I must return to serve my Lord. But fear not, for you shall never be alone. The Maker will be with you always. May His everlasting light shine on you from the heavens and keep you warm for all of eternity." As he spoke, he lifted his arms to the sky, and his body began to disintegrate, each particle converting to specks of light that rose higher and higher in a stream of white. The glow faded as it spiraled upward, thinning until the last sparkle of light had vanished into the sea of color high above the little floating islands.

For a long time, Arus simply stared up at the rolling waves of pink as they blended together with the blues to create strips of purple between each segment of the sky. To have been a part of the battle that brought Kindel Thorus to his knees and restored order to the universe felt good, but to know that the Maker, creator of all things, the driving force behind life, and the mastermind of the Grand Design was pleased with his actions . . . Well, it was a feeling that couldn't be properly described with words. He only hoped that somehow, someway, Eaisan Lurei and Dayne Sheeth knew what their teachings had done for a boy who'd been tasked with saving the world.

"Come," Damien said, putting hands on his and Kitreena's shoulders. "Now that we've recovered, and the sword is where it belongs, I think the people of Terranias deserve some sort of explanation."

*******

It was noonday when the Aeden transport set down on the path leading into Keroko Village. The sun was climbing toward its peak, and the village was bustling with activity. Royal Guards roamed the streets, fully armored and brandishing as many weapons as they could carry. Men and women alike dashed to and fro, lugging supplies and pushing wheelbarrows, carrying tools and delivering food. Recovery from the damage caused by Kindel's attack would most certainly take years, but all around people were smiling and laughing, working together amidst the chaos, no doubt thankful to be alive after having been brought so close to complete annihilation.

And that was just what Arus could see through the gate.

As he and his companions approached, the Royal Guardsmen crossed their pikes to block the way into the village. "No outsiders may be permitted into Keroko at this time," one of them said with a gruff voice. "The village has been ordered quarantined by Lord Sarathon until the cause of this destruction can be ascertained."

"This is my home," Arus said calmly. "I have been away for a number of weeks, but I have returned to inspect the damage and see that my friends and family are all right."

The soldier to the right laughed a bellowing laugh. "You are no citizen of this kingdom, boy!" he insisted, pointing toward the implant. "Machines are forbidden here, as they are across the entire kingdom. That marks you as an outsider, a foreigner. It was my understanding that machines were not tolerated in any portion of the world, but it would appear things have changed. It matters little, however. You will not pass."

"If you please," Damien cut in, his voice sounding as diplomatic as possible, "we were present on the day that the storm hit. We would like to speak with the mayor of this village so that we might explain to him precisely what happened."

Now both soldiers grew quiet, clearly taking their first good look at Damien. Eventually, one of them muttered something Arus wasn't sure they were meant to hear. "Where in the bloody world did he come from with skin lookin' like that?"

"I am not from your planet," Damien admitted, though Arus knew he had wanted to avoid that subject. "I am a member of an interstellar army called the Aeden Alliance. Members of our faction are already within your village assisting with the recovery efforts. Were you not informed of this?"

The shining helmets of both soldiers turned toward each other. There was whispering, this time far too quiet for Arus to hear. Kitreena heard it without any effort, he was sure. _What are they saying?_ he asked her telepathically.

They're talking about our men. Sounds like they were informed to be wary of anyone claiming to be a part of the Alliance. I think they're going to take us to see—

"You will come with us," the guard on the right announced suddenly. "We will take you to the mayor. If you are who you say you are," he looked at Arus, "then someone should recognize you. If you are lying, you might just find yourselves on the business end of our pikes."

"We mean you no harm, I assure you," Damien said with a bow. "Thank you, gentlemen. Lead on."

The gasps and whispers started almost the instant they passed through the gate. The soldiers called for additional support, and soon there was a ring of Royal Guardsmen armed to the teeth escorting them through the streets. Familiar faces were everywhere, and eyes grew larger than plates when they fell upon Arus. His cheeks heated as he turned his own gaze to the ground, focusing only on following the guards. Whispers grew to murmurs, murmurs to shouts. Before long it seemed like the entire village was in an uproar, crowding around the cluster of soldiers as they entered Trader's Square. They weren't angry, precisely, but countless questions were shouted on top of one another, most directed toward Arus, though an occasional probing remark was sent in Damien's direction. Kitreena avoided most of the attention, likely due to the fact that she looked more like a human than her companions. Ironic, that.

They moved into Trader's Square like a mob, a jumbled mass of people that crowded together around the newcomers so that the Royal Guardsmen were forced to push their way forward. Damien eyed Kitreena nervously, and her voice floated through Arus' head. _This is not what I had expected._

What did you want, a hero's welcome?

Certainly not, but a chance to explain ourselves would be nice.

We'll have that chance, don't worry. They don't seem angry, just confused. They want answers, and rightfully so.

"What's going on here?" Mayor Randolf's voice squeaked behind the crowd. "Stand aside! Make way, I said! Let the Guardsmen do their jobs!" The swarm of villagers began to dissipate, though most seemed to be oblivious to the mayor's request. "Please, people, show some restraint!"

Eventually, at least a dozen more Royal Guardsmen filtered through the mob and encircled the visitors. They managed to push the people back slowly, an inch here, a step there, while the inner ring of soldiers brought Arus and his friends to a standstill. Still more guards emerged through the crowd, and the people began receding at a quickened pace. It wasn't until there was an open circle of about fifty paces in the center of Trader's Square that Mayor Randolf appeared, dressed in his finest red coat and wearing green breeches too snug for a man of his rotund proportions. He wiped the bald swath across his head with a handkerchief before waving for the escort to step back so that he could speak with Arus, Damien, and Kitreena freely. "I am told that you are with the . . . What was it called? Aeden Alliance, is it?" he asked, peering up at Damien. The sunlight forced him to squint.

"Yes, that's correct," the Zo'rhan responded. "My name is Damien, and I am captain of a vessel called the _Refuge_. Members of my crew should be here assisting you."

"They're here," the mayor nodded, wiping his head again. "Said they were from outer space. We didn't believe them, but there were people trapped all over the village, buried under debris, bleeding and dying, and we needed whatever help we could get. A good thing they showed up when they did, too. Sturdy boys, they are. Strong backs on them. Helped pull little Max from a crumbled house. And Master Baudin would've died if they hadn't dug him outta his cellar. And the ladies! I don't know what kind of medicine your people practice, but your medical women have cured people of ailments they've been suffering with for ages!"

"Medicine is a bit more advanced within the interstellar community," Damien said with a smile. "I'm glad my people could be of service. Please understand, it was never our intention to interfere with your society, but the actions of Sartan Truce set a chain of events into motion that forced us to intervene."

"Hello, Mayor." Arus bowed politely, forcing himself to keep eye contact despite Randolf's wary glare at the implant. "It has been too long."

The mayor squinted again, this time examining the rest of Arus' face. "That hair," he muttered, scratching his chin. "Could it be? Dayne's boy?"

Apparently his fiery hair was his most distinguishing feature. "That's right," he answered. "I'm Arus Sheeth."

The old mayor's eyebrows squished together in a lopsided arc. "What happened to your head, boy? And your arm!"

If he calls you "boy" again, I'm going to smack him.

Arus shot a grin in Kitreena's direction before responding. "An unfortunate run-in with the Kyrosen, I'm afraid."

"Kyrosen? What's the Kyrosen?"

It _had_ been a while. "The Vermilion Mages, I mean." The mention of the name sent gasps and moans rippling through the crowd. "Sartan Truce captured me, and I was forced to undergo an experiment which ended with a mechanical implant embedded within my skull. As for my arm, it was lost during a duel with Truce, and he replaced it with an artificial one." He raised his hand and flexed it to show that it was fully functional. "I was enslaved by the Mages, who are actually known across the universe as the Kyrosen, and forced to take part in an attack on Castle Asteria. It was there that Master Eaisan was killed."

"We had heard of his death," Randolf said solemnly, "and many other stories from Cathymel, but we had dismissed most as little more than exaggerated rumors."

Arus continued to explain everything from the assault on the castle to the battle with Kindel in Trader's Square. The mayor listened intently, wide-eyed more often than not, though an occasional lift of the eyebrows suggested he was skeptical of the story. How he could be in light of the destruction that had rained down upon the village was something Arus couldn't fathom, but then, coming from anyone else, the tale would've likely raised his own suspicions. "Every word I've told you is truth, I assure you. Many of the villagers saw Kindel before the storm hit. Ask Veran Lurei, she can verify that what I have told you is true."

"Veran?" the mayor repeated, eyebrows reaching higher. Turning toward the crowd, he shouted for Vultrel's mother. "Veran Lurei! Are you here? Someone, please find—"

Uh oh, we've got company.

Just as Kitreena's words drifted through his head, a roar of wind swept over the Square. Arus looked up to see a Vezulian transport gliding overhead, the sunlight glaring against the wide forward viewport. Shrieks of terror rose over the mob amidst a sudden wave of nervous chatter. The implant's scanners read four life signs aboard, and judging from the girth of the pilot, it could only be one man. _Relax, I think it's Muert._ The Mage had proven to be a faithful and valuable ally during the fight, somehow raising enough resistance to topple Sartan Truce and assume command of the Kyrosen. He brought the transport down somewhere to the east; no doubt damage from the storm had cleared enough space for a ship to land.

"One of your ships, Damien?" Randolf asked, watching as the transport sank out of view.

"I'm afraid not," he muttered. "Arus?"

"I think it's Muert. Maybe Muert and his family."

"How many onboard?" Kitreena asked him.

Arus suddenly became aware of a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew who the other passengers were. _All_ of them. "Four." One of the life signs seemed to be an average adult, and another was clearly a small child. Muert had a wife and a daughter, so that explained three of the four. The last, however, appeared to represent the height and weight of a teenager, and judging from the physical build of the individual, Arus could only think of one person who could fit the description.

"Are they enemies?" Randolf was asking Damien.

"No. Not if it is Muert. He is an ally of ours. A friend."

"I'm not so sure about all of his passengers, though," Arus said softly. Kitreena shot him a brief look that begged him to explain. "It's Vultrel, Kit. He's come back."

Her mouth dropped open at the same time as Damien's head whipped around. "Are you sure?" they both asked.

Randolf gave a puzzled look. "Eaisan's son? Are you sure? How can you know this?"

"It's a bit complicated to explain," Arus told him. "But I don't think there is cause for alarm." He spoke the words as much for himself as for everyone else.

The people to the east began to part, making way for the newcomers. Arus could see Muert's head above the sea of villagers long before they reached the ring of guardsmen that held the center of the Square open. A nod from Mayor Randolf signaled the soldiers to let the new arrivals pass, and Muert thanked them with a quick bow. A dark-haired woman followed, dressed in a long skirt of brown and wearing a white blouse embroidered with purple flowers. Keilan, no doubt. She held the hand of a little girl, whose dress of yellow seemed to glow in the sunlight. Black curls topped her head, and her smile could only be described as infectious. An adorable little thing, Arus thought. She had to be Sienna.

And behind them, of course, came Vultrel. He seemed to deliberately avoid looking in Arus' direction as he stepped into the clearing, though he very blatantly made eye-contact with Damien before approaching the mayor. "Mayor Randolf," he began with a bow, "I'm sure you've heard rumors and stories by now, but we've come to formally announce the death of Sartan Truce and the end of the threat that his Vermilion Mages pressed upon us for so many years.

That brought a boisterous shout from the citizens of Keroko. People hugged, hats were tossed, tears were shed. Muert grinned at Arus before stepping forward and kneeling at the mayor's feet. "My name is Muert Lodi. I come as a representative of the Kyrosen, the race of people you know as the Vermilion Mages. While I cannot turn back the gears of time and reverse what my former leader has done, I _can_ promise to you that the Kyrosen will never again bring destruction upon this planet or your people so long as I am guiding their actions. Additionally, I would like to offer our assistance in the ongoing recovery efforts of your village as a symbol of our apologies."

"Forgive me if I don't exactly trust you," Mayor Randolf began, "but I think we've got things under control here."

Muert could've been offended by the rejection, but he seemed to take it well. "I understand," he nodded, returning to his feet. "In that case, we will be leaving your galaxy immediately in search of a quiet place to make a fresh start for our people."

Randolf pursed his lips and nodded. "Perhaps that is best." It was a curt answer, but little else could be expected of a man whose village had been besieged by the Kyrosen for so long. Muert nodded in understanding and turned to Arus.

"It is good to see that you have survived," he said before looking to Damien and Kitreena and adding, "all of you."

Keilan stood to his left, beaming proudly at her husband. "So, these are the people you've spoken so highly of," she asked. "Greetings. My name is Keilan, and this is our precious daughter, Sienna."

The little girl cowered behind her father's leg, barely tall enough to reach his knee. She peeked around with big eyes directed up at Damien. "Hello," she said softly. "I'm Sienna."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Sienna," Damien smiled back. "You are certainly as beautiful as your father said you were." Her face immediately flushed and she cowered behind Muert's leg with a giggle.

"I wanted to thank you again for everything you've done for us," Muert said, bowing to Damien. "The Aeden Alliance has shown mercy where anyone else would not. For that, we will be forever grateful. If you ever need anything from the Kyrosen, don't hesitate to let us know."

"We are happy that we could be of service," Damien replied. "Don't discount your own accomplishments, Muert. By taking command of the Kyrosen, you helped to end the fighting and defeat one of the greatest threats to the universe. You've done well, and I know that the universe appreciates it."

"I only did what—"

"If you are all through patting each other's backs," Vultrel's harsh voice cut through, "I have some business of my own I'd like to attend to." He stood at the far side of the clearing, arms crossed, and back turned. His black tunic and pants were torn and frayed; it had clearly been a while since he'd had the opportunity to change.

Muert leaned toward Arus' ear. "I'm sorry, Arus, but he demanded that we bring him along with us. Considering that I wasn't sure if we'd ever return here, I had to allow him the chance to return to his people."

"It's all right," Arus assured him, patting his shoulder as he moved past the big man. "I'll handle it." Damien moved to follow, and then Kitreena, but Arus waved them back. "I'll take care of it," he said softly. "I have to set things right."

Muert, Keilan, and Sienna lined up beside Damien and Kitreena as Arus moved toward the center of the ring. Mayor Randolf, perhaps uncomfortable by the tension in the air, stepped back as well, leaving Arus alone to face the young man he once called his best friend. He really wasn't sure what he was going to say, but when he opened his mouth, the words flowed. "Vultrel, I know that you blame me for everything that has happened to you. I know that you think I should've been stronger than I was. I know you think that it is my fault that your father died, and I know you think that you can never forgive me. But you've got to open your eyes, Vultrel. I was used by Sartan Truce, just as you were used by Kindel Thorus. We were nothing more than tools to them. The difference between us is that I refused succumb to the hateful way of thinking that nearly got me killed. Do you have any idea how hard it is to look at this bloody implant in the mirror? There was a huge part of me that wanted nothing more than to skewer Truce over and over and over again for what he did to me. To us. To our parents. To Keroko. But I knew that if I were to fall to that again, there was a good chance that I wouldn't walk away from our next encounter alive. So, rather than pursue him with a lust for vengeance, I turned my focus toward a more wholesome goal. That's what you need to do now, Vultrel. It's not too late. Turn away from your anger, abolish your hate, and fight beside me to stop people like Sartan Truce and Kindel Thorus from ever hurting anyone again!"

Vultrel's shoulders rose and fell, presumably as he let out a long breath. His voice was quiet and somber. "Draw your sword, Arus."

The young man blinked. "W-What?"

"Draw your sword," Vultrel said again. "You and I have known each other since we were toddlers, and we've been through much together. Yet I stand here before you today in disgrace, having faced Sartan Truce and failed only to have my life saved by bloody Kyrosen. I've lost everything that was dear to me, including my dignity, and I have nowhere to go. And the blame for all of it rests squarely on your shoulders. I followed my father to Cathymel to _save_ you, but instead, I was forced to watch helplessly as you murdered him. His death drove me to decisions that I see now were irrational, decisions that nearly got me killed. And it's your fault. You can try to defend yourself however you wish, but nothing will change the fact that Anton escaped from the control of the implant, and you did not."

"I've told you again and again, Vultrel," Arus said, struggling to keep his face smooth, "the two were not the same. There was no way—"

"You failed to break the hold because you're weak," Vultrel cut him off harshly. "And your weakness has disgraced me."

"In _your_ eyes, perhaps," Arus responded. "But the truth is that it was your selfish actions that disgraced you. You were never fitted with an implant, Vultrel. You can't possibly know what it is like. Yet you make these arrogant claims as though you were there when Truce invented the thing. Never make assumptions about anyone's inner struggles. Your conclusions will inevitably be misguided."

"Enough," Vultrel snarled, whirling to face him. There was a brief flash of what Arus would've called shame in his face before his eyes thinned, and his jaw tightened. "It is clear that you intend to go on in your weakness with pride, refusing to admit fault where fault is clearly yours to claim." With nothing but hatred in his eyes, he slowly reached over his shoulder and drew his sword. "And so we must settle this as we always have. But this time, Arus, we fight to the death."

Arus' eye bulged. "What?"

Vultrel's feet began carrying him steadily toward the center of the ring. "You heard me. We will finish this right here and now. You've taken everything from me. My father, my childhood, my future, even my rightful place as leader of the Keroko Militia! And all because of your weakness. Well, it all ends here. I intend to take back what is mine and show you how the universe rewards weakness!"

Arus barely managed to yank his blade from its sheath before Vultrel's sword came down. Steel rang out against steel as their weapons clashed. It was a dance the two had practiced on a daily basis before the Festival of Souls, a routine that Arus had sorely missed. Still, back then it had been a friendly contest of skills, not a bloody fight to the death. Whatever lies Kindel had packed into Vultrel's head were certainly working; the young man seemed nearly as obsessed with power as the Vezulian admiral. The Keroko citizens looked on in shock as the village's two most talented young men pushed against each other, neither giving an inch. Vultrel's eyes bore a hole through Arus, eyes like razor-sharp knives, eyes of fiery rage. But regardless of Vultrel's intentions, the duel would not end in death if Arus had anything to say about it. He backpedaled slowly before shoving Vultrel back and swinging around in one smooth motion toward his left side.

"You've never defeated me before, Arus!" Vultrel taunted, easily knocking his sword away. "What makes you think you can do it this time?"

Arus set his jaw and attacked with a series of cuts and stabs toward Vultrel's head and shoulders. A nagging voice in his mind kept telling him that his former friend would never try to kill him, but the ferocity of Vultrel's blade seemed to indicate otherwise. Things had changed since they last fought; he had to continuously remind himself of that. And when the edge of Vultrel's sword sliced a gash in his forearm, the voice all but vanished. Arus turned a yelp of pain into an angry snarl, grabbed Vultrel's blade with his steel hand, and slashed toward his extended arm. Vultrel moved faster than he expected, though, dropping beneath the swipe and driving his boot into Arus' knee. That forced a momentary distraction that allowed him to yank his sword from Arus' grip. The entire exchange brought a chorus of gasps and groans from the spectators.

"You've improved," Vultrel admitted, rolling backward into a crouching position. He retracted the compliment almost immediately. "But then I suppose it's easy to improve when all you have to do is program a new set of techniques into a machine."

"I don't rely on the implant for my skill anymore, Vultrel," Arus told him, twirling his sword around his body in a flourish. "I fight with my own hands, now. My own skill. My own heart."

"Then you may as well surrender now," the black-haired youth sneered, lunging forward. Back and forth, his blade swung, ringing against Arus' weapon with two loud clangs. "I've been training hard ever since following you into the stars. I was better than you then, and I'm better than you now!"

Arus responded with a long sequence of attacks, a fluid string of swipes and thrusts that pushed Vultrel across the length of the ring. They battled back and forth, swords twirling in blurred swaths of steel that shined in the sunlight. The Lifestone amulet bounced against his chest beneath his tunic with each movement as though reminding him of the power it granted, but there was no way he would resort to such power. Not against Vultrel. Blood trickled along his wrist and dripped from the back of his right hand. "What would Master Eaisan say, Vultrel?" he grunted, parrying two quick stabs. "What would your father say to you if he saw what you were doing right now?"

"You leave my father out of this!" Vultrel screamed, clearly perturbed that Arus had invoked his father's name. It manifested itself in the increased intensity of each strike. "He was going to kill you if he had the chance, you know! It was I who argued with him not to do so. I wish I could take it back, now."

"Vultrel, listen to yourself!" Arus yelled, shuffling forward with a stiff thrust. He followed that with a twisting slash meant for Vultrel's knees. "I don't believe for a second that you really think this way! No one raised by a man like Master Eaisan _could_. That you can spew such lies without your stomach turning is appalling!"

Behind the clashing of steel and grunts of frustration, a voice echoed from the crowd that Arus could not mistake. "Is it true? Please, let me through! I have to see my boy! I must see! By the Maker! Arus! You're alive!" It was the voice of Elayna Sheeth, Arus' mother. "I can't believe my eyes! Is it really you?"

Vultrel gave him no chance to reply. Two swipes darted toward his head, another toward his chest, and a forth headed for his knees. Arus twisted his sword back and forth, knocking each strike away and responding with a few of his own. As he and Vultrel circled the ring, another voice intermingled with his mother's. "Vultrel? Vultrel! What are you doing? Stop! Stop this at once!" It was Veran Lurei.

Elayna chimed in almost instantly. Her voice wavered on the edge of hysteria. "Arus, stop this! Why are you two fighting?"

In a lapse of concentration that Arus immediately regretted, he glanced toward the sidelines. His mother stood to the far left, her wavy red hair tied lazily behind her head. She was wearing one of her favorite dresses, a peach-colored fabric covered with tiny doves. Tied over that was her apron, of course, and she was using a dish towel to dab tears from her eyes. It was obvious that Vultrel's mother had dragged her from the kitchen. Veran stood beside her, hair in a tight bun above her tired eyes. A rose-petal dress had been her choice of attire for the day, a color that contrasted the deep black of her hair. She held her hands clasped together just beneath her chin, eyes full of tears as she gazed upon her son. Vultrel did not hesitate to capitalize on the distraction, and he thrust his blade into Arus' thigh.

"Arus!" Kitreena's voice carried over the gasps and shouts of the crowd. Clutching his leg, he fell to one knee as Vultrel viscously yanked his sword free. Elayna and Veran were both screaming at them, though sobs mutilated their words to create little more than anguished cries. The brown leg of Arus' pants quickly soaked with crimson, and Arus glared up angrily at the arrogant young man across from him, someone he'd once called a friend, someone he used to trust with his life.

"What have you become?" he asked in almost a whisper.

"You have only yourself to blame," Vultrel hissed, raising his sword once more. "Perhaps if you'd followed Anton's example, my father would still be alive, and neither one of us would've gotten dragged into this mess. This is your fault, Arus. Your fault!"

Arus knocked the attack away and stumbled back a few steps. "For the last time, I was _used_ by Truce, forced against my will!"

"Truce used you because you allowed yourself to be used!" Vultrel insisted, pounding against Arus' weapon again and again. "If you had been stronger, he would never have been able to control you!" Tears shimmered in his eyes despite his curled lips. "He never would've attacked Cathymel, and he never would've killed my father!"

Arus did his best to ignore the throbbing pain in his leg, and when Vultrel's blade rose again, Arus grabbed his wrist with his mechanical hand, and in one swift motion, turned it backward and pulled it down behind his back. Before Vultrel could even begin to struggle, Arus' blade was at his throat. " _Who_ killed your father?"

A single tear rolled down Vultrel's cheek. "You did," he said, his chin rising indignantly.

"That's not what you said a moment ago, Vultrel," Arus told him. "You've got to stop this. You know in your heart who is to blame for all that has happened, but since he was killed before you could exact revenge upon him, you've turned your anger on me. Open your eyes! You and I both know who is responsible for the death of your father." A pair of steady streams now flowed from Vultrel's red eyes. Still, he twisted his lips together and creased his forehead in forced sneer, refusing to make eye contact with Arus. "I know how hard it is to let go of the hate, Vultrel. It _feels_ as though doing so would suggest that you're somehow all right with what happened to Master Eaisan. You're not all right with it, and we know that. I'm not all right with it either. But nothing either of us can do will bring your father back. Nothing either of us can do will bring _my_ father back. The best thing we can both do is take some time to deal with the pain of losing Master Eaisan and then move ahead with our lives. With everything that has happened, neither of us has really had a chance to grieve. I think it's time that we do that. Both of us."

As he spoke, Arus loosened his grip on Vultrel's wrist and gradually lowered his sword. The young man didn't move to attack or escape. His hands visibly shook for a moment before his sword clattered to the ground. Bowing his head, he squeezed his eyes tightly closed and sobbed quietly. "He took my father from me, Arus. My father, Eaisan Lurei, is gone. He won't be there to punish me when I mess up. He won't be there to teach me how to be the leader he was. He won't be there to encourage me when I'm sad, laugh with me when I'm happy, or applaud me when I succeed. Everything I am, I am because of him. And without him, I feel as though I'm . . . nothing."

Arus sheathed his sword and wrapped his arms around his best friend, tears flowing from his human eye. "I know, Vultrel. I know. Master Eaisan gave me direction and focus. No matter what I did, he always had his hand on my shoulder, guiding me toward whatever it was he was trying to teach me. I never had to worry about whether or not I was on the right path, because Master Eaisan would've told me if I wasn't. But without him standing behind me, watching over my shoulder, smiling approvingly or shaking an admonishing finger, I feel lost."

After an excruciating silence, Vultrel finally returned the hug. The gesture brought a wave of cheers from the crowd and joyful wails from their mothers. "Why did this happen to us, Arus? Why does the Maker allow such terrible things to happen to people like us?"

Arus gave Vultrel a firm pat on the back before releasing him. "No one grows without going through rough times. The struggles we face in life help us to develop into who we are. Without hardships and adversity, we'd never have any reason to improve ourselves. We have to take those trials and find the good in them. Turn them into something positive by learning from each valuable experience."

Vultrel nodded with a frown as he wiped his eyes. The anger seemed to have faded from his gaze, replaced now by what almost looked like fear. Around them, the crowd applauded the reconciliation, but beneath the ovation, the reality of an unknown future was hitting Vultrel hard. "What am I going to do? Where do I go from here? Where is my place now? Do I even have one?"

"Of course you do." Damien approached the two with a broad smile. "Your village needs you both now more than ever," he said, motioning between the crowd and the wrecked structures surrounding them.

"But . . . will they accept me after all I've done? Simple apologies cannot atone for the wrongs I've committed."

A sly grin crossed Arus' face. "If any of them can prove themselves to be without flaws, I'll let them be the ones to hang you." He laughed.

The remark actually brought a faint smile to Vultrel's lips, though even that seemed forced. "How about you? Have I squandered our friendship, as well?"

"Not so long as you want a part in it," Arus replied. "I've missed having my dueling partner beside me."

Vultrel's smile grew now, looking both grateful and humble at the same time. "Thank you, Arus. I am sorry for all of the trouble I have caused, and I promise to spend the rest of my life working to make it up to you." His eyes shifted to Damien and Kitreena. "All of you. Keroko, too."

"Arus?" Elayna called as she and Veran rushed past the guards. "Arus!"

Deliberately, Arus turned his back to his mother; he couldn't bear seeing her disgusted expression upon getting a better look at the implant. "Yes, Mother. It's me. I apologize for being away for so long, but I didn't have much of a choice."

"Arus, please look at me."

Kitreena's voice echoed in his mind, firm and clear. _It's all right, Arus. From everything you've told me of her, I don't believe your mother will turn her back on you. No matter what has happened to you._ He looked up at her, and her eyes sparkled with compassion. _Trust me._

With a resigned nod, he drew in a breath and turned to face his mother. Tears were already rolling down her cheeks when he looked at her, but her expression was more sympathetic than disgusted. "What happened to you, Arus?"

"Truce," he said, looking down at his artificial limb. "Took my arm in battle, then fitted me with this bloody machine and used it to control me. I managed to break free of the hold with the assistance of Damien and Kitreena," he motioned to the two, who bowed politely, "but not before I was forced to kill—"

Vultrel's firm grip took hold of his shoulder and shook his head firmly. Apparently, he didn't want the true circumstances of Eaisan's death to come to light. A moment of thought led Arus to the same decision; it was better that Eaisan's death remained in the past where it belonged. But Elayna was looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to finish his sentence. "To kill many innocent soldiers, both in Narleaha and Cathymel."

His mother's eyes rippled with so many unshed tears that he nearly expected them to begin shooting from her face. "Oh, Arus! I'm so terribly sorry!" she cried, wrapping her arms around her son. "That must have been terrible for you! I'm so sorry! I wish I could've been there to stop you!"

Arus knew full well that if she had made any move to stand in his way, the implant would've likely driven him to cut her down, too. He was thankful he'd never been faced with such a situation. Killing Master Eaisan had been torturous enough. "It's all right, Mother. It is not your fault. It's no one's fault but Sartan Truce's, and he's dead now. It's all over." She sobbed quietly against his shoulder, and a feeling of relief washed over him as he embraced her. He'd gone over the scenario a thousand times in his head, and every time it had ended with her demanding that he leave until a way was found to safely remove the implant. Humanity had always spoken of machines as tools of Kuldaan, so it was natural to expect that he'd be viewed as a threat to the sanctity of society. That she accepted him, flesh and steel together, lifted a great weight from his shoulders.

Then again, Mayor Randolf had yet to give his opinion of the situation. And Lord Sarathon would have to be informed. His Majesty would have the final word, of course.

Beside them, Veran was clinging to her boy. "I am so glad you're home," she whimpered. "When you disappeared that morning, I was afraid that the Mages had abducted you! I couldn't bear losing both my husband and my son within the course of a single season!"

Vultrel held her tightly, though his eyes were unfocused and distant. "I know, Mother," was all he said. Despite the fact that he was back in his mother's arms, he still looked like a little lost child.

When Elayna finally loosened her grip, Arus stepped back and looked over the surrounding crowd of villagers. "Do you really think Keroko will welcome me?" he asked, raising his steel arm. "I'm sure I don't need to remind you of the policy regarding machines."

"Things have clearly changed over the past several weeks," Kitreena said with a grin. "With all that has gone on, Damien and I will have to visit Castle Asteria to officially make first contact with your king so that we may open the lines of communication and trade, if he is willing. Regardless of the outcome, the citizens of this planet have had their minds opened to a larger view of existence, a larger view of life, and as such, they may be willing to abandon their laws regarding machines."

"It will definitely be a subject we address with your king," Damien added. "I would think a bit of compassion should be in order. Especially considering that you were the one who brought an end to Kindel's storm that threatened to wipe out your village."

"Wait, wait," Mayor Randolf interjected, waddling over to the group. " _You_ are the ones who stopped the man who attacked Keroko?" Both Veran's and Elayna's eyes nearly burst from their sockets.

"That's correct," Kitreena said, bowing politely. "Though, in all fairness, it was Arus who finished the fight that Damien and I could not."

Arus spread his hands. "Wait a minute, that's not entirely—"

"I can believe that," Randolf said, beaming with pride. "The men of both the Lurei and Sheeth families have never been short of courage."

"Um," Vultrel spoke, moving beside Arus, "with all due respect, I had nothing to do with the events that transpired here on that night, and therefore deserve none of the credit. Arus and his comrades acted on their own."

"I see," Randolf nodded. "At any rate, it would seem that we owe all of you a debt of gratitude. If you wouldn't mind, I would love to hear the entire story over dinner at Town Hall." He glanced at Arus' bloody leg. "After you get those wounds get cleaned up, I'll treat you to a meal large enough to fill your bellies twice! What do you say?"

Before Arus could decline, Damien stepped forward and bowed. "We would be honored," he said. "Thank you ever so much."

The mayor gave him a pleased smile before turning away and hurrying off into the crowd. Arus raised an eyebrow as he looked up at the Zo'rhan. "I'm no hero, and I'm certainly no storyteller."

"Diplomatic lesson number one," Damien said softly. "Never turn down a gracious offer from a generous soul."

"Don't worry, Arus!" Kitreena chimed in, putting her arms around him from behind. "It sounds like fun!"

The dumbfounded look on his mother's face almost made Arus laugh out loud. "Mother, this is Kitreena. Kit, this is my mother, Elayna Sheeth."

Kitreena, clearly on her best behavior, made an elegant curtsy that only a princess could duplicate. "It is a pleasure to meet you," she said meekly. Kitreena, acting meek! Just when he had thought he'd seen everything out of her, too.

"How do you do," Elayna asked, eyes darting back and forth between the two of them. "Please excuse me if I seem a bit surprised, but my son has never mentioned . . . I mean, he never showed any interest . . . That is, I didn't know he'd . . ."

Kitreena giggled and looked back at Arus, her face all innocence. "Late bloomer, huh?"

Thankfully, a tap on the shoulder from Muert saved him from the conversation. "Arus, I apologize, but I'm afraid we must get going. Our people are waiting for us, and many are still quite uneasy about our intentions. It seems that keeping the peace may become just as much of a battle as obtaining it was."

"You'll do fine, Muert," Arus told him with a smile. "I know you will. It was a pleasure to have met you and your family. I have no doubt that our paths will cross again one day."

"I must thank you as well." Keilan stepped forward and curtsied, something Arus never would've expected to see a Kyrosen do. "It was your inspiration that drove my husband into action. We now have hope for a peaceful and prosperous future. We are forever indebted to the Aeden Alliance for allowing us this opportunity to begin again."

"We only did what had to be done," Arus responded. "I deserve no praise for that. It is you who should be applauded for standing up against Truce. It takes a lot of courage to do what you did, and you deserve the freedom you fought for."

The woman's face became scarlet. "You are too kind."

"That goes for all of you," Muert added, nodding to both Damien and Kitreena. "Thank you for everything. May the Maker pour abundant blessings upon you all."

"Thank you, Muert," Damien replied. He bowed so deeply that his dangling locks of hair nearly brushed the ground. "And the same to you. Should you ever need anything, the Aeden Alliance will be at your service."

They headed into the crowd again, little Sienna waving as they departed. Once they were swallowed by the masses, Arus' gaze came to rest on Vultrel. The young man was standing near the far side of the ring, speaking with Katlyn. Her plain black dress of wool seemed to fit her mood, as tears ran over cheeks blotched with red. Vultrel's head hung so low that his chin pressed against his chest. Again, he looked . . . ashamed. Arus rushed over with Kitreena in tow. "What's wrong, Vultrel?"

"Oh, Arus," Katlyn immediately began brushing the tears from her face and forcing a smile. Her eyes were fixed on the implant. "Are you . . . all right? I mean does it hurt or anything?"

Arus lightly knocked steel knuckles against the implant. "Nope, it doesn't hurt. Just like another part of my body, that's all. Why so glum?"

Vultrel didn't budge. Katlyn's eyes shifted to Kitreena and suddenly thinned. "Who's this?"

_Yikes,_ Arus thought. He knew Katlyn had been interested in him, but he hadn't expected jealousy from her. And if Kitreena picked up on any negative emotion sent in her direction . . . _Kit, listen. Katlyn has had a thing for me since we were little. She may act . . .a bit rude to you if she realizes that you and I have . . . I mean, that we're . . . Um, anyway, please try to ignore it, all right? Don't let her get under your skin._

_Who, me?_ Even through telepathy, there was a sarcastic innocence about the question that nearly made Arus cringe. When Kitreena extended her hand toward Katlyn with a sardonic grin, he did cringe. "I'm Kitreena. A pleasure to meet you, Katlyn."

"I'm—" Katlyn stopped and blinked, and Arus cringed again. "How do you know my name?"

Kitreena opened her mouth, but Arus waved his hands and spoke quickly. "It's not important. What's going on? What's gotten you two so upset?"

"It's Melia, Arus," Vultrel said suddenly. "She's gone."

His words cast aside any questions Katlyn may have had, and tears immediately began to well up in her eyes again. Arus knew that Kindel's attack had taken many lives, but this was the first he'd heard of any of his friends. "Are you certain?"

Katlyn nodded, brushing golden hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear. "She and her parents were asleep when the storm hit. A tornado tore right through her house. They never had a chance." She barely squeaked out the last sentence before bursting into tears. Vultrel was sobbing, too.

"A friend of yours?" Any antagonistic vibes directed toward Katlyn had vanished from Kitreena's demeanor.

Arus was too busy fighting back tears of his own to respond. While he had certainly never had a romantic interest in Melia, she had still been a good friend. And even if she _hadn't_ been a friend, he still wouldn't have wished such a fate upon anyone. "I'm so sorry, Katlyn," he said, miraculously without allowing his voice to crack. "I'm so sorry."

"We had a memorial service for them two days ago," Katlyn whimpered. "We've been watching after Pepper ever since. I can barely look at him without crying."

Pepper had been Melia's kitten, an adorable grey and black little ball of fur. "I wish we had been able to attend," Arus said softly. "Would've liked to have paid my respects."

"I can take you to the cemetery sometime," she offered. "I'm sure I'll be going there often. Melia was my closest friend. I don't know what I'm going to do without her."

It was clear that the ripples of destruction left behind by Kindel Thorus would likely resonate throughout the universe for quite some time. Eventually, the atrocities he committed would be left in the past, but for the time being, it was going to be a struggle for many to get through the heartache of losing the ones they held so dear. "It's going to be tough," Arus said, wiping a tear away, "but we'll get through this. All of us. We'll make it through because no one who died in the middle of this catastrophe would want us to spend our lives wallowing in misery over their loss. Not any Keroko citizen I ever knew would want that, and I wouldn't expect it of anyone if I had been killed. It's going to be hard, but I know that Keroko can overcome anything. And we will."

Katlyn nodded with a sniffle, rolling her handkerchief in her hands as she did. Vultrel, however, turned and pushed his way into the crowd without a word. He and Melia had shared something special; there was no doubt of that. Dealing with this loss was going to be more difficult for him than for anyone else outside of her family, with the exception of Katlyn, of course. Hopefully, unlike when Master Eaisan died, Vultrel would allow his friends to help him through this tragedy.

"Come on," Kitreena said softly, taking Arus' hand. "Let's head back to the transport and get your injuries cleaned up."

### Chapter 10

Just about every able-bodied Keroko citizen crowded into and around Town Hall that night. Arus had no interest in playing the part of some kind of hero, but Damien insisted that the people at least had a right to know what had led to the destruction of their village. And while he had promised to do the majority of the talking, it was Arus who ended up telling most of the story about Sartan Truce and the implant, Kindel Thorus and the Lifestone amulet, and, despite the doubting minds of many, the Blade of Kaleo. _That_ had been quite the controversial topic, but those who had seen Kindel high above Trader's Square that night described the sword just as Arus had, and the testimony of Veran Lurei made believers out of many. Arus was repeatedly asked to demonstrate the power of the Lifestone, but he heeded Mateo's warnings that the power was only to be used as an absolute last resort against evil. Instead, he demonstrated some of the scanning abilities of the implant, and Kitreena happily Morphed to the amazement of the people. Arus couldn't help but feel like they were somehow showing off, and that made him uncomfortable, but Damien reassured him that they were merely proving their stories to be authentic. The people had come to learn the truth of what had happened, and so it was the truth that they were told.

Though, in the best interest of a few, there were a few details that remained unspoken. The true cause of Eaisan's death was left out, along with Vultrel's vendetta that led him to chase after Truce before turning against Arus. Vultrel, for the most part, stayed quiet, and when the storytelling was over, he promptly left. Arus had tried to talk to him a few times, but he received limited responses. Nothing suggested that he was still harboring any anger toward anyone. He seemed more depressed and worn than anything else. Arus couldn't blame him, considering all that had happened; it had certainly been a rough summer.

In the weeks that followed, the reconstruction of Keroko accelerated. With autumn winds bringing cooler days, it was imperative that additional shelter be made available for those who'd lost their homes before winter snowflakes began to fall. To his great surprise, Arus' implant became one of their most utilized tool. With its accuracy and measurement, he could calculate angles and make precise cuts through planks of wood in a fraction of the time it took for the village carpenters to perform the same tasks. The unnatural strength of his mechanical arm also came in handy, as well. Damien's bulky build made him the perfect man for lugging supplies, and Vultrel helped to organize and direct teams of workers. He had more of Eaisan's leadership in him than even _he_ knew.

In one particularly uncomfortable moment, Arus happened to pass a group of women who were gathering old garments donated by the community and using them as scraps to fashion new clothes for those who'd lost their belongings. In the center of the circle of women sat Kitreena, fumbling with a threaded needle and a pair of cloth squares. Beside her, his mother was trying to teach her how to stitch the two together, and the lesson did not appear to be going well. Kitreena shot him a look as he passed that dared him to comment, but he simply smiled innocently and continued on his way. No way was he falling for that trap.

At Damien's request, the Aeden Alliance High Council permitted the _Refuge_ to order the supplies required to build a base of operations within the Fourth Dimension. Having been granted permission by Mateo to use the world as a sanctuary, Damien thought it best to construct a small structure complete with medical supplies and weaponry, as well as a security vault for the two pieces of Lifestone and the golden amulet. Much to Doctor Nori's delight, a scientific research wing would be built onto the facility, and he was to be placed in charge. When asked how he intended to get all of these supplies into the Fourth Dimension in the first place, Damien conceded that he'd have to trust Mateo's claims that he was capable of safely utilizing his talent for teleportation. That was quite a surprise to Arus, but then, the war had changed a lot about the way each of them viewed themselves.

Green leaves turned to orange and brown before descending into layers of color waiting to be raked. Across the village, the last of the season's crops were harvested—those that had survived the chaos, anyway—and stored for the coming winter. The Aeden Alliance sent food and supplies as well, along with blankets and comforters and coal for the furnaces. Lord Sarathon was reluctant at first, but after seeing Arus and the Alliance at work in the village, he welcomed the assistance, and along with the leaders of neighboring kingdoms, entered into a partnership which placed Terranias directly under Alliance protection. Starships were stationed around the planet, and work began on schematics for an Outpost to be constructed within the galaxy. In Keroko, humanity's old laws regarding machinery were abolished with the wise words of a young man. "In the hands of a murderer, a knife is a weapon, but in the hands of a doctor, it is a life-saving tool."

But for some, the joy of new beginnings and ideological reform were overshadowed by the tragic events of the summer. The difficulty of coping with the losses suffered drove Vultrel into a deep depression that consumed the once joyful youth that Arus had known, sapping his former zest for life and leaving him a broken shell of a young man. He performed his daily tasks with little motivation, visibly disinterested despite routinely turning out quality work. During moments of rest, he would tell Arus that he just wanted to find peace with his losses, peace with his pain, peace with life. He understood why events had transpired in the way that they had and why his reaction had only turned a bad situation worse, but he couldn't seem to find forward direction. Put plainly, he was lost.

When the reconstruction had progressed to a point where the Keroko villagers could shoulder the workload on their own, Damien called for the withdrawal of the majority of Aeden forces. Some remained at the request of Lord Sarathon to help preserve the peace until the Keroko Militia was properly rebuilt, but Damien and Kitreena prepared to return to the _Refuge_ with the rest, and with his mother's reluctant approval, Arus enrolled as an Initiate in the Aeden Alliance, the starting rank for any new soldier. Given his assistance during what came to be called the Vezulian War, the Aeden High Council offered to place him in advanced training courses instead of the usual basic conditioning classes, but Arus wanted to attend every course, take every test, and participate in every exercise. Even Damien was surprised by that, but Kitreena seemed to understand. Any experience he passed up would be a squandered opportunity to learn, and he hungered to be taught.

It was a cold night when he finished packing his things for the journey. The warm red and brown wools he'd worn the previous year seemed extra snug for some reason; it would seem he'd grown more than usual with the passing of the seasons. Not that it mattered much. The Aeden Alliance would provide him with uniforms, and seasons didn't exist in space, so his usual attire would suffice. There was always the tailor onboard the _Refuge_ , too. He latched his sword to his belt and tied his usual bandana through his hair. For a moment, he considered grabbing his wool scarf and gloves, but he was only going as far as the edge of town. Damien and Kitreena would be waiting in a transport for him there.

With a quick glance through his bedroom window, he extinguished his lantern and headed for the stairs. Winter was well on its way, and delicate flecks of snow had already begun to fall, coating the branches and blanketing the rooftops. His mother sobbed quietly in her rocking chair below, sipping tea and staring into the crackling blaze in the fireplace. He hated that his leaving was putting such a strain on her, but after all that he'd been through, he was eager to explore the universe and offer his help to those in need. But more than that, he wanted to stay with Kitreena. The thought of staying in Keroko while she sailed the stars on her own made his heart ache. He wanted to be near her. He _had_ to be near her.

After quiet hugs and goodbyes were exchanged at the door, Arus threw his father's old grey cloak around his back and headed into the night with his knapsack slung over his shoulder, leaving his mother waving through the foggy window. He'd done most of his crying earlier that day. Now, a jittery anticipation filled him, and questions pooled in his head like rain in a birdbath. What if he wasn't strong enough? What if they expected too much of him, given all he'd been through, and he wasn't able to live up to their expectations? What if the other new recruits didn't trust him because of the implant?

What had he gotten himself into?

He shook the thoughts away as he made his way through the quiet streets, the muffled silence of the snowy night filling his ears. "A person's abilities are limited only by their own perceptions," Master Eaisan would say. If he believed he could succeed, he would. Puffs of breath rose from his lips with each step, and a bird's cry echoed in the distance. Winter Finch, unless he missed his guess. Other than that, the only sounds to disturb the calm came from his boots as he walked. The crisp aroma of firewood being burned nearby combined with the cold air and filled his nose, bringing to mind memories of countless winters from days passed. There would be much about Keroko he would miss, but then, there came a time in everyone's lives where they had to let go of the past and reach for the future.

The shadowy silhouette of South Gate began to appear through the snow, and with it, three dark figures standing just inside the border. Two of them, Damien and Kitreena, were faced in Arus' direction and appeared to be speaking with the third, a young man cloaked in black with a pair of knapsacks tossed over his own shoulder. As Arus grew closer, he could tell that the stranger was Vultrel, but what he couldn't figure out was why Vultrel had packed two bags and joined them. He'd waved off Arus' earlier suggestions that he join the Alliance. Had he changed his mind?

"Hello, Arus," Damien said, bowing as he approached. He wore his usual attire of black cloak and blue Zo'rhan garb. The weather didn't appear to faze him. "I trust you have everything you need?"

"I think I'm all set," Arus said, giving Kitreena a hug. "Hello, Kit. I've missed you." She returned the hug with a kiss on the cheek. It was strange to see such a pretty young lady in a wool coat and pants like his own, but then, Kitreena had never been big on typical feminine attire. A sky-colored cloak was wrapped around her shoulders as well. Why she was so bundled up, he had no idea; she could heat the air on her own if she so desired.

He turned to Vultrel and smiled, but he was met only with a blank stare. "Have you decided to come with us? We'd love to have you along."

For a moment, it seemed as though Vultrel hadn't even heard the question. His unfocused stare stretched on into the night until he finally looked up and shook his head. "No, I haven't. I've come to say goodbye."

"Are you sure you don't want to join us?" Damien asked him. "You've proven yourself to me more than up for the challenge."

"We always wanted to follow in our fathers' footsteps and fight to defend the village, right?" Arus asked, putting a hand on Vultrel's shoulder. "How about we fight to defend the entire universe instead?"

"Perhaps one day," Vultrel murmured, nodding slowly. He couldn't quite bring himself to make eye contact with any of them. "One day. But I have much to learn before I can hope to be of help to others. I hope that someday I'll be able to follow the example that my father set for me, but my experiences have made it very clear that I have a long ways to go before that day comes. There is much about me that I need to change. Pain that needs to be dealt with. Anger that needs to be purged."

"What do you have planned? Where will you go?"

"Do you remember old Master Sythen in Narleaha? He was a good friend to both of our fathers."

Arus nodded with a smile. "I remember. We used to chase his son around their farm when we were children. What was his name again?"

"Sonny," Vultrel said, grinning in spite of his mood.

"That's right! Sonny!" Arus laughed. "What kind of name is that, anyway?"

Vultrel shrugged and spread his hands. "Anyway, I'm going to go see Master Sythen and try to study under his tutelage, if he'll agree to it. If not, I know of a few contacts that Father had in Hemanal, and a couple more in Beremain. I don't know exactly where I'll wind up, but I feel as though I owe it to my father, my village, and to you to try to figure out what drove me to the despicable actions I committed, and to find some way to atone for what I've done. I know that you have told me it isn't necessary, but it is important to me."

"If that's what you feel you need to do, then I support you," Arus told him. "At the very least, would you like us to take you to Narleaha? It would only take a few minutes by transport."

"Thanks, but no thanks," Vultrel said, directing the response to all three of them. "The journey alone will do me good. Teach me how to survive on my own without relying on other people to watch my hide. Besides, I've been spending too much time amongst the stars lately. I want to enjoy my time exploring Asteria. Perhaps one day, I'll join you out there," he gazed up toward the sky, "but not now."

"Very well," Arus said, making the most respectful bow he knew how to make. "May the grace of the Maker guide you in your search, Vultrel."

Vultrel responded with a bow of his own. "Thank you, Arus. You be careful out there, all right? And don't go wandering too far." A smile crossed his face that reminded Arus more of the old Vultrel he'd once knew. "We have a score to settle," he said, extending his fist.

Arus returned gesture, tapping his own fist against his best friend's. "I look forward to it. Take care of yourself out there."

"You, too." Vultrel bowed to Damien and Kitreena before heading through the gate. "And Arus?" he called without looking back. "Don't let anyone give you any trouble over that implant! It doesn't change who you are!" And with that, his dark outline faded into the night.

"Do you think he'll be all right?" Damien asked. "He's been struggling to cope ever since the war ended."

"He'll be fine," Arus reassured him. "If there's one thing I know about Vultrel, it's that he's not a quitter. He's got a good heart in him, and he won't stop until he's found what he's looking for. I'd wager my life on it."

Damien nodded, and Kitreena squeezed his hand as she spoke. "Shall we get going, then? I've got some fresh Lavinian Malt onboard to help us warm up."

She never seemed to run out of foreign foods for him to try. "Lavinian Malt?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Think of it as liquid chocolate," she told him. "But it's hot like tea."

As if to reply for him, his stomach growled. "Sounds delicious."

Arus followed the two of them through the gate and into the night, leaving behind the soft glow of Keroko Village and the thousands of memories he treasured, memories of when children were permitted to be children, always confident that their fathers would be there to watch over them. As painful as it was to say goodbye to those days, the time had come for those children to become adults, and for those adults to take over the responsibilities of protection. It happened every day; boys became men, girls became women, but few could say that the transition had brought with it the trials and struggles that Arus and his friends had been forced to endure. Still, he knew in his heart that he wouldn't give back any of those experiences even if he could. They had molded him into a better person.

As the transport rose over the trees, Arus watched his home shrink away into the darkness and offered quiet thanks to the Maker that this time he was leaving by his own choice. His fears of alienation over the implant hadn't been realized, and he'd helped to usher in a new era of prosperity not just for Keroko, but the entire world. The amulet against his chest served as a constant reminder of Mateo's wisdom and a symbol of the Maker's love for those who trusted in Him. What had begun as a meager battle between desert bandits and simple villagers had ended with a union never before heard of, spirit and flesh, Maker and man, united in arms to fight the demons that would enslave the souls of men and give rise Kuldaan himself. Mortal and immortal were united on that day, and the universe would never be the same again.

With an arm around Kitreena as she snuggled against him, Arus took a sip of his Lavinian Malt and settled in for the journey ahead. "Wow," he said softly. "I've never tasted anything quite so sweet."

"Let us think of ways to motivate one another to acts of love and good works." Hebrews 10:24

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### END OF VOLUME THREE
Special thanks to my family for all of their support, and to my beautiful Laura Crump for never giving up on me. Most of all, thank you God for giving me the opportunities to get my ideas onto paper.

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The story continues in The Fourth Dimension: Shades of Gray

A free webseries available online at http://tfdworlds.blogspot.com

And don't worry; there is much more to come. Arus' story has just begun.

