 
### THE FOURTH DIMENSION

THE VEZULIAN TRILOGY

VOLUME I: KEY TO THE STARS

VOLUME II: ALLIANCE OF SERPENTS

VOLUME III: EYE OF THE TORNADO

by

Kevin Domenic

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PUBLISHED BY:

Kevin Domenic on Smashwords

The Fourth Dimension

Copyright © 2013 by Kevin Domenic

Cover Art: Nick Deligaris

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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THE FOURTH DIMENSION

TABLE OF CONTENTS

VOLUME I: KEY TO THE STARS

Chapter 1-1

Chapter 1-2

Chapter 1-3

Chapter 1-4

Chapter 1-5

Chapter 1-6

Chapter 1-7

Chapter 1-8

Chapter 1-9

VOLUME II: ALLIANCE OF SERPENTS

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2-2

Chapter 2-3

Chapter 2-4

Chapter 2-5

Chapter 2-6

Chapter 2-7

Chapter 2-8

Chapter 2-9

VOLUME III: EYE OF THE TORNADO

Chapter 3-1

Chapter 3-2

Chapter 3-3

Chapter 3-4

Chapter 3-5

Chapter 3-6

Chapter 3-7

Chapter 3-8

Chapter 3-9

Chapter 3-10

KEY TO THE STARS

Chapter 1-1

A noble man is a dead man.

That was the philosophy of Kindel Thorus. It was an ideology ingrained into every fiber of his being. Men who followed the antiquated notions of chivalry and honor were relics of history, legends long since faded from a universe that no longer respected nor needed them. The rules had changed. Society had changed. Men had changed.

Life had changed.

Lieutenant Petreit removed a glove and used it to wipe the sweat from his brow. It wasn't often that members of his team were required to participate in manual labor, but this particular assignment wasn't a routine galaxy patrol or pirate raid. It was an excavation, a rare opportunity for him to shine. New discoveries were always exciting; the wealth of knowledge to be obtained from the artifacts of distant worlds and ancient races was unfathomable. It was a personal interest that Petreit shared with Kindel. The admiral's personal collection of archeological finds was said to be quite impressive.

But this mission came with a catch. The kyrosen, an old adversary, had settled on the planet years earlier. Kindel's men drove them to the brink of extinction, and though they'd suffered heavy losses, the kyrosen were known for their resiliency. There was little doubt that they'd used their time on the surface to recover and rebuild. And while it was unlikely they were in any position to stand against the Armada in battle, an excavation team of unarmed researchers and scientists would be easy prey.

The desert heat dissipated as the crimson sun disappeared below the horizon. Shuttles would arrive before long, ending another grueling day. It had been a number of weeks since the operation began. Only by the grace of the Maker had the dig remained undiscovered. Studies of the landscape in the days leading up to the assignment suggested that the kyrosen took refuge in underground caves and dens. Their precise location and the frequency in which they surfaced would ultimately determine whether or not the Vezulian team would be found.

Petreit shook his head and pulled the glove back onto his hand. It wasn't as though the Armada was without a full complement of combat soldiers. It would've been nice to see a few of them patrolling the area. But inquiries to Commander Andorel were met with stiff reprimands. Petreit was told in no uncertain terms to do his job and let the admiral decide when and where to deploy his own troops. He wasn't about to argue. If Thorus felt that soldiers could not be spared for an excavation mission, the men had to trust that it was the right decision.

Kindel never failed to sacrifice for the greater good. He came from a race of warriors known as zo'rhan, some of the most powerful sorcerers in the known universe. Maintaining order and civility across the stars was his sole focus and the single most important directive of the Vezulian Armada. Separating his organization from the other self-proclaimed peacekeepers was the will to do whatever was necessary to secure that order. It was sometimes seen as villainous and immoral, but it was that very perspective that kept the Armada ahead of the pack. Security could not be preserved with kind words; the wicked were never quick to retreat. The enemy would spare no tactic in battle, and neither would the Armada.

As a result, Kindel had developed more than a few enemies over the years. Nations reviled him. Worlds condemned him. There were more bounties on his head than there were strands of hair, and he had no shortage of that. Conflict and bloodshed seemed to greet the Armada in every galaxy, on every planet, and in every nation. But in all cases, peace and order were restored. Whatever the risk, whatever the cost, whatever the sacrifice, Kindel Thorus would see evil brought to its knees. And when it was over, as those men begged for forgiveness, Kindel would show them the same amount of mercy that they had shown to others.

With an exhausted sigh, Petreit drove his shovel into the dirt. Despite his fondness for archeology and the initial excitement of being placed on the dig team, his frustrations had mounted with the passing weeks. Details regarding the nature of their search were scarce. They were looking for an unusual rock, he'd been told. Each man had been given a rolling crate equipped with a depth scanner to collect as many unique stones as could be found. In particular, they were to keep watch for any that may have been hand-carved or otherwise unnaturally altered. Odd colors were of interest as well. When the commander had first given those instructions, Petreit envisioned rows of crates lined up alongside one another, each overflowing with colored rocks and stones and pebbles. But after four weeks of digging themselves into an eighty-foot deep crater, they had barely filled one crate.

"Come on, hurry up!" Commander Andorel's voice barked to Petreit's left. He walked past with his hands clasped behind his back, sparing the lieutenant a stern glare before continuing. "Let's finish the day strong before the shuttles get here!"

Petreit frowned and scooped another clump of soil. Thus far, Andorel had not made a habit of patrolling the grounds and calling out orders. The few times Petreit had seen him, he was lounging with a cold drink along with the other senior officers. Why the sudden display of responsibility?

Moments after he was gone, Petreit became aware of muffled whispers from the other men. Peppered amongst the murmurs, the word "admiral" stood out. Was that it? Had he come to inspect operations? Petreit turned his eyes to the upper edge of the dig site to see an assemblage of men silhouetted by the fading sunlight. The second figure from the left stood at least a head taller than the others, his long cloak swaying in the breeze. Petreit didn't have to see his glowing eyes to know that it was Kindel Thorus, but there they were, two pinpricks of azure shining from the darkness of his towering shadow. Even amongst his own species, Kindel's eyes were unique, an unmistakable identifying characteristic. There could be no doubt. It was him!

For a moment, the universe seemed to stand still. It was a well-known fact that the grand admiral of the Vezulian Armada was not a patient man, nor did he tolerate failure. Those who were unable or unwilling to perform to his standards received harsh and often painful punishment. Beads of sweat returned to Petreit's forehead. Though he supported the goals and purpose of the Vezulian Armada, the possibility of being on the wrong end of Kindel's anger made him tremble with anxiety. Had the excavation team's relative lack of findings driven the admiral to take action?

A commotion to the east drew Petreit's attention. A group of researchers gathered close to a hundred paces from where he stood, and more flocked to the scene. Commander Andorel pushed his way into the crowd and disappeared. Several others rushed past Petreit, and for a moment, he was tempted to join. But he could almost feel the admiral's eyes on his back. They kept him paralyzed, frozen in place until Andorel emerged from the crowd and cupped his hands to his mouth. "Everyone pack up and move out!"

Cheers rose from the men as they scattered, scooping up tools and rolling away crates. Petreit dropped his shovel into his crate and sealed the lid. Though he tried to keep his head down, something drew his eyes to the precipice.

Kindel Thorus was gone.

*******

Golden beams of sunlight streamed through the trees, filling the forest with summer warmth. A breeze carried the birds' gentle melody along, bringing with it the sweet aroma of blooming flowers. Lush green bushes tipped with red and yellow added color to the thriving foliage and gave smaller creatures shelter from hunters. Above it all, Arus Sheeth lounged against the trunk of a large apple tree under the rising sun.

"All right, Vultrel," he said, picking a shiny red apple. "Your move."

Below, a lone deer made its way toward a stream, its tiny hooves crunching the fallen acorns and twigs. Arus ran his fingers through his hair, unconsciously adjusting his headband in the process. He took a bite of the apple and sat back to enjoy the morning, confident he was safely concealed by the trees. His loose brown pants matched the bark of the branches, and his red hair blended with the apples.

Below, the deer came to an abrupt halt and raised its head. It stood frozen, moving only its ears to track the sound that drew its attention. A moment later, it scampered off into the woods. Arus peered down until the rustling of leaves behind perked his ears. A quick glance confirmed his suspicion.

"That didn't take long," he grunted, dropping the apple and pulling himself higher into the tree. With the agility of a cat, he scurried through the branches away from the sound. When he neared a point where the thicker limbs of the next tree reached into his path, he used them as a bridge. His pursuer followed, gaining on him, pushing him, forcing him to put every ounce of energy and concentration into his escape.

"You're going to have to do better than this!" a voice called from behind.

Arus wasn't listening. The nearest tree stood a fair distance away, and he had no time to backtrack to the cluster on the opposite side. With a deep breath, he leapt into the air with outstretched hands and snagged the closest opposing tree branch. It fractured and detached, sending him tumbling down through a jumbled mess of wood and leaves. Somehow, his hands found another limb, halting his descent.

"That was graceful!"

Arus looked up. The taunt came from directly above. The fastest escape route now would be the dirt path beneath the trees, but Arus knew his opponent's speed would eventually overtake him. It always did.

And that left only one choice.

With a defiant grin, Arus released his grip on the branch. What would've been a hard landing was softened by the moist soil, though gravity pulled him to his knees. The sword at his hip slid from its sheath as his attention turned to the black-haired young man falling toward him. He was half a head taller than Arus—he always had been—clad in dark pants and a sleeveless white tunic. The boy wielded a long steel sword above his head. Arus rolled away as he landed, then leapt forward to cross blades.

"You're doing better than yesterday," Vultrel said with a smirk. "I almost didn't make that jump."

Arus pushed his sword against Vultrel's. "Maybe I'll finally put a blemish on your record."

Steel flashed in the sunlight as the clashing of swords echoed across the forest. The morning duel had become daily routine for the boys before they returned to the village with fresh fruit for breakfast. Only fourteen years old, Arus still had much to learn about wielding a sword, but under the tutelage of Vultrel's father, Eaisan Lurei, he had developed a solid foundation of skills upon which to build. Still, although he and Vultrel had been training together since they were six, Vultrel had always come out of their practice duels as the victor.

"You're anticipating my movements," Vultrel warned, deflecting Arus' outstretched sword. "Focus on what I do, not on what you think I'll do."

"It's hard not to anticipate," Arus responded, meeting Vultrel's low slash with his blade. "I can't keep up with you if I don't use my knowledge of your techniques to—"

Vultrel pulled his blade away and dropped to the ground, thrusting his right leg out in a wide kick. The blow knocked Arus' feet from under him. Vultrel was upright again before Arus' back hit the dirt. "A time will come when we will face opponents who use different styles and techniques than we do," he said, pointing his sword at his Arus' throat. "We won't be able to anticipate anything then. We must discipline our minds to concentrate only on the moment, nothing before or after."

Vultrel offered him a hand. As he pulled his partner up, Arus grabbed his wrist and twisted it behind his back. Before Vultrel could react, Arus' sword was at his neck. "There will also be a day when we face opponents with no honor. Don't be so eager to show compassion to a fallen enemy."

Vultrel couldn't help but smile. "Quite right." He grabbed onto Arus' arm and pulled, flipping him head over heels. Arus tumbled to the dirt with a dull thud, and Vultrel again pointed his blade. "But don't forget that an enemy is not defeated until he is bound in shackles and imprisoned."

Arus spun his sword up and knocked Vultrel's away, then scrambled to his feet. His attacks continued to bounce off of Vultrel's defenses, filling him with a mixture of frustration and admiration. Vultrel responded with an assault of his own; Arus was barely able to defend himself from the speed and variety of his movements. He soon found himself backed against a tree, Vultrel's blade pushing hard against his own.

"Soldier's sight, eh?"

Arus grimaced at his lack of focus. Master Lurei had scolded him for it on numerous occasions; it referred to the negligence of a warrior concentrating so closely on his opponent that he lost track of his surroundings. The mind watched only the enemy, effectively blacking out the environment in a dangerous lapse of awareness. The phrase compared with a soldier's blind devotion to his leader's cause, rushing to follow orders without considering the dangers of the mission.

But Arus wasn't about to give up so easily. Summoning all the strength he could muster, he planted his left foot against the trunk of the tree and pushed forward, forcing Vultrel away. He gave no time for recovery, lunging with his sword raised. Vultrel dropped to the ground and threw his foot out once more, and Arus quickly found himself face-down in the dirt. Before he could get to his knees, Vultrel leapt onto his back, his blade once again at Arus' neck.

"Checkmate."

Arus sighed, defeated. He was no stranger to the phrase; Vultrel uttered it every time he claimed victory over another in combat. It had been directed toward him more times than he'd like to admit, but he always took losses lightly, focusing more on lessons and experience than victory and defeat. "I thought an enemy wasn't defeated until he was disarmed and captured," he grinned, still clinging to the hilt of his weapon.

"True," Vultrel agreed, "but if this were a real battle, nothing would've stopped my blade from severing your head." He slipped his sword into the sheath strapped to his back and extended a hand.

"At least I did better than yesterday," Arus said as Vultrel helped him up. "No mud patches to worry about today."

"You did very well." Vultrel gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Don't be so hard on yourself. Father says we've both exceeded his expectations."

Arus sheathed his weapon. While he knew that his skills were above average, he refused to allow himself any pride. Pride led to arrogance, and arrogance was a weakness that enemies would be quick to exploit. No matter how much he trained, there would always be room for improvement. With a gracious smile, he bowed to his training partner. "An excellent training session as always, Vultrel."

Vultrel returned the bow of respect. "Likewise, Arus. A commendable effort on your part."

The warm breeze blew as Arus wiped his forehead. The aroma of the forest filled him with the memories of a thousand summer mornings gone by when there was nothing to consume his time but to play tag with Vultrel in the village square or chase rabbits in the forest. His father's death had forced maturity on him early, and he often missed the days when he could run off and play for hours on end without having to concern himself with housework and chores. But he was the man of the house now, and he certainly wasn't going to leave all the work to his mother.

"Now," Vultrel began, "where did we leave our fruit?"

"This way."

While Vultrel had been put to work on his family farm at ten years old, Arus had spent much of his time in the forest, hunting deer and gathering firewood. His afternoons had taken him through just about every inch of the woods, sometimes deep enough that he could see the golden sand of the Mayahol Desert through the trees to the east. He never ventured into the desert; the land had been forbidden territory since the end of the Vermillion War.

They headed west to retrieve the fruit they'd gathered earlier in the morning. The smoky scent of burning cookstoves crept upon them as they neared the forest's edge. Before long they came to the main road, an old dirt path just outside the walls of Keroko Village. With sacks of fruit slung over their shoulders, they approached the main gates. Two soldiers clad in leather armor and armed with polearms stood guard at either side of the archway. Not that armed guards were needed these days—there had been little need for them since the end of the war—but they served to keep wild animals out of the village and catch petty thieves trying to escape.

The guard on the left, a short but burly young man named Solaan, greeted the boys with a warm smile. "G'morning, Arus! Morning, Vultrel! Looks like we're in for a fine day today, don't you think?"

Arus returned the smile, bowing his head in respect. "Beautiful," he agreed. "Not a cloud in the sky."

The guard on the right, thinner than Solaan but no less muscular, spoke. "How did this morning's training go, Vultrel?"

"Undefeated as always, Markus," Vultrel responded with a sly grin. "But Arus put up a good fight. I don't know how much longer the record will last."

Arus laughed as he tossed an apple to Solaan. Vultrel handed an orange to Markus. The guards bowed in appreciation as the boys passed under the stone archway and headed into town.

Keroko was one of the larger villages in the western region of the kingdom of Asteria. It was well-known for its agriculture, with traders from all over traveling for weeks just to taste a Keroko-grown orange or purchase an ear of corn. Just about everyone in Keroko was a farmer in one form or another, whether working on their own land or on their neighbor's field. Even the smallest homes on the most crowded streets had small gardens where tomatoes and carrots were grown. The center of town, known as Trader's Square, was the hub of Keroko's economy. Peddlers and farmers lined up their carts and rented wooden stands to showcase their goods. Buildings constructed of wood and brick surrounded the Square, housing various shops.

Though the village flourished, it hadn't been long ago that Keroko—and Asteria itself—had been brought to the brink of collapse. A decade prior, a band of men calling themselves the Vermillion Mages appeared in the Mayahol Desert. They wielded unspeakable powers, calling the forces of nature to their aid. They handled fire like it was a toy, called lightning from a cloudless sky, and even manipulated the power of raw energy, unleashing spheres and beams of light that incinerated anything or anyone foolish enough to stand in their way.

Arus unconsciously rested a hand on the hilt of his sword, remembering those days. His father, Master Dayne Sheeth, led the village militia alongside Master Eaisan Lurei. The Mages attacked from the east after dark, leveling buildings and killing countless. Though the battle was fierce, the villagers later learned that it had merely been a diversion to keep them from interfering with the battle taking place at Cathymel, the capital of Asteria and home of the royal Castle Asteria to the north. Once Keroko had been secured, Eaisan and Dayne mounted their horses and rode to the capital. It was days later when they arrived, but the fight yet raged. They finally returned to Keroko after two weeks, wounded but victorious. The Mages leader, a man named Aratus Truce, had been slain, and his few remaining disciples had vanished into the Mayahol. Since then, the desert had been declared forbidden territory, and none dared to set foot in its golden sands.

Vultrel's hand on his shoulder pulled Arus from his thoughts. "You all right? You seem a bit preoccupied this morning."

Arus nodded. "I'm fine. Just . . . remembering things, that's all."

It was all he needed to say. "He's proud of you, Arus," Vultrel assured. "You can count on that."

Arus hadn't ever spoken much to Vultrel about his father's death; it wasn't an easy topic to discuss. "I know," he nodded, "I just never . . . never got to tell him how proud I was of him."

Vultrel patted his shoulder. "I'm sure he knew, Arus."

The two reached the Boyer farm, a spot where the road split to the north and west. The north led to Vultrel's farm, while the west passed Arus' home. It was where the boys met every morning before gathering breakfast, and where they separated hours later. Vultrel bowed. "See you at the festival tonight?"

Arus had nearly forgotten. The Festival of Souls was to be held; a yearly gathering of the villagers in Trader's Square to celebrate the lives of loved ones lost over the years. There would be singing and dancing, music and games. The adults would drink too much ale, and the children would run about catching fireflies. The most anticipated event was always Master Eaisan's rendition of The Blade of Kaleo, a fable he told every year. "I'll be there," Arus finally said, returning the bow. "After all, I have to know if The Blade of Kaleo will be found this year!"

Vultrel let loose with laughter. "I'll tell Father you're looking forward to it! Talk to you later!"

He turned and raced up the northern path, and Arus headed home. It was little wonder he'd been thinking about his father lately. The festival always brought back old feelings and memories. He remembered the evening his father died as though it was hours ago. Arus was six years of age at the time, and Master Dayne had just returned from the last battle of the Vermillion War with Master Eaisan. Though Vultrel's father was battered and bruised, Dayne was in far worse condition. He barely had enough time to say goodbye to his wife and child before he died.

"Arus!" a woman's voice called in the distance. His mother, Elayna-Marin Sheeth, stood on the front steps of their small brick house. She waved to him with a look of impatience on her face. "You're late!"

He ran the rest of the way and skidded to a halt just in front of the gate. "I'm sorry. Got a little . . . um . . . tied up back there."

Arus' mother was a short woman, scarcely forty years of age. Her scarlet hair was tied up in a neat bun, and she folded her arms across her white apron. The impatience on her face was already fading. "I know I put a lot of stress on you," she sympathized, the sun causing her blue-green eyes to sparkle, "more than most boys your age probably have to take from their mothers. But please try to keep track of time for my sake. I get worried when you're out so close to the Mayahol and don't return when expected. It makes my hair turn grey faster than necessary!"

Arus rolled his eyes as she plucked at her bun. "Your hair isn't turning grey, Mother," he said, following her into the house. "Don't worry about me. I apologize for being late, but I can handle myself out there."

The smell of fresh bread and butter filled the tiny home. Elayna immediately took his bundle of fruit to the counter to be cleaned and prepared for breakfast. The house was decorated with a warmth that only a mother could give, with hand-stitched curtains and flowerpots on the window sills. The interior was mostly constructed from wood, save for the brick stove in the kitchen. A wooden rocking chair sat next to it, draped with Elayna's half-finished knitting projects. A round table sat beside the staircase which led to the second floor. Empty plates rested in front of two handcrafted chairs at the table.

"Breakfast will be ready in just a minute," Elayna said.

Arus unlatched the clasp on his scabbard and climbed the stairs. His bedroom was simple, with only his bed on the left and the wardrobe on the right. Between them stood a polished wooden sword stand carved by Dayne Sheeth. Arus treasured it almost as much as the weapon he placed in it. His sword was a single-edged blade, curved so slightly that it was almost imperceptible to the naked eye. Still in its scabbard, the handle of the weapon sat snugly in one fork, and the blade-end of the red sheath fit into the other.

"Don't worry, Father," he murmured, bowing in respect, "I'll make sure everyone remembers you tonight."

*******

High above the village, beyond the treetops and the mountain peaks, beyond the birds and the clouds, and beyond the blue of the atmosphere, Kindel Thorus' starship, the Black Eagle, floated in silence over Terranias. The Vezulian Armada's flagship drifted in orbit, flanked by countless smaller starcruisers and fighter craft, its polished black steel reflecting the light of the sun. It had been constructed in the likeness of an eagle with its wings stretched in flight, a starship unlike any other in the universe. Assorted lights speckled the hull of the craft, emanating from the hundreds of windows across the ship's thirty-two decks. The forward section—the head of the eagle—housed the main bridge lined with four large viewports. The Black Eagle was well-known and greatly feared across the universe; Kindel kept it heavily-armed and didn't hesitate to make use of its firepower if the situation called for it.

Onboard, Lieutenant Petreit walked in silent panic toward the admiral's quarters. Despite the fact that he'd been summoned by Kindel Thorus himself, he got the feeling he was intruding on the admiral's privacy. Kindel had a presence that frightened people even when he was in the best of moods—and that wasn't often. But Petreit had duties to perform, and Kindel had called for him.

The barren corridor of the starship somehow seemed bigger as he neared Kindel's quarters. Others around him almost appeared to fade into nothingness as his eyes focused on the grey door. Fear bred doubt, and doubt led to questions. Kindel had summoned him, right? It was his name he'd heard over the intercom, right? Petreit thought his heart would leap out of his chest if it could, but Kindel had called for him. Hadn't he?

Perspiration lined his neatly trimmed hair, and his beady eyes twitched about nervously above his crooked nose. He was not a ladies' man by any stretch of the imagination, but then he'd always preferred solitude over cavorting with women. Relationships required commitment and dedication, and Petreit had far more important things to attend to.

In youth, he'd wandered aimlessly from job to job with little passion for anything, but he'd found purpose with the Vezulian Armada. They'd traveled the universe for countless years, seeking out and exterminating aggressive and dangerous species. Though most of the races of the galaxy were fairly peaceful and cooperative, there were others that could only be described as savage animals. They invaded worlds and destroyed societies, thirsting nothing but bloodshed. Some did so in order to gain control of a planet's resources, others did it for food, and still others conquered for sport. Kindel, however, traveled the universe recruiting men like Petreit to stand beside him against such dangerous species. And though he feared his leader, Petreit supported everything for which Kindel Thorus stood.

Lost in thought, Petreit found himself pressing the visitor alert button beside the entrance to Kindel's quarters. The door slid open a moment later with a soft electronic hum, and he took a cautious step into the office. Even as he entered, he tried frantically to come up with some sort of excuse for his visit in case he had been mistaken in thinking he'd been summoned. But to his surprise, Kindel didn't even look up when he arrived.

"S-Sir . . . You called for me?" he stammered, standing straight as an arrow.

Kindel sat at his desk in the center of the room. His pale-skinned fingers handled a small purple stone, twisting and rolling it between his fingers. For a moment, he ignored the lieutenant, squinting as he studied the thing. The rich glow of his eyes illuminated it, producing a brilliant sparkle.

Petreit's gaze wandered as he waited for a response—he knew better than to ask twice—and he glanced around the admiral's quarters. The walls were decorated with scrolls and tapestries that Kindel had collected from various planets over the years, most trophies of the dangerous civilizations that the Vezulian Armada had defeated. Elegant furniture varying in design was scattered about. Most of it was carved from wood, and some had been encrusted with precious stones and jewels. The cabinets against the right wall were a deep brown and covered with various statues and archeological artifacts that Petreit didn't recognize. One object in the center of it all, long and relatively flat, was neatly covered by a fine white cloth. The wall behind the admiral was made entirely of glass, providing a spectacular view of Terranias. The view took his breath away.

"Yes, Lieutenant," Kindel finally spoke. His gaze remained upon the stone. "What is your background with the Armada?"

It wasn't quite the sort of question Petreit has expected. "My b-background?"

"That's right. What are your areas of expertise? Your paperwork states that you studied Planetary Ecosystems and Indigenous Species. Are you knowledgeable about these subjects?"

"Yes, Sir," the lieutenant responded with a nod. "I can tell you about the climates, environments, and wildlife of most of the planets in this sector and many more across the galaxy. I also know much about their native species."

The admiral placed the purple stone onto his desk and stood. His dark cloak wavered with his movements, revealing the elegant clothing he wore underneath. Kindel's attire came from his native planet of Zo'rhan. Most of it was decorated with golden thread and encrusted with jewels. His pants were tucked into his heavy black boots and matched the deep blue of his tunic. As usual, locks of white hair dangled over his eyes, but their vibrant glow shone through unhindered. "Have you ever heard of an organically grown gem or stone on any of the planets you're familiar with?" he finally asked.

Again, the question took Petreit off-guard. "Organic gems?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You mean grown from living organisms?"

Kindel turned and moved toward the window. "Yes. I'm looking for a stone that can be reproduced, much like the way a plant reproduces through its seeds. There are theories that such jewels exist, but none of the leads I've followed have produced results."

Petreit glanced at the purple stone on the desk. Horrified, he heard himself speak. "I suppose we didn't find what you were looking for after all?"

Kindel looked back at him, his lips forming a thin smile. "On the contrary, the excavation was a monumental success. But it is just one piece of a puzzle. There are other items I'll need to gather—the foremost being a gem that reproduces—before I'll be able to make good use of any of them."

The lieutenant pursed his lips in thought, trying to choose his words more carefully. The admiral didn't seem upset by his prying, but Petreit knew better than to push his luck. "I've never heard of such a gem before, but I've got contacts on multiple science stations and research outposts across the galaxy that I can get in touch with. Perhaps one of them will be able to help."

Kindel clenched his hands into tight fists and closed his eyes. For a moment, Petreit thought his heart would never beat again. But to his surprise—and great relief—Kindel simply swore quietly and stepped back toward the desk. "Very well. I want you to notify me immediately of any possible leads that come up. Is that understood?"

"Of course, Sir," Petreit saluted. For a split second, he let his eyes shift to the purple stone again. A knowing grin came to Kindel's face, and Petreit didn't know if he should laugh or run.

"Curious, are we?"

The admiral didn't seem bothered by his interest, but Petreit was careful in choosing his words. "Well, it's not just me. Most of the men are."

Kindel returned to the window. "As you can probably tell, I am a student of history. I collect artifacts that intrigue me, historic relics, and ancient texts. There are a great many stories and legends across the universe, most of which are myths that grew from a much different truth. It is that truth that I seek, and what I have learned has shed great light on several of the stories floating across the galaxy. This planet, called Terranias, was once a technological wonder. Thousands of years ago, your species built skyscrapers that breached the clouds, crafted vessels that soared through the air, and even manned a mission to their moon."

Petreit wanted to step closer to the window to get a better view, but he dared not to move unless instructed. He'd always been curious about Terranias, knowing that the human race had originated there. But its current civilization knew nothing of space travel or of other worlds and cultures. "What happened?" he eventually asked. "Why is it such a primitive world now?"

"The same thing that happens to every world when it becomes too powerful for its own good: war. Legends say that an epic war ravaged the planet to such an extent that the entire world was nearly destroyed. Nearly two thirds of the population was wiped out, along with the humans' technological infrastructure. Afterwards, they vowed to never again rely on technology to further their society. And to this day, they've upheld that vow. They may be primitive by our standards, but their lack of development is self-imposed. There is, however, one flaw in this legend."

Petreit looked at his superior. "What flaw?"

Kindel turned to face him. "Where are you from, Lieutenant? What planet do you call home?"

"Genear, Sir. Born on the northern continent of Karsus."

"If human life originated on Terranias, and they never traveled farther than their own moon, then how did your ancestors get to Genear?"

"I . . . I don't know, Sir."

"Precisely." There was an air of satisfaction in the admiral's voice. "And therein lies the flaw of the legend. I did some research, cross-referencing Terranias legends with those of other planets with human populations. And that's how I learned about this."

He lifted the purple stone, his shimmering eyes radiating through it. "The humans were not at war with each other at all. They were at war with an invading force from another world, led by a man—a human—who wielded unspeakable power, able to command the elements of the land, sea, and air to do his bidding."

"He could use magic?" Petreit's face could not hide his surprise. There were several races across the galaxy who could handle the power of magic, such as the zo'rhan and the thanai, but it was a well-known fact that humans were not privy to such magnificent gifts.

"That's correct," Kindel nodded. "It was he who nearly destroyed Terranias, and his power came from this stone."

Petreit involuntarily stepped backward, nervously eying the sparkling gem in Kindel's grasp. The ability to manipulate the elements of the universe and turn them into weapons was a power he respected and feared more than anything. To think that such powers could be granted from a seemingly ordinary stone sent chills down his spine. "H-how?" he finally managed to gasp.

"I have named this jewel lephadorite, from the zo'rhan word Lephad. Roughly translated to your language, it means 'in power' or 'with strength.'" Kindel reached into the top drawer of his desk and withdrew a small amulet. It was made from shimmering gold, cut into the shape of a triangle and polished to a brilliant shine. There were notches hollowed out of each corner of the face, and one larger notch in the center. It dangled from Kindel's fist on a glimmering golden chain. "You may remember," he continued, "our visit to the planet Karlain. There I obtained a set of small gems that alchemists in that sector enchanted. When combined with the lephadorite and set in this amulet, it will bestow a sorcerer's talents upon the wearer. In theory, anyway."

Petreit didn't want to keep prodding, but his mouth was moving on its own now. "Have you tried it?"

Kindel shook his head and placed the amulet back into the desk drawer. "Not yet. I still have a bit of research to do. While the lephadorite is powerful, it is also quite unpredictable. It requires further study before testing, or the results could be disastrous. Some rumors suggest that the man who used the lephadorite thousands of years ago was driven mad by the stone. While I don't believe that's what truly happened, I wish to take no chances."

Petreit looked back at Terranias. "So how did humans leave the planet? How did you learn all of this? How did you know where to find—"

"I have my ways," Thorus responded. "I have been doing this for a number of years—I'm a bit older than you might think—and have accumulated many contacts across the galaxy. I've had to compare notes from a lot of sources to eliminate fiction from possible facts, but I think that this," he held up the lephadorite, "proves my methods to be reliable. There are times when others are reluctant to provide me with the information I need, of course, but I have my ways of dealing with them."

As if to allude to his meaning, the door behind Petreit slid open and two soldiers entered. They were both dressed in identical cloth uniforms, one in black and the other in white. The clothing was the traditional uniform of human martial artists, though Petreit doubted they were human. The same fabric they wore also covered their heads, leaving only their eyes showing through dark slits in the cloth. Two long curved blades were sheathed at the hips of the one in black, and a long sword was lodged in a scabbard on the back of the white. They were Kindel's personal assassins, though he called them assistants. No one knew their real names, but wherever he went, they were usually at his side. And if they weren't, it was a good indication that they were handling business with someone who had rubbed the admiral the wrong way.

Kindel exchanged nods with the men as they moved to either side of his desk. "Report."

The black one, known only as Scimitar, spoke. "Truce is too wrapped up in his own work." His voice was more of a hiss than anything else. "It doesn't appear as though he knows anything about the stone."

Kalibur, the ninja in white, looked at Petreit. "Is there something you require, Lieutenant?" His voice was huskier than Scimitar's, but otherwise similar. It was obvious that he didn't want to continue in Petreit's presence.

"I summoned him," Kindel told them. He cleared his throat and continued. "Lieutenant Petreit, I have shared this information with you in confidence. Tell no one what I've told you about the lephadorite; there is still much I have to do before I can share it with the rest of the Armada. But contact your sources, Lieutenant. Find me a gemstone that reproduces itself, and we shall be one step closer to eradicating evil from this twisted universe."

Petreit wanted to ask how Kindel intended to share the lephadorite with all of the members of the Armada, but the presence of his bodyguards kept him from raising the question. Still, he could probably assume that Kindel meant to somehow duplicate the stone, presumably using the reproducing gem in the process. There were several places Petreit could contact for information, from Marzalia to the Genear sector, but it would probably be best to start by—

"Is there something else, Lieutenant?" the admiral's eyes bore through him.

Petreit's eyes refocused. "N-No, Sir. I'll get right to work on that."

Kindel's voice was firm. "See to it, soldier. Do not fail."

Chapter 1-2

The final rays of sunlight began to dwindle over Trader's Square as the last merchant's cart was rolled away. Huge torches rose at the four corners of the Square, each flame large enough to heat a blacksmith's furnace. Strings of lanterns were draped between them, designed and colored by different members of the community to remember their lost loved ones. New carts rolled in, carrying popcorn and candy for the children, bottles for catching fireflies, and fresh ale for the adults. Sections of the Square were cornered off for different activities, one for music and dancing, one dedicated to games for the children, and still another for contests amongst the teens. Workers rolled wheelbarrows full of wood from the forests, and by the time the stars began to appear, a huge bonfire burned in the center of the Square.

Music floated through the air as citizens arrived, some wearing ceremonial tunics and cloaks, others bringing mementoes of their loved ones to share during storytelling around the fire. Dancers laughed as their shadows twirled in the torchlight, and children chased each other through the crowds. The rhythmic pulse of fireflies dotted the air above the celebration, and the full moon shone brightly in the evening sky.

The Festival of Souls had begun.

Arus wore his usual attire save for his grey headband. In its place, he wore his father's, a white strip of silk with his family crest on the front. The design was embroidered in red, sewn into the image of two open hands cupped together in offering. Dayne once explained that the image was a reminder to always remain humble and selfless.

He separated from his mother as soon as they arrived and headed for the contest area. Not surprisingly, Vultrel was already in the dueling ring squaring off against another of Master Eaisan's students, Anton Vermenas. At seventeen years old, Anton stood more than a head taller than Vultrel with shaggy brown curls that dangled just above his arrogant eyes. Arus knew better; Anton's size was a disadvantage more often than not. Vultrel had defeated him every time the two met in Master Eaisan's class.

Vultrel, wearing his usual black pants and sleeveless tunic, wielded a wooden training sword. Their weapons clacked against each other as they dueled across the ring, and Vultrel scored two quick points for blows to Anton's thigh. The muscular young man fought back, pushing Vultrel toward the edge of the ring where crowds of teens had gathered to watch. But Vultrel remained patient and alert, refusing to allow anxiousness or frustration take over his actions. Anton finally lunged forward in an attempt to overwhelm him, and Vultrel spun to the right with the wooden sword extended, catching his opponent off-guard with a tap on his back for a third and final point. Arus clapped and cheered with the rest of the spectators as Vultrel extended his hand to Anton.

"Good match," he said with a smile. Anton said nothing. Instead, he stormed into the crowd, leaving his opponent's outstretched hand. Vultrel shook his head, placed the wooden sword on the ground in the center of the ring, and greeted Arus with a wave. "Big oaf," he muttered, nodding in Anton's direction. "All size and no brains."

"Don't be too hard on him," Arus said. "Not everyone picks things up as quickly as you do. I know that from experience."

Vultrel laughed. "Come on, Arus. He doesn't practice his techniques. He's too wrapped up in himself. Even Father says so. You may not be able to defeat me yet, but you could take Anton one-handed."

"Nice work, Vultrel," a female voice came from behind. Without looking, Arus knew who had arrived. It was an effort not to cringe.

"Thanks, Melia," Vultrel's reply was smooth. "It was nothing."

Arus struggled to keep his cheeks from heating as he turned. Melia Sheai stood just behind him, a young girl with glitter on her cheeks and elegant brown curls tied back with a pink ribbon. She pawed at her pink dress, obviously trying to look her best for Vultrel. Not surprisingly, the blond-haired Katlyn Ambris stood beside her, dressed in black pants and a golden silk shirt. She brushed her flowing hair back with her fingers as she eyed Arus.

"Hi," she said with a giggle. "Are you and Vultrel going to duel tonight?"

Arus opened his mouth to reply, but Vultrel as already speaking. "Nah, we don't want to make anyone else feel bad, right Arus?"

Raising an eyebrow, Arus murmured, "Confidence, not arrogance."

"Gotta be smooth," Vultrel whispered. "It's got nothing to do with arrogance."

Arus turned his attention back to Melia and Katlyn. The four had known each other for years, but it wasn't until recently that the young ladies had shown a deeper interest in himself and Vultrel. He didn't quite understand why, but they both made him nervous. "Maybe later," he finally answered Katlyn's question.

"Can't wait!" She clapped her hands.

"We were just going to get some popcorn," Melia said, brown eyes shifting between the two. "Want to come with us?"

Vultrel hopped over the rope surrounding the battle ring. "Sounds great!"

Arus nodded reluctantly. It wasn't that he didn't want to go, he just didn't know how to talk to girls the way Vultrel did. "Sounds tasty." Immediately he regretted the sentence. Tasty? Who says 'tasty?'

Katlyn and Melia didn't seem to notice. With a beaming smile, Melia nodded. "Great! Maybe we can catch some fireflies, too!"

"I'll race you there!" Vultrel burst into a run, laughing as Melia chased after him.

"No fair!" she called, holding the front of her dress to keep from stumbling. "You got a head start!"

As they disappeared into the crowd, Katlyn turned her eyes back to Arus. "Race you to the popcorn stand?"

Arus could feel himself blushing. Inside, he argued with himself over what to do. What do I do? What do I say? If Vultrel hadn't run off without me, I could've let him do the talking. Do I go? What if I lose? She'll probably laugh at me, and so would Melia and Vultrel. Decide, you dolt! She's staring at you!

"Well?" a slight uneasiness had come to Katlyn's face. "Do you want to go?"

"Um . . . Sure, but let's walk," he managed. "It's crowded, and I wouldn't want to bump into anyone."

"Oh, come on!" Katlyn insisted, tugging at his arm. "You afraid I'll beat you?"

"N-no, it's not that," he stammered, "I just don't want to knock anyone over or hurt anyone, that's all."

Her smile vanished, replaced by dejection. "You know, Melia was right about you," she sighed, releasing his hand. "You do need to lighten up."

She vanished into the crowd before Arus could respond, leaving him standing alone beside the battle ring. It wasn't the first time he'd driven a girl off with his nervousness, but he wasn't going to let it get to him tonight. He hadn't come to court girls, he'd come to pay respect to his father.

Hours passed, the moon rose, and Arus found himself sitting on a log at the bonfire beside his mother, listening to Mayor Randolf share stories about his deceased wife. Many familiar faces surrounded the fire. Farmer Boyer sat to the left beside his wife and his daughter, Clarissa, and Ben Mantes, the burly village blacksmith, sat beside them. On the other side of the bonfire, Vultrel's mother, Veran Lurei, listened alongside Danton and Ellie Vermenas, Anton's parents. Her thick black hair was braided neatly and draped over her shoulder. She kept smoothing her purple dress and picking at her nails as though she was nervous. Not too far behind her, Vultrel could be seen leaping into the air with an open bottle, trying to snatch fireflies. Katlyn and Melia cheered him on, clapping their hands and laughing. Arus rolled his eyes and gazed back at the fire.

"The crest looks good on you, Son," Master Eaisan's voice cut through the ambient noise of the Festival. Arus looked up to see a warm smile on his face. "Reminds me of your father."

Arus was on his feet in an instant. "It was his, Sir," he said, bowing in respect.

To say that Eaisan was a large man would be a dramatic understatement. He stood nearly twice Arus' height, with a sturdy frame and muscular physique. He wore his usual white wraparound jacket embroidered with the Lurei family crest. Purple silk pants covered his legs, flaring as they extended toward his sandals. As always, his black hair was tied back in a smooth ponytail.

"Hello, Eaisan," Arus' mother spoke, rising from her seat. "I trust this evening finds you well?"

"Good to see you again, Elayna," Eaisan replied. "How's everything?"

"As well as can be expected," she said. "Times are rough, but Arus—bless his heart—he helps me through it."

Eaisan turned his attention back to Arus. "I'm surprised you're not off entertaining the young ladies with Vultrel." He motioned down the path.

Arus' heart sank. The last thing he needed was for his mother to learn that girls had been interested in them. As he'd feared, her eyes lit up once she saw Katlyn and Melia.

"Oh, Arus, they're cute!" she giggled. "What are their names? Do they like you? Why don't you go talk to them?"

"Not now, Mother," he said, rolling his eyes and sitting back down. "I'm not in the mood."

"Ah, that's all right, Son." Eaisan gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Everyone grows in their own time. Don't let anyone rush you. When you're ready, you'll know."

"Well, your son certainly seems ready," Elayna noted, pointing at Vultrel.

Eaisan shook his head as he stared at Melia and Katlyn. "Too soon, if you ask me." He let out a long breath. "Time goes by so quickly these days, doesn't it?"

Hours passed as the villagers continued talking about their lost ones around the fire. When the children had exhausted all of their energy and settled in with their parents, the storytelling began. Luz Mandon told the story of The Tiger's Claw, and Mayor Randolf regaled them with The Tale of the Golden Key. When Master Eaisan took a seat behind the mayor, Arus knew that The Blade of Kaleo would be next.

"Did I miss anything?" Vultrel's whisper came from behind.

"Nah," Arus shook his head, rising to his feet. "Just the usual stories. But it looks like your father is up next."

Arus moved behind the log where his mother sat and stood beside Vultrel. They spoke quietly to avoid disturbing the storytelling. "Have fun with Melia and Katlyn?"

Vultrel grinned and motioned to the next log on the right. The girls were both there, waving sheepishly at them. "You missed out, pal. Why didn't you come with us?"

"I'm not good with girls, Vultrel. You know that."

"Never gonna learn if you don't try. You don't—"

The villagers applauded, drowning the rest of his sentence. Mayor Randolf had finished his story, and Master Eaisan was already standing. Shouted requests came from the crowd. Five-year-old Clarissa Boyer cried, "I wanna hear about Kaleo! Please tell us 'bout Kaleo, Master Lurei!"

Eaisan smiled back at her, bowing slightly in her direction. "You say you want to hear about The Blade of Kaleo? Forged by the angels of the heavens, used by the Maker to carve the stars of the sky and the mountains of the land?"

Clarissa jumped up and down. "Yes! Yes!! Please!!"

"It would be an honor, milady," Eaisan bowed deeply this time, the way a knight would bow to his queen. "The Blade of Kaleo."

Despite the fact that Arus knew the story by heart, he always enjoyed Master Eaisan's rendition of the tale. He told it with such emotion and dramatic prowess, adding grand flourishes of his hands and raising or lowering his voice to match the mood of each scene. It brought the adventure to life in a way that few storytellers could mimic, and no matter how many times he told the tale, Arus never tired of it.

"Journey with me," Eaisan began, walking around the fire, "to a world far from this one. A galaxy far from ours, and a time long before this. Come to the ends of the universe, to the beginning of time, when nothing existed but the Maker and His Kingdom. For this is where the story begins, long before the first rising of the sun or the first waxing of the moon. Before the first laugh of the first child and before the first twinkle of the first star. Heaven shook right down to its foundation, for darkness crept over the holy Kingdom. Kuldaan, an angel fallen from the grace of the Maker and cast into the emptiness of the Abyss, led the Fallen Ones into the outer circle of Heaven's courtyards. Drowning in greed and consumed by lust, heaven's throne would be soon be his own."

Eaisan spread his hands above his head, looking to the sky as he spoke. "The forces of the Maker were strong, firing arrows of golden light into the Fallen Ones' black hearts. Angels fought one another across paradise, darkness and light meeting each other in a holy battle of good versus evil. And for a time, the Maker's armies prevailed. But on the eve of the conflict's first anniversary, Kuldaan's armies burst through the gates of the White Palace, the Evil One himself leading the charge. And so the Maker called forth his most trusted servant, an angel named Azriel. The Holy One entrusted Azriel with the task of slaying Kuldaan and bestowed upon him the holy weapon of evil's bane: The Blade of Kaleo."

A few cheers rose from the circle of villagers. Arus couldn't help but smile. It wasn't the heroism or the glory or the honor that enthralled him, it was the hope. The Blade of Kaleo symbolized hope for everyone. It taught people to never give up in the face of adversity; there was always hope for a better future.

Eaisan's story continued long into the night, detailing the many battles between Azriel and Kuldaan. After seeing his followers fall at Azriel's hands, Kuldaan fled from the White Palace. Azriel pursued, and the two fought across the heavens. Each time it seemed as though Azriel was about to destroy The Evil One, Kuldaan managed to scamper away like the rat that he was. And then, during an epic battle on the cliffs of Mount Arcadia, The Blade of Kaleo was knocked from Azriel's hands and sailed over the edge of the precipice. Azriel barely managed to escape with his life, but with the holy sword lost to the Abyss, Kuldaan was free to rebuild his forces and strike again.

"When the Maker learned of the Blade's fate, he summoned an army of his angels to enter the Abyss and recover it," Eaisan continued, motioning with his arms as though commanding a brigade of soldiers. "The hunt began shortly after . . ."

Eaisan's voice trailed off into the background as a shift in the shadows behind the bonfire caught Arus' attention. It was only momentary, blending into the surrounding darkness as quickly as it had shown itself. By this time, most of the other villagers had either joined the audience or returned to their homes. If there was someone—or something—back there, it was unlikely anyone else had seen.

"Hey," Arus nudged Vultrel with his elbow. He nodded discreetly toward the alley between the blacksmith's shop and the cobbler's store. "Did you see anything back there?"

"No, why? Did you?"

For a moment, Arus wondered if he'd imagined it. "I thought so," he whispered so as to not disturb Master Eaisan's story. "It's probably nothing, but what if . . ."

"Wolves?"

"I doubt it. Not inside the village."

Vultrel squinted in the direction Arus had pointed. "Then what?"

"Don't know," Arus shrugged. "A thief, maybe? Perhaps trying to sneak into one of the shops while we're all distracted?"

"Let's check it out," Vultrel said, glancing at the others. "If it's nothing, then there's no harm done. But if it's a thief . . ."

Arus nodded in agreement. "Right. You go right, I'll go left. Try not to attract anyone else's attention. Let them enjoy the story."

With his arms folded across his chest, Arus casually wandered around the left side of the circle, occasionally glancing toward the alleyway. Vultrel did the same on the opposite side. The villagers' shadows danced against the shops with each flicker from the bonfire, casting doubt on Arus' suspicions. Still, whatever he'd seen had been enough to pull his attention from Eaisan's story, and that made it worth investigating.

Vultrel disappeared around the right side of the blacksmith's shop while Arus headed into the alley. With only the moonlight to assist, his eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness. There were a few sacks of garbage on the ground, but nothing out of the ordinary. Behind the shops, he found Vultrel looking toward the second floor of the blacksmith's store.

"Look," he whispered, pointing up. Arus followed his finger, and blinked in the dim light.

The second floor window was open.

"Maybe Sir Mantes left it that way," he suggested. "You know how warm these summer nights get."

"Perhaps," Vultrel shrugged. "Only one way to—"

A deafening explosion came from the Square, followed by horrified screams and trampling feet. Arus and Vultrel darted around the building. People scattered in every direction, screaming in terror and shielding their heads. A new fire burned on the far side of the circle surrounded by scorched stone and dirt. Bodies littered the area, some struggling to stand, others bloodied and broken, and still others lie motionless.

"What in blazes—"

A streaming ball of flame shot up from somewhere on the far side of the crowd. It flew in a tight arc, speeding back toward the Square even faster than it had risen. The ground shook with its impact, and the resulting explosion sent more villagers and debris flying. Arus hadn't seen such a wicked display of force in years, but he remembered it well.

"The Vermillion Mages," he growled, drawing his sword. Immediately, he thought of his mother. The explosions had occurred across from her seat, but she was nowhere in sight. "Mother! Mother, are you all right?"

If she replied, the noise of the villagers swallowed her voice. Arus was about to set out to look for her when a break in the chaos gave him a clear view of Master Eaisan. He stood no more than twenty feet away, sword in hand. Vultrel had already drawn his weapon and ran to his father's side. With one more searching glance around the Square, Arus followed.

"Everyone get to the shelter!" Eaisan was shouting. "Protect the women and children! Go, get moving!"

"Father!" Vultrel called as he reached Eaisan. "What happened?"

His father gave him a quick glance. "The Mages, it seems. I'll handle them. Go! See that everyone gets to the shelter right away."

Vultrel's eyes grew. "No! I want to defend the village alongside—"

"Your mother is injured, Vultrel!" Eaisan cut him off, eyes searching the crowd. "She's on her way to the shelter, but she's been hurt. See that she gets there safely! That's an order, Son!"

Determination hardened Vultrel's face as he turned and raced for the shelter. Arus stood beside Eaisan in his battle-stance. "Ready to assist, Sir."

Eaisan looked down at him, his lips pursed beneath his narrow eyes. "You too, Arus! Go! Get these people to the shelter!"

"But Master, I—"

Another fireball sailed over their heads and exploded through the cobbler's door, sending wooden planks and splinters flying. Eaisan pushed Arus away. "Go! They're coming!!"

"I won't run away!" Arus yelled back, tightening the grip on his weapon. "I'll not sit by and watch them—"

"There is nothing cowardly in what I've asked you to do, Arus!" he shot back. "These people are frightened and panicked. They need you to get them to the shelter safely! They're counting on you, Arus, and so am I! NOW GO!"

Eaisan gave Arus one final push, then rushed into the crowd with his sword raised. It wasn't until the long blade pierced his target's chest that Arus saw them. The Vermillion Mages barreled into the Square, brandishing short swords and unleashing fiery blasts upon their victims. They wore no armor, instead dressed in black pants and vests over dirty shirts of various colors. For a moment, Arus contemplated following Eaisan, but he'd been assigned a task, and letting his master down was not an option.

"Everyone, come this way!" he called. "We must get to the shelter immediately!"

He led those that followed to the west, running as fast as his legs would carry him. Repeated explosions from behind sent tremors rolling through the ground. Some villagers passed him while others stopped to catch their breath before continuing. "Come on!" he called. "We can make it! It's not too much further!" Ahead, an elderly woman stumbled and fell. Arus skidded to a halt beside her and knelt. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," she wheezed. "The Maker have mercy on us! What is happening?"

"We're going to be fine," Arus reassured as he helped her up. "Get to the shelter as soon as you can, all right?"

"Bless you, child!" She bowed before continuing on her way.

Arus turned back toward the Square. The crowd began to thin, revealing several new fires devouring distant structures. "Mother . . . Please be alive."

A terrified scream came from behind. One of the Mages had scooped up seven-year-old Max Nadealai and was attempting to flee with the boy. Arus bared his teeth and raced after them. With a shout, he leapt into the air and thrust his foot forward. The strike connected with the kidnapper's head, knocking him to the ground. Max tumbled free and scrambled to his feet.

"GO!" Arus shouted, leaping on top of the Mage. With his blade against the soldier's neck, Arus looked up at Max. "Go, Max! Get to the shelter right away!"

The little boy stared at the Mage for a moment, then nodded and ran away. When one of the villagers grabbed his hand and led him after the others, Arus returned his attention to his prisoner. An enemy isn't defeated until he's disarmed and shackled. But how do you disarm a sorcerer? He knew the answer, but as much as he'd trained to use his sword, he had never hurt anyone with it, and hadn't expected to be faced with the duty of ending the life of another for quite some time. "What are you doing here?" he finally demanded.

The little man grinned and wrapped his hands around Arus' wrists. A sudden warmth spread through his arms, growing from the inside until his muscles burned like fire. He pulled away from the soldier's grasp, but the shift in weight gave the Mage the opportunity to topple him. As they both scrambled to their feet, the Mage drew a short sword. As their blades connected, Arus tried to convince himself of what he knew he had to do. This isn't training class anymore, and he's not Vultrel. This guy wants to kill me. The only way to stop him is if I kill him first. He's invaded my home, attacked my people, and attempted to kidnap a child. I have to do what must be done.

It was apparent that the Mage was not well-trained in swordplay. Arus blocked every attack with ease and responded with such quick strikes that he struggled to keep up. Why doesn't he use magic against me? Why does he rely on a blade when he's got such power at his disposal?

Abruptly, the Mage leapt away, brushing sweaty brown strands of hair away from his eyes. "Impressive," he said. "You'll do nicely."

Without another word, he turned and sprinted toward the Square. Arus stepped to follow before remembering Eaisan's orders. The people have to be secure first. Once they're safe, I can go back to help Master Eaisan.

"Arus!"

Vultrel appeared on the road a fair distance away. "Are you all right? Where's Father?" he called.

Arus returned his weapon to its sheath as Vultrel came to a stop before him. "I'm fine. I don't know about Master Eaisan. He ordered us to help the villagers, then . . ." He hesitated, unsure if the image of Vultrel's father attacking an army of Vermillion Mages alone was something he wanted to share. "Then he ran off."

"I'm going back to help him." Vultrel was already drawing his sword. "I'm not—"

Arus grabbed his arm as he tried to pass. "No, Vultrel. We have our orders. The people need to be brought to safety, and Master Eaisan trusted the job to us. We can't let him down."

Vultrel looked longingly toward Trader's Square, but he eventually nodded in agreement. "Right. First things first. But after everyone is in the shelter, we help Father. Agreed?"

Arus paused, another worry weighing on his mind. "Have you seen my mother? I haven't seen any sign of her."

"She's fine. She's at the shelter."

The news relieved the weight of a thousand sacks of flour from his shoulders. "All right, then. As soon as the people are safe, we'll return to Master Eaisan's side."

Vultrel nodded and started down the road; the majority of the villagers were already further down the street. With one final look around, Arus lifted his foot to follow.

Another shift in the shadows stopped him in his tracks.

Arus looked to the sky and blinked. A girl no taller than he stood atop one of the houses, her silhouette standing in front of the moon. Darkness concealed most of her features, but her thick black hair blew to the side in the evening breeze. A dark cloth covered her face from the bridge of her nose down, and another ran across her forehead and disappeared into her hair. Her attire was hard to see in the shadows, but a long leather whip dangled from her right hand. Arus couldn't see her eyes, but her stare sent a chill down his spine.

"Vultrel!" he called, looking back. "Vultrel, come here! Look!"

But when his eyes returned rooftop, she was gone. Arus blinked again, wondering if the darkness was playing tricks on him. Vultrel returned to his side. "What? What is it?"

"Uh . . ." Arus rubbed his forehead. "Nothing. Come on, let's get moving."

The shelter was nothing more than a large storage basement beneath the Keroko Inn. It had once been used to house and treat the wounded during the war, though they had to squeeze together to in order to fit as many as possible. The boys led the last few people to the solid steel doors behind the building and guided them down the stone steps. Lanterns had already been lit, and the injured were being tended to the far left. Two soldiers of the Keroko Militia guarded the doors. Once everyone was inside, the heavy iron cross bar was lowered and locked into place.

Vultrel pushed through the crowd to where his mother was resting and kneeled beside the makeshift cot.

"How is she?" Arus asked. She looked up at him and smiled.

"I'm all right," she told him, pain evident in her voice. "Just a little shaken up."

Burns covered the lower half of her left leg. Scattered blisters had formed from her knee to her ankle, and the surrounding skin was a deep maroon color. "We'll get you help as soon as we can," Vultrel told her. "Just hang in there."

"Arus!" a frantic shout came from the crowd. Elayna Sheeth burst into view and threw her arms around him. "Thank goodness you're safe! I feared you'd joined Eaisan in the fight!"

"I'm fine, Mother," he assured her. For a moment, he thought about telling her of his encounter with the Vermillion soldier but decided that would panic her even more. "Why is this happening?" he asked instead. "Why are they attacking us again?"

"Old wounds that never healed, I'm sure," Veran Lurei said. She fiddled with her braid, obviously trying to keep her mind off of the pain. "I do hope Eaisan takes care of himself."

"No worries, Mother." Vultrel rose to his feet with a great smile. "Arus and I are going to go help him. Just rest here and I'm sure the medics will tend to you in no time."

Elayna grabbed Arus' shoulders. "You're not going anywhere!" she insisted. "I can't have you—"

A loud knock came from the steel doors. The murmuring crowd quickly silenced out of a collective-yet-unspoken fear of being discovered. One of the guards, clad in steel armor and a bell-shaped helmet, slid the viewport open. "Who goes there?"

"I don't suppose you have room for a few more in there?" a familiar voice called.

"Father!" Vultrel shouted. The soldiers opened the doors and Master Eaisan descended the staircase, followed by several members of the Keroko Militia. The villagers cheered their victory, bringing flashbacks of the Vermillion War to the surface of Arus' mind. He joined Vultrel as Eaisan reached the end of the stairs, and they bowed in respect to their teacher.

"A job well done," Eaisan said, returning the bow. His voice was solemn. "Unfortunately, the battle was not without casualties. Is Anton here?"

Anton pushed his way to the front of the crowd. "Where are my parents?" he demanded, face twisted with anger. "What did those wretched Mages do to them?"

Eaisan put his hand on Anton's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Son. I'm afraid your parents were killed in the initial explosion."

The anger in Anton's face shattered, replaced by shock and disbelief. "No . . . that can't be! I'm sure they got out before the attack."

"They were sitting close to me, Anton," Veran put in, unable to look at him. "I'm sorry, but the flames . . . They just . . . They came right down . . ."

"I don't believe it!" he shouted, pushing past Eaisan and the soldiers. "I won't! Not until I see for myself!"

He threw the doors open and ran into the night. After a long silence, Veran spoke again. "How many others lost, Eaisan?"

"I don't know. There are several other injuries—old Than Morson lost his leg, and Markus and Solaan are pretty beat up—but it will take time to gather and identify the dead. The militia is seeing to the injured in the Square."

"We failed," Vultrel murmured, hanging his head. "We were supposed to protect the villagers, and I—"

"There'll be none of that, Vultrel," Eaisan voice was sharp. "You boys did a fine job. Look around you. Look at all the people that survived thanks to you two. I'm very proud of both of you. You handled yourselves well."

"He saved my boy," a voice came from the crowd. Madeline Nadealai, a frail blond-haired woman, emerged with Max in tow. She was young for a mother, having given birth to Max when she was only nineteen. And she was younger for a widow; her husband had died during the war. "The Mages tried to kidnap Max, but he stopped them." She pointed at Arus.

Little Max rushed forward and wrapped his arms around Arus' waist. "Thank you!"

Arus patted the boy on the back, but somewhere in the back of his mind, a nagging feeling of unfinished business began to surface. Everyone looked at him as though they expected some inspiring words or a heroic recount of the incident, but Arus couldn't let go of the fact that he let the would-be kidnapper escape. "I'm just glad I could help," was all he managed to say.

Eaisan put a heavy hand on his shoulder. "A village child safe in the arms of his hero," he nodded toward Max. "You've never looked more like your father."

To know that he'd helped someone else made him feel good, but to be compared to Dayne Sheeth in any way was nothing short of an honor. Still, there was that nagging—a piece of Arus that wished he had finished off the Mage. Had the roles been reversed, he'd have shown no such mercy to me.

Again, the people looked at him expectantly, but Vultrel came to his rescue. "Should we head back out and make sure there are no stragglers left? We shouldn't be too quick to let our guard down."

"We killed every one we saw," Eaisan reassured him. "Between myself, the Keroko Militia, and that girl . . ." his words faded as his expression turned to thought.

Arus' ears perked. "Girl?"

Eaisan shrugged. "I don't know who she was, but she defeated more of the Mages than any of us. Young, too. Probably about your age. She didn't say a word; I didn't even see her join the battle. I just turned around and there she was taking down Mages with every crack of her whip. Then, just as quickly as she'd appeared, she vanished. Certainly wasn't from around here, not with those clothes. Regardless, her help made a huge difference."

The girl. Her stare had felt so cold . . . but she helped. How did she know the Mages would attack? Arus' mind raced with questions. The Vermillion Mages had disappeared years ago when Aratus Truce was defeated. There were rumors that they had become nothing more than desert nomads residing in the Mayahol, but the number of soldiers he'd seen flooding the Square suggested otherwise. The thought of a new war made him nauseous.

"The militia is going to triple its patrols tonight," Eaisan was saying. "Tomorrow I'll head to the Mayahol myself to see if I can learn anything about this attack."

Veran let out an exasperated sigh. A white-clothed medic had begun to rub ointment on her burns, but her stern eyes were fixed squarely on her husband. "Eaisan, I don't want you going out there. Lord Sarathon condemned the deserts for a reason, you know."

"I'm not going to enter the desert itself, my dear," Eaisan assured her. "I'll walk the border with my eyes on the sands and see whatever I may see. I'm sure King Sarathon will send his own brigade of lances into the Mayahol as soon as word of this attack reaches Castle Asteria."

"May I join you tomorrow, Father?" Vultrel asked, his face bright with excitement.

"Me too," Arus put in.

"No!" Elayna shook her head. "You're not getting involved in this, Arus. I'll not let those sand-eating Mages take the rest of my family from me."

"But Mother, I—"

"She's right, boys," Eaisan agreed. "You were a great help to Keroko tonight, but there's no reason to drag you two into this. My orders to protect the village are a standing order; that mission is never complete. Be always on your guard, and watch out for your fellow men. That is what I ask of you."

Arus bowed respectfully to his teacher. "Yes, Master. As you wish."

Vultrel shook his head. "I want to do more, Father. I am happy to assist the villagers, but I want to take the fight to the enemy rather than wait for them to come to us. I want to stop them from hurting anyone else before they do it!"

Eaisan turned to leave the shelter. He stopped at the door, turning only halfway to his son. "If this turns into another full-blown war, you will have more action than you can handle, Son. Enjoy peace while you can get it, because once it's gone, you'll wish you'd appreciated it more before it slipped away."

It was hours before Eaisan and a few of the high-ranking militiamen returned and declared it safe for everyone to return to their homes. In bed that night, Arus lay awake, staring at the sword in its stand beside his bed. The night had seemed like a dream come true; a dream reborn as a nightmare. The vengeful desires had always been there, dormant amongst his sense of honor and responsibility. And even in battle with the Vermillion Mage, those feelings had remained submerged, controlled by the code of ethics and morality that both his father and Master Eaisan had instilled in him.

But now, lying awake in the dark, those bitter feelings began to stir. I had the chance to avenge you, Father. I could've made them pay for what they did to you. Why didn't I?

Because it wasn't the right thing to do. Arus knew that. The last thing he wanted to do was kill another man. But the Mages aren't men. They're animals. He cursed himself inwardly. You let that soldier live tonight, and he'll likely come back with more of his comrades next time. Then how many will die? What if war ravages the kingdom again? Will you still be so compassionate? Will you let them run past you and strike down your neighbors? Your friends? Your mother? Vultrel? Master Eaisan?

With a dejected sigh, Arus rolled over and closed his eyes. "I hope you're proud of me, Father, because I'm not sure if I am."

*******

A humid wind blew across the Mayahol, pounding harsh sands against the rocks and caverns scattered throughout the desert. Clouds of dust swept along, blocking out the stars and transforming the moon to a dull blue sphere amidst a sea of brown. Red stone boulders, some forming caves, rose from the land in multiple areas, providing shelter for rabbits and other assorted desert-dwellers. Some of these caverns led deep beneath the surface to an underground network of tunnels and subterranean dens. These passages, formerly the homes of giant sand snakes, sheltered the remnants of a dying people, an endangered society with talents greater than anything the natives of Terranias could comprehend. To humans, magic was just a fairy tale. But to the Vermillion Mages, it was a way of life.

There was a time not long ago when the Mages were one of the most dominant forces of the universe. They were a space-faring race called kyrosen with no planet to call home. They moved from world to world, taking what they needed to survive by whatever means necessary. Violence was inevitable; most species didn't part with their belongings so easily. But it was a way of life for the kyrosen. It was their culture; they knew nothing else. However, one too many encounters with Kindel Thorus' Vezulian Armada had left the kyrosen crippled and struggling to survive. It was thought that Terranias would make a perfect location to rebuild; the humans were a primitive race. The plan was to make Terranias the unofficial homeworld of the Vermillion Mages, a name they adopted to mask their true identity from the Armada. But they underestimated the resilience of the human race.

Specifically, Dayne Sheeth and Eaisan Lurei.

The kyrosen Grand Master, Aratus Truce, was murdered by the two humans, leaving the already dwindling numbers of the Mages fragmented and aimless. Led by Aratus' only son, the survivors sought refuge in the caverns below the desert. And though they still suffered from lack of numbers and limited supplies, a new initiative brought hope for survival. The attack on Keroko may not have gone as expected, but the news from the battlefield was more than encouraging.

Olock adjusted his short brown cap and wiped the sweat from his brow. Torchlight heat gathered quickly in the caverns, keeping things a bit warmer than he liked. The Underworld, as they had come to call it, housed the remains of the kyrosen for years; it was their only refuge from those who would prefer to hunt them to extinction.

Scuff marks marred Olock's sun-colored shirt, but his black vest covered most of them. He brushed the excess dirt from his dark pants as he rounded the tunnel's narrow corner. Olock had been one of few survivors to return from Keroko, but his involvement in the attack had yielded some interesting information.

"You're back." A voice came from an opening in the wall. "We weren't sure if you made it."

Olock stopped. "No thanks to you."

"Hey, Boss said that we were to pull back if things got too hairy," F'Ledro retorted. He was a wiry man, one that couldn't quite be classified as a warrior. While he possessed the same powers as his kinsman, he often relied too heavily on his laser pistol. Shaggy and unkempt black hair drooped above his lazy eyes. He crossed his arms and shook his head at Olock. "We were just supposed to distract the swordsman and his allies, not launch an all-out assault on the—"

"You don't have the experience with Eaisan Lurei that I have," Olock cut him off. He removed his hat and again wiped his forehead. "Sometimes surprise is the best tactic available."

"Do you have any idea how many of our people died tonight?" F'Ledro shot back. "Many could've been saved if we had just—"

"If we what?" Olock stepped toward him, fists clenched. "If we hid behind your laser barrel? We are not cowards, F'Ledro. Those who died gave their lives to save ours. Each of us is aware of the risks we take in any battle, and most of us are happy to accept them."

"Hey, I'm no coward," F'Ledro retorted, though he stepped back. "Might I remind you of a little planet called Lavinia?"

Olock rolled his eyes. It was F'Ledro's one claim to fame; he brought it up whenever someone questioned his strength or dedication. A year or so before they had arrived on Terranias, a small team of Mages was sent to one of the neighboring galaxies to collect supplies. F'Ledro had led that team. They landed on Lavinia, a peaceful planet of Morphers rich with food and other resources. The team wasted little time in attacking the nearest kingdom—a city on the eastern border of a country called Aerianna. They took the palace by surprise, swiftly eliminating the guards before reinforcements could be summoned. F'Ledro killed both the King and Queen, and his men raided the storage cellar before escaping to their starships. Of the many missions F'Ledro had led, it was one of only a handful that were successful, and he milked the victory for all it was worth.

"As I understand it, F'Ledro," a strong, husky voice came from further down the tunnel, "the heir to Aerianna's throne has hunted you ever since." The leader of the Vermillion Mages, Sartan Truce, emerged from the shadows and into the torchlight. "And—correct me if I'm wrong—I understand there was an unidentified young lady assisting the Keroko Militia tonight. That wouldn't have anything to do with your decision to withdraw, would it?"

F'Ledro shifted uncomfortably as Sartan approached the officers with folded arms. His large nose tended to overshadow the rest of his face, but even that couldn't mask his cowardice. After Aratus Truce died, Sartan took the reins of the Vermillion Mages. He wanted to pick up and leave Terranias, but their starships were destroyed near the end of the war. Now, with their departure long overdue, Sartan had a plan that he believed would yield results.

He was a solid man, built for combat and wise with experience. The light of the torches illuminated his golden hair, and he scratched his blond beard with a single finger. "We're waiting for an answer, F'Ledro."

"Uh, Sir," F'Ledro shook his head, "I didn't see . . . I mean, she didn't show . . ." he stammered to complete a sentence. "Was she there?" he finally got out.

Olock rolled his eyes and looked back at Sartan. "You see what I have to work with out there?" He pointed at F'Ledro.

Sartan's eyes never left the little man. "Perhaps not for much longer."

"This is no ordinary girl," F'Ledro insisted. "She's a Morpher. You know what they are capable of!"

Truce grabbed a fist full of F'Ledro's shirt and yanked him to his knees. "I know what we are capable of, you miserable wretch of a man! The girl doesn't even know how to harness her power yet, and even if she did, Morphers are nothing compared to us! We will return to our rightful position in the universe one day, F'Ledro, and I'll not let a cowardly weasel like you stand in our way! Olock was the commanding officer in tonight's operation, and the decision of if and when to order a retreat was up to him! But you took your squad and ran when things got a little too warm for you. This is your last warning, boy. The next time you disobey an order from either myself or your commanding officer, you'll be cast out of the kyrosen and left to your own defenses. And I seriously doubt you'd get far considering the number of people who would love to see you dead!"

He threw F'Ledro to the floor and turned his back, almost daring a retaliation. F'Ledro knew better. He scrambled to his feet and bowed. "Yes, Sir! Understood, Sir!"

Truce didn't look back. "Go see Rhuda on Level Three. I'm sure she has some chores that need doing."

"Right away, Sir!" F'Ledro raced off, obviously glad to be freed from his leader's wrath.

"Think he'll learn, Boss?" Olock asked once he was out of sight.

Sartan let out a long breath. "I don't know, Olock. But as much as I'd love to cast him out, I don't think we can afford it right now. We need every man we have, weasel or not. How many did we lose tonight?"

Olock's eyes turned down. "Nearly thirty, Sir."

"And no suitable subject for the experiment?"

"Actually, I almost had the perfect subject captured, but a young man—a swordsman—interfered. I think he may have been the son of Eaisan Lurei. Or at least a student of his."

Sartan finally turned to face him. "Are you certain? Why do you think this?"

"We've faced Lurei countless times, and this boy's techniques were nearly identical in every way. I could've defeated him, but I let him believe he got the upper hand."

That got him an uncomfortable glare. "Should've killed him when you had the chance. Why let him go?"

Olock's grin grew. "Because I thought it would be more fitting that Eaisan should die at the hands of his own student."

Sartan's eyes gleamed in the torchlight. "Brilliant." he said, his voice nearly a whisper. "Eaisan Lurei and Dayne Sheeth have driven us toward extinction. Dayne paid with his life, but Eaisan's crimes against our people have thus far gone unaccounted for. Now he'll pay not only with his life, but with the life of his student as well."

Olock nodded in agreement. "My thoughts exactly, Sir."

"Come, we have much to do." Sartan led him along the tunnel and turned into a darkened room. "Activate the generator, please."

After several moments, a dull hum emitted from the generator, and several electrically powered lights illuminated the Control Room. Much of the Mages' equipment had been damaged during the war, but Sartan had managed to salvage enough parts from the remains of their starships to set up the small control room in one of the larger underground dens. Crude steel panels covered with different colored switches and dials lined the walls, and a large display monitor was mounted opposite the generator.

"Alright," Truce mumbled as he typed a few commands into the control panel. "Let's see what we can find here." After a few moments, the screen came to life, illuminating with an image of current sensor readings. His fingers clacked across the keys several more times, and a rough schematic of Keroko Village appeared. "Alright," he said again. "We tried to take them by surprise tonight, and as we know, that didn't work. This time we'll try stealth. I'll need you to get a team together and do some recon. Find out everything you can about this kid—or any of Eaisan's students for that matter—and report back to me. I want everything Olock. His name, his age, his weight, height, birthday, relatives, daily habits, and any other information you can get your hands on. We won't move until we've got a perfect plan in place. Then, we'll send—"

"Sir!" F'Ledro suddenly appeared at the door. He was short of breath, wheezing as though he'd been running. "There's someone outside!"

Sartan's eyes widened. "What?" He switched to a different control panel and flipped a few switches. A fresh scan of the area loaded onto the screen, showing a life form dangerously close to the entrance of the Underworld.

"Are you sure it's not a rabbit or something?" Olock suggested. "The humans rarely travel into the Mayahol; certainly never during a sandstorm."

Sartan was already shaking his head. "No, it's too big to be an animal. Someone's out there, and we can't give him a chance to run back and tell Eaisan of our location. Bring him down here. Kill him only if you have to, but . . ." he glanced at Olock, ". . . I'd like to try to get some information out of him."

Olock straightened with a salute. "As you command, Boss!"

Chapter 1-3

The desert sand reflected radiant beams of afternoon sunlight, its glow spilling through the forest along the border of the Mayahol. Trees thinned where dirt gave way to desert, and thick swaths of sand poured further into the woods where sandstorms had blown. There were scattered bushes here and there where the sand had yet to smother the soil. Occasionally a lizard would dart between them in a streak of dull green. The edge of the forest felt the desert heat's wrath, reducing the assorted weeds and vines that would've flourished there to nothing more than dried roots.

Eaisan Lurei paced back and forth, his feet going from dirt to sand to dirt again. He had yet to draw his weapon, though it certainly looked as though he wanted to. He wore his green wraparound jacket and flared brown pants to blend in with the foliage. Behind him, no more than thirty feet away, Arus and Vultrel sat in branches of one of the larger trees, confident that they'd found a spot where the remaining leaves were thick enough to mask their presence. If Eaisan knew they had disobeyed his order and followed him, they would certainly receive a tongue-lashing . . . Perhaps more.

Arus grimaced remembering the last time he and Vultrel disregarded their master's orders. A pack of wolves had been reported just outside the walls of Keroko, and he and Vultrel had gone to investigate despite Eaisan's stern order to stay away. In little time, the boys found themselves scampering away from seven wolves, and it was only by the grace of the Maker that they managed to get back to the village safely. But both Arus' mother and Vultrel's father put them hard at work on the Lurei farm for the next month through searing sun and pouring rain. Arus certainly had no interest in repeating that punishment, but curiosity had gotten the best of him, and Vultrel didn't have to push the idea much before he agreed.

"What's he doing?" Vultrel whispered from his position on two thick branches to his right. "He's acting like he sees something. Can you tell if there's anything out there?"

Arus squinted as he shifted his attention to the desert itself. "I can't see. It's too bright."

"I wonder what those cursed Mages are up to," Vultrel thought aloud. "They wouldn't have attacked Keroko without reason, right?"

"Who knows?" Arus was looking at Eaisan again. The wind blew, brushing the leaves against him. "You don't think they want to start another war, do you?"

"I don't know. Father said that their numbers were greatly reduced during the last one. I'm not sure they could stand against us."

Below, Eaisan disappeared behind the trees to the north. They waited for a moment to see if he paced back before Vultrel pulled himself onto a higher branch. "Come on, Arus. Let's follow him."

They scuttled from tree to tree, following the desert border northward behind Eaisan. He stopped every so often, staring into the distance or examining tracks in the sand, but then he would continue on in search of whatever it was he had yet to find. Arus moved with the experience of a hunter, rustling no leaves and breaking no branches. Eaisan's hearing was sharp, but Arus had spent many summer days hunting in the woods. Years had taught him how to move virtually undetected. Vultrel was always close behind, his natural agility aiding him in matching Arus' speed and silence.

"How far is he going to go?" he muttered as they crawled across the branches. "We've got to be close to Narleaha by now."

Arus wasn't listening. The formation of the trees was leading them closer to the Mayahol, and with it, Master Eaisan. He stopped short of climbing onto the tree just behind where Eaisan had stopped. In their current position, they sat little more than fifteen feet from him. If they continued forward, they'd be practically on top of him. "We're getting too close," he whispered. "If we climb onto that tree, he'll notice us for sure."

Vultrel's eyes wandered in search of another route. "How about that one?" He pointed to a much higher area where branches intersected with those from another tree of the same height. "We can cross up there and then come around the other side."

It seemed like a long journey to Arus, but it was better than being caught. "Alright," he agreed. With his eyes on Eaisan, he stepped up onto the next branch, a limb no thicker than the handle of his sword. It sagged under his weight, but held. When he stretched for the next limb, Eaisan produced a small knife from somewhere within his coat and let it fly with a calm flick of his wrist. The blade lodged in the branch beneath Arus' feet where the limb met the tree's trunk. There was a loud crack, and splinters of wood burst from the joint as the branch tore away. Arus grabbed onto Vultrel's tunic as he fell in a frantic attempt to catch himself, but his weight pulled them both down, and they tumbled to the ground with crash.

"If you are hunting an enemy," Eaisan began as he approached, "you'd best be sure that your enemy isn't hunting you."

Arus rubbed his neck and grimaced as he sat up. "Well spoken, Master. I apologize, we just wanted—"

"We'll discuss it when we get back," he interrupted, offering the boys a hand. "If your mothers find you missing they're likely to come looking for you, and it's dangerous enough for you two to be here, let alone them. Come."

Eaisan started into the forest, but Vultrel held his eyes on the desert. "What were you watching, Father? Did you see any of them?"

"I'm not sure if they were Vermillion Mages or not, but I saw several figures heading in the direction of Narleaha. Perhaps they're raiding all the local towns. Maybe they need food or supplies."

"Shouldn't we head for Narleaha, then?" Arus called, chasing after Eaisan. Vultrel reluctantly followed.

"I'll speak with Mayor Randolf," he replied, "but I doubt we have the extra men to spare at the moment. We want to keep Keroko well-defended for now, and the militia only has but so many members."

"I think we should just go up there and handle the Mages ourselves," Vultrel grumbled, smacking a clenched fist into his palm.

"Discipline, Son," Eaisan warned. "You must learn patience. Without it, all else you have learned will crumble under the rigors of battle."

"I don't understand, Sir," Arus shook his head. "The people of Narleaha could be dying while we're out here being 'patient.' What good can come from that?"

"We don't know that the Mages are attacking Narleaha," Eaisan explained as he climbed over a fallen tree. "We know they harbor ill feelings toward Keroko—myself in particular. What if they are simply headed north to try and launch a surprise attack from that direction? Perhaps they're intending to test our defenses in different areas until they find a weakness. Or maybe they aren't attacking anyone at all. As I said, they may not have even been Mages. We don't know enough to simply run off to Narleaha. We have to return to Keroko, warn our people, and we can decide what to do from there."

"I see," Arus nodded.

Vultrel shook his head. "I just . . . I don't want them to hurt anyone else."

"I know, Son," Eaisan's voice was almost a whisper. "I know."

They continued through the woods with nothing but the chattering birds to break the silence. It was frightening to think that the Mages could wage war upon Asteria again. Then what would Father have died for? If the Vermillion Mages attack and finally defeat us, my father's death would've been for nothing.

But the battle would give me a chance to avenge him.

No, I can't think like that. Vengeance isn't a good reason to kill a man. Still, if they attack the village again, it would be the perfect opportunity for me to settle the score . . .

"No, I can't think like that," Arus muttered, shaking his head.

"Did you say something, Arus?" Eaisan looked back.

The blood drained from his face. "Uh, I was just wondering if we had to tell our mothers about any of this."

To his surprise, Eaisan shrugged. "I won't tell them if you don't," he said. Arus let out a sigh and exchanged a relieved look with Vultrel. "However," Eaisan turned, and his lips formed a sly smile, "that doesn't mean your disobedience will be forgotten. After all, I've been meaning to take some time off from working on the farm, and I'll need a couple of fine youths to care for my tomatoes while I do."

Arus and Vultrel hung their heads. "Busted," Vultrel grumbled.

*******

Olock fingered the electronic communications device attached to his belt. From his position behind the large stone, he'd seen Eaisan Lurei and his two companions briefly before they disappeared into the forest. The sand was hot under his stomach, but he had to lie as low as possible to avoid detection. A short distance away, F'Ledro sat cowering on his knees behind a larger rock. His stone was rather large—enough to hide him in a kneeling position—but the crimson rock obscuring Olock was no larger than a small goat. The slightest movement would be easy to spot.

"Where is he?" F'Ledro's whisper bore at Olock's patience.

"Quiet," Olock ordered. "He'll be here any minute now."

The tiny beige communicator emitted a soft beep. Olock pressed the narrow button on the side. "Yeah, Boss?"

"We're almost there," Sartan's voice buzzed from the tiny device. "You say there are two kids with him?"

"Yes, Sir. Both appear to be similar in age. It's quite possible they're his students."

"That's perfect," Sartan's smile could be heard in his voice. "The more test subjects, the better. Do you still see them?"

"They just moved deeper into the woods."

"They couldn't have gone far. We'll fan out and surround them if we can. Good work, Olock." Sartan didn't even bother addressing F'Ledro.

Olock smirked. "Actually, it was an accident, Sir. We were headed out to dig up some information on that kid and suddenly they were right in front of us. It was sheer luck."

"Luck or not, this gives us the perfect chance to test the modifications we made to the implant."

His smile faded. "The . . . implant? Is it . . . um, I mean, is he with you?"

"No, there are still more adjustments to be made," Sartan's voice came back. "But so far it seems to be a success. We'll see how he reacts to being told to fight one of his own people. That'll give me a good idea of how many more glitches I have to work on."

Olock shuddered in spite of the heat. He'd been excited about the project from the moment Sartan told him about it, but once he'd actually seen it in operation . . . He didn't even want to remember it.

"We should meet up with you shortly. Stay sharp. Just because you don't think Eaisan saw you doesn't mean he didn't. He could be hunting the two of you right now. Remain alert."

"Always, Boss. Olock out."

He clipped the square communicator to his belt and gazed into the woods. Eaisan and his boys were going to help with the experiment whether they wanted to or not. If successful, the device could be sold to militaries or pirates or smugglers for a hefty profit, and the kyrosen would finally have the financial stability they needed to leave Terranias. It all depended on the success of Truce's design.

Olock wiped the sweat from his brow and refocused his attention on the forest. "Everything depends on those boys."

*******

Arus followed Vultrel and Eaisan back toward Keroko, lost in his feelings, battling the once-silent need for vengeance that had only recently begun to stir. It was a desire that went against everything he'd ever believed in and everything that his father, his grandfather, and even his great grandfather had stood for. The Sheeth name always stood for honor. Things like revenge and bloodlust had no place in their lives, but the more he thought about it, the more Arus found himself trying to justify his anger. His heart screamed at him for it, telling him that it was wrong no matter what excuses he made up, and yet . . .

"And then, Melia told me she thought I was cute," Vultrel was rambling. "Can you believe that?"

"Not for a second," Eaisan laughed.

Vultrel nodded. "Well, she did. And she said she'd like to get breakfast with me in the morning sometime. Hey, Arus, wouldn't that be fun? You could invite Katlyn along and we could all go together!"

Arus couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes. "Oh, sure. That would be—"

Eaisan suddenly stopped and straightened. His eyes studied the surrounding woodland, studying it, watching it, analyzing it. Arus and Vultrel remained quiet; they too searched for the source of their master's unease. When Eaisan's hand moved to the hilt of his sword, Arus unconsciously rested a palm on the handle of his own and tried to ignore the thumping in his chest.

"We're being followed," Eaisan's voice was barely audible, but he didn't need to repeat it. Vultrel began to slide his sword from its scabbard, but froze at a sharp look from his father.

"Go ahead. Draw your weapon."

The scratchy voice came from the trees to the east. Arus gripped the handle of his weapon but waited for Eaisan to make the first move. Vultrel stood to his father's left, and Arus moved to the right.

"You may as well come out now that you've revealed yourself," Eaisan said, his voice calm as ever. "We are peaceful, so long as you are."

A man wearing black and yellow stepped into view. His blond hair glistened in the sunlight. A thick beard covered most of his face, though it did nothing to mask his arrogant grin. "Well, well, well. If it isn't 'Master' Eaisan Lurei." His emphasis mocked the title. "What are you doing wandering the forest with these children?"

Eaisan's voice never wavered. He spoke as though he was having a pleasant conversation with a friend. "Forgive my ignorance, but I don't know you."

"You don't remember?" the man said with a snort. "We've met many times on the battlefield."

"You are Vermillion Mage, then?"

"The grandest of them," the grin widened. "Boss, leader, king, ruler, champion; call it what you like." He bowed deeply in artificial respect. "I am Sartan Truce."

"Truce . . ." Arus murmured. "Son of Aratus."

He hadn't expected Sartan to hear, but the Mage looked at him. "You know your history, I see. Did your father teach you that?"

Arus gripped his sword, still sheathed. If there was ever one to exact revenge upon, it is this man. "He did."

Sartan looked back at Eaisan. "How nice. What else have you taught him, hmm? Did you show him how to fight? Have you taught him how to wield that blade he clutches so tightly?"

Eaisan held up his hand. "I am not the boy's father, if that is what you're suggesting. But I've looked after him as my own in the wake of his father's death."

A brief moment of confusion flashed across Sartan's face, but the smile returned almost instantly. "Tragic to lose one's father at such a young age. How did he die?"

"You know how he died," Arus growled. His blood boiled, and the weapon at his side inched from the scabbard. "You and your dogs killed him during the—"

Eaisan cut him off with a wave of his hand, but Truce put the pieces together. A smile, this one genuine, split his beard. "Many died during the war, but only one wielded that sword. It is the weapon that impaled my father—the old fool—and only the son of Dayne Sheeth would be worthy of carrying it."

"Enough of this!" Eaisan shouted, shattering his calm disposition. "What do you want from us?"

Sartan's face hardened. "What do you think I want?"

His words hung in the air as several more men revealed themselves from the woods. There were at least twenty, perhaps more, Vermillion Mages scattered amongst the trees. To Arus' left, another man in black and yellow caught his eye. It was the man he'd fought with at the Festival—the one who'd tried to kidnap Max. The Mage glanced at another on the opposite side, a slim man with an oversized nose. Beside Eaisan, Vultrel's feet shuffled in the grass, but Arus couldn't tell whether he wanted to fight or escape. Eaisan himself wore an intimidating expression, eyes like arrows aimed at Truce.

"If it's a duel with me you seek, it is yours," Eaisan said. "But leave the boys out of this."

"But they look so eager to fight." Sartan's antagonistic smile had already returned. He took a step toward Vultrel. "What's your name, little boy?"

Vultrel drew his sword as though he meant to attack. "Vultrel Lurei. Call me a 'little boy' if you must. It will give me something to remember when I carve the tongue from your mouth."

Another brief expression—excitement this time—crossed Sartan's face. He glanced at the other Mage in yellow and muttered something. Too good to be true, he said.

"And what of you, young man?" Sartan now looked at him. "Do you wish to wield that blade against me?"

Arus locked eyes with Truce. Kill him and be done with these feelings. Kill him and Father will be avenged. Kill him and every last one of his allies! KILL HIM!

"NO!" Arus shouted, clenching his fists. He ground his teeth and turned away from Sartan. "I won't succumb to such nonsense!"

"Such extreme anger for such a child," Sartan said. "I wonder if there's more . . ."

A sharp pain, brief but piercing, shot through Arus' temple. The sounds around him began to fade, pushed to the back of his mind. Visions filled his head, memories of years past. Adjusting to his role as the man of the house, learning the chores that Dayne once held—it all came flooding back to him in a surge of emotion. He remembered the warmth and joy his father once brought to his home and the hollow void he'd left behind. The sadness. The emptiness. He remembered the day Dayne handed over his sword, lying on his deathbed, moments before he breathed his last. Arus seethed with anger, tears running down his face, that sword now drawn. His soul churned with turmoil as the morals and teachings that Dayne and Eaisan instilled within were abruptly cast aside, replaced by an unfathomable bloodlust and rage. The only thing that mattered, the only thing he wanted, and the only thing that would purge those cursed feelings had suddenly become the only driving-force in his life. He would drown his sword—his father's sword—in Vermillion blood, or he would die trying.

Arus raised the blade and stepped forward. He could hear Eaisan screaming at him—something about resisting—but it was little more than a muddled echo in the background. He barely felt his boots beating across the dirt. It wasn't until his sword was inches from Truce's chest that a wall of white flame burst from the ground. The searing heat knocked him back like a cudgel, throwing his body down with such force that his weapon tumbled free. The world spun as he tried to focus, vaguely aware of the battle erupting around him. Eaisan and Vultrel called his name amidst the clashing of swords, but they, too, were soon silenced. Truce's laughter swallowed all as darkness overtook him.

*******

Kindel's boots echoed through the otherwise silent hall. Scimitar and Kalibur followed close behind. Soldiers stood at attention as they passed, uneasiness blatant in their expressions. Dozens of them walked the corridors, varying in both rank and species, but each froze when they saw the admiral approaching. Kindel liked it that way. As long as they feared him, it was unlikely they'd attempt to usurp his command of the Vezulian Armada. And he would not allow himself or his people to be conquered. Not again.

The door to the Research Deck slid open, greeting Kindel with a burst of cool air. The catwalk around the upper perimeter was lined with assorted computer terminals, most used for quick sensor scans or retrieval of planetary information. The walkway gave a clear view of the white-robed scientists and researchers bustling around the floor below. Kindel's snow-white hair swayed as he descended the stairway to the lower level with his two assistants in tow.

The Research Deck was home to the bulk of the science team along with most of their equipment. Computer terminals and science stations were set in cubicles, each with two or more scientists hard at work. Many stations had long black tables set beside the computers, complete with advanced testing equipment for experiments and analysis. A large holographic imaging system stood in the center of the lab. The unit projected an enormous holographic model of the charted universe. Using the controls at its base, one could locate planets, plot destination courses, or even track how planets and galaxies shifted over time. A wealth of information was at the fingertips of any scientist in need.

Kindel's eyes thinned as he approached the Planetary Ecosystems terminal. Lieutenant Petreit, wrapped in a white coat, sat at the computer with his head in his hands and Lieutenant Merlianis beside him. She was a zo'rhan like Kindel, though decades younger. Her long hair was twisted into a purple bun with stray locks dangling to her shoulders. Kindel didn't give them a chance to notice his presence.

"Have you found what I asked of you, Lieutenant Petreit?"

Ever so slightly, Petreit shuddered. He was on his feet in an instant, saluting Kindel and no doubt hoping his reaction had gone unnoticed. Merlianis matched the pose beside him, her dull blue eyes quivering under the Kindel's expectant stare. "We have, Sir," Petreit reported. "However, there is—"

"You are dismissed, Lieutenant," Kindel's words were directed toward Merlianis. "Proceed to the Bridge. Captain Tiras requires assistance in cartography."

"Right away, Sir!" the female zo'rhan replied, bowing. Relief was evident in her face as she sped toward the stairwell. Kindel returned his gaze to Petreit.

"I thought I made it clear that the information I shared with you was classified, Lieutenant." His eyes thinned. "What did you tell her?"

Petreit's face turned white, and his terrified stare shifted from Kindel to Scimitar and Kalibur. "Sir, I didn't tell her anything about the stone! On my honor as a Vezulian soldier, I said nothing! She was assisting me in locating the gem you requested—that is all! I didn't even mention that it was for you. I simply said—"

"And what have you found?" the admiral cut him off.

The lieutenant's response was quick. "Belvidia, Sir. It's a planet in the Zeros galaxy populated by a race of winged creatures. They resemble pixies, Sir. They are born with a precious green gem embedded within their forehead. As they grow, so does the gem. Since it is born of flesh, I don't see why we couldn't extract the proper genetic sequences from one of them to produce another. Seeds, like you said."

The harsh expression on Kindel's face faded, replaced by a satisfied smile. "You've done well, Lieutenant. I want all the information on this planet, its indigenous life, and that stone that you can gather. Have it sent to the terminal in my quarters."

"Of course, Sir," Petreit nodded. "There's just one . . . problem."

Kindel eyed him for a moment. "Go on."

"Um, well, you see, the planet has been quarantined by the Aeden Alliance. Apparently, Belvids have been hunted to near-extinction by poachers in search of that very same gem. They sell for quite a bit of money, so I read."

Kindel closed his eyes and shook his head. The Aeden Alliance was an intergalactic army formed to support and defend any and all planets who accepted their help. They considered themselves to be the peacekeepers of the universe, though they foolishly believed that Kindel and his Armada were a threat to that peace. They didn't understand Kindel's ideals, and they certainly didn't understand the brutish minds of conquerors. Peaceful negotiations were not always an option, though the Alliance insisted the contrary. Countless civilizations throughout history had fallen to the sword because of such naive thinking. Conquerors knew nothing of civilized negotiations, nor would such tactics work to calm their rage. The only answer, every single time, was to eliminate them before they eliminated others.

"I doubt the Alliance will take kindly to our presence there," Petreit muttered to himself, studying the text on his terminal. "And they've got a blockade in place."

Kindel glanced at the screen, then drew a communicator from his belt. "Bridge, this is Admiral Thorus."

"Yes, Sir," Captain Tiras' voice responded. "Your orders?"

"Take us to the Zeros system. Inform the rest of the fleet to follow. We have business at Belvidia."

"Acknowledged, Sir," Tiras replied.

With Scimitar and Kalibur following, Kindel returned to the stairwell. "Well, Aldoric, it seems as though our paths may cross once again. Perhaps I'll finally be able to rid the universe of your wretched blood."

*******

Sartan hurried through the caverns of the Underworld as quickly as his feet would carry him, slowing only to round corners. His smile reflected only a fraction of his excitement; every inch of him was bursting with exuberance. Olock and F'Ledro trailed behind as he rounded another corner. "I just can't believe our luck!" he exclaimed. "Not only did we get the children of Dayne and Eaisan, but we finally brought in Eaisan himself!"

"Truly, it is a glorious day for the Vermillion Mages, Sir!" Olock agreed.

Sartan stopped and faced him. "No," he said, his smile growing further. "For the kyrosen! Soon we will shed that ridiculous alias and a new era for the kyrosen will begin!"

Olock and F'Ledro added their cheers to Sartan's before the three continued through the tunnel. "How long until we can have another implant ready?" Olock asked.

Sartan led them into the control room and powered up the generator. "Not long. The majority of the unit has been ready to go for weeks, but I haven't yet begun assembling the outer casing. Should be ready by late tomorrow if you two give me a hand."

"And how is the training of our other student proceeding?"

Sartan laughed as he plopped into the chair beside the control panel. "So far, so good. I've got Alaan running a series of tests to weed out any potential bugs. Nothing major has been reported yet." His fingers rattled the keyboard a few times, and a schematic of the Underworld appeared on the display screen. A few more keystrokes, and a power grid appeared. "All right," Sartan said, hitting one final key before standing. The display showed a bright orange line running from the control room to a larger den further underground. "I've powered up the lab. Let's get down there and get to work."

Chapter 1-4

Arus was faintly aware of himself, though he hadn't the slightest notion of what happened. Rolling waves of pain pulsed through his chest and arms. His back was stiff as a board—perhaps he was lying on one—and the humid air seemed to press at his body from all sides. Darkness shrouded everything, a sea of black that gradually retreated as consciousness crept over him.

"Arus, you're awake!"

His eyes were open now. The lumpy ceiling of a dirt-carved cavern flickered in the dim light. To his right, several posts of steel ran from the floor to the ceiling forming a makeshift prison. Aside from the lantern dangling from the wall, Arus was alone in the cell.

"Ooh," he groaned, pushing himself upright. A dirty white cloth was wrapped around his torso and much of his left arm. The right was bare, leaving a dark red burn running from his shoulder to elbow exposed. The waistline of his pants was charred with black and brown.

"How do you feel?" a familiar voice came from the darkness outside of the cell.

"Master Eaisan?" Arus' grogginess cracked through his voice. He rubbed his eyes. They burned, too.

"I am here, Arus," Eaisan's voice came back. "I am in a chamber similar to yours just across the way. Vultrel is here in a cell beside mine."

"Are you all right, Arus?" Vultrel's question echoed in the cavern.

"I can't . . ." Arus shook his head. "My eyes aren't . . ." He still hadn't recovered enough to comprehend. "I can't see you."

"It will take some time," Eaisan said, his calm voice soothing in the dark. "Our eyes have adjusted, but then, we've been awake for quite a bit longer than you. I was afraid you wouldn't ever come back to us."

Arus rubbed his eyes again and squinted into the dark. "My throat hurts."

"You were screaming like a madman," Vultrel told him. "It's a wonder you didn't rupture your vocal chords."

"I . . ." Arus again shook his head in an attempt to clear the cobwebs, and the cell began to spin. Leaning his head against his palms helped. A little. "I don't remember anything. I did what?"

"Take slow breaths," Eaisan said. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. Keep your eyes closed. It will help you to regain your senses."

Arus straightened his back and did as he was told. It was hard to breath in the dank cavern. The air was hotter than the summer sun. The smell of sweat and dirt filled his nostrils with every breath. Even the desert wasn't as warm as—

The desert.

The edge of the Mayahol. He and Vultrel followed Eaisan through the forest. They were on their way back to Keroko to warn the people about—

"The Mages," he murmured aloud, eyes suddenly wide open. Memories flooded back like a tidal wave. "I attacked Sartan Truce, didn't I?"

"Screaming like a madman," Vultrel said again. It sounded as though he was stifling laughter. "Did you really think you could kill him?"

Arus remembered the turmoil he'd felt as he rushed Truce. Never before had anger driven him to such senseless rage—not even when his father died. One feeling had built on top of another, onto another, onto another, on and on until he had hurled himself forward in a blind fury. The memory of shamed him. "I'm sorry, Master Eaisan," he murmured, putting his head in his hands again. "I don't know what came over me. I didn't really mean to—"

"It is not your fault, Arus," Eaisan interrupted. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. That was Truce's doing. I am sorry I didn't warn you sooner, but even if I had, you'd never have been prepared enough to face it. He used his power to infiltrate your mind and goad you into attacking him. It was his doing, not yours."

The pain. I remember a shooting pain in my temple right before I attacked. Could that have been . . . Truce? "You mean he can control my mind?"

"Not exactly, thank the Maker." Arus was beginning to see the thin outline of Eaisan's face in the darkness. "He uses his abilities to draw out your darkest feelings so that he might use them to his own advantage. In your case, he drew out your anger and multiplied it many times, perhaps hundreds of times over, until you lost control of yourself."

"What happened after that?"

To the right of Eaisan, Vultrel's form began to appear. It looked like he was rubbing his ribs. "They attacked us," he said with a grimace. "Those fireballs of theirs are no joke."

"We ended up the same as you," Eaisan added, elaborating Vultrel's point. "Though I suspect our burns aren't as severe as yours."

Arus looked at his bandages again. "Who tended our wounds? And why are we locked in these cells? For that matter, where are we?"

"We think this is a cave beneath the Mayahol." Vultrel glanced at his father. "The Mages bandaged our injuries. One of them, a guy named Olock, was here about a few hours ago. He said something about needing us healthy for some festivities later tonight."

"We don't know how much time has passed or how long we've been in here," Eaisan said. Arus could see bandages wrapped around his waist. "For all we know, it could be night already."

Whatever they have planned, it can't be anything good. Arus planted his feet on the floor and grabbed the prison bars to pull himself to a standing position. The cavern spun and blurred while his body adjusted. "I don't want to wait around to find out what Truce has planned," he said, tugging on the steel bars. "We need to find a way out of here."

Vultrel stood, too. "Shh!" he hushed, raising a finger to his lips. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"A voice," Eaisan said, standing. "It sounded like—"

Footsteps, light and quick, tapped across the packed dirt. A young lady with flowing black hair appeared at Arus' prison door and shoved a small metal sphere into the lock.

"Stand back."

It took a moment for the words to register. She turned away as he moved back—her face was still indistinct in the meager light of the lanterns—and the lock burst to pieces.

"Stay there for a moment," she ordered as she put similar spheres into the other locks. They burst with tiny puffs of smoke, and Arus soon found himself standing beside Vultrel and Eaisan in the dim light. His jaw dropped when she finally faced them.

"We meet again," Eaisan said with a bow.

Her eyes were the only visible portion of her face—a dark cloth covered everything from the bridge of her nose to the underside of her chin, and another wrapped across her forehead. Both disappeared into thick black hair that nearly reached her waist. She carried herself like a battle-hardened warrior, but her voice betrayed her youth.

"You . . ." Arus began. Her eyes narrowed to an icy glare that would've struck fear into Kuldaan himself. "You were in our village when we were attacked."

"What of it?" she grumbled, heading into the darkness without waiting for them to follow. After a few steps, Arus saw an opening ahead in the cavern wall. The girl motioned for them to wait as she crept through. Arus barely had time to glance at Vultrel and Eaisan before she called for them to follow.

The connecting cavern was little more than a tunnel barely wide enough for two people. Torches lined the walls in both directions, illuminating the corridor far better than the prison's lanterns. The path to the right curved upward while the left went further down. The girl yanked one of the torches from the wall and glanced between the two paths. She looked ready to speak, but a quiet beep from the pouch on her belt interrupted. She reached inside and withdrew a rectangular silver object. Pressing her finger against a small protrusion on the side, she raised it to her lips. "Yeah, what is it?"

Amazingly, a majestic voice responded. "How are things going? Did you find it yet?"

"Not yet," she replied. "I just freed some locals. I'm going to look for it next."

Arus and Vultrel were wide-eyed. Such devices were completely foreign to humans. The idea that two people could hold a conversation through a small piece of metal seemed preposterous, yet this girl was doing just that. Beside them, Eaisan's face hardened. According to legend, a great war had once been waged amongst humans. Their mechanical weapons nearly drove the race to extinction, and in the wake of the struggle, humans abandoned their technology to ensure that such mistakes would not be repeated.

The Vermillion War rekindled those concerns. The Mages had large mechanical transports armed with frightening weaponry. Many seemed to have been heavily damaged before the war even began—from what, no one really knew—but they still packed a dangerous amount of firepower in their cannons. Arus had never seen for himself, but Eaisan had spoken of weapons that fired beams of pure energy capable of incinerating anyone careless enough to get in their way. It reaffirmed his belief that machines were only good for evil, and it showed in the sternness of his voice. "Excuse me, young lady."

". . . should be two or three levels down, if I remember the sensor readout correctly," she was saying into the device.

"Just get out of there as soon as you can," the voice responded. It almost reminded Arus of Eaisan—wise and strong. "As soon as I finish with Belvidia, I'll return for you. It worries me that Kindel would take this kind of action. But we can talk more about that later."

"Right," the girl agreed. "Be safe out there, Damien."

"You too, Kitreena."

Her eyes gazed unfocused into the depths of the tunnel for a moment before she returned the device to her pouch. But when she looked at her three companions, the angry scowl returned. "What are you still doing here? Get to the surface!" She pointed toward the path behind them. "Take any upward path you see and eventually you'll get back into the desert."

Eaisan eyed her pouch with an uneasy look. "Have you not been taught about the great war, my dear?"

"Father, please," Vultrel pleading, holding up his hands. "Not now. We must get moving."

But the girl simply glared at him. "What do you mean?"

Eaisan motioned toward her belt. "Machines are forbidden. Did you not know this?"

She looked puzzled for a moment, then snorted. "Your laws mean nothing to me, Gramps. But don't worry, I don't think a communicator is capable of blowing up the planet." She paused for a moment as though contemplating the notion. "I doubt it, anyway."

The swordsman frowned at her lack of respect. She turned away and started down the tunnel, moving only a few paces before Arus spoke. "Um, Kitreena?" he began, stepping forward. She said nothing, only pausing to look over her shoulder at him. "That's your name, right?" She nodded once. Arus' heart felt like it was going to burst through his chest. "Th-Thank you, Kitreena. Thank you for helping us."

Now she faced him. He could have been wrong, but her face seemed to soften—if only for an instant. She drew a long breath and paused; it was as though her next words would be the hardest sentence ever uttered. "You're welcome. Now, go. Patrols will be here any minute."

Arus wasn't finished. "You're going to face him, aren't you? Sartan Truce?"

The anger came back with a sharp snap. "That's not your concern. Just get out of here."

Without looking back, she sped down the tunnel and disappeared around a corner. Behind him, Eaisan spoke.

"Come, boys." His face still seemed agitated by her use of machinery. Still, his words suggested gratitude. "Her effort will be wasted if they capture us again."

"I don't want to leave her to face him alone, Master," Arus said with a shake of his head.

I don't feel right about it either," Vultrel added, staring down the hall.

Eaisan turned and started up the winding path. "I understand, but we are unarmed, and even if we weren't, you two are not ready for—"

The land trembled beneath their feet as an explosion echoed from above. Panicked voices drifted from the pathway ahead, cutting off their escape route. Eaisan led the boys back the way they'd come, past the prison corridor and down the tunnel. Hurried footsteps grew louder behind them, but Arus refused to look back. He ran despite the searing pain in his chest; he didn't know nor want to know what Truce would do to him if they were captured again. He heard Mages screaming, some ordering them to stop, others announcing the prisoners' escape to whoever might hear. Ahead, the tunnel turned to the left. Arus raced around the corner and skidded to a halt. Vultrel and Eaisan nearly trampled him as they, too, came to a stop.

"What the . . ." Vultrel didn't let the sentence finish.

The adjoining hall was wide enough to fit a small carriage. Kitreena stood in the center of a circle of Vermillion Mages, her leather whip twitching like an angry tiger's tail. With movements like lightning, she snapped the whip across one soldier's face while driving her heel into the throat of another. Two more lunged at her from opposite sides. Her whip cracked against the shins of the first, and before his body hit the ground, her fist connected with the face of his comrade. The remaining three Mages conjured fireballs in their palms. As the first released, Kitreena used her whip to pull another soldier into its path. Two more quick snaps of her weapon brought the final Mages to the ground.

It all happened in a matter of seconds.

"Who is this girl?" Vultrel asked, his jaw hanging in shock. That attracted her attention, and she growled when she saw them.

"I thought I told you to—"

"There they are! Get them!"

Three Mages tackled Eaisan from behind while two others grabbed Vultrel. Their scuffle knocked Arus over the bodies of Kitreena's downed enemies. He crashed to the dirt just beside her, and she moved between him and the Mages.

"Let them go!" she demanded, cracking her whip.

The men yanked Eaisan and Vultrel to their feet, positioning themselves behind their prisoners. Arus scrambled up behind Kitreena. "Well, what are you waiting for?" he yelled. "Save them!"

"In case you haven't noticed," she hissed, "they are using your friends as shields."

"Arus, go!" Eaisan ordered. "Don't worry about us; we can take care of ourselves! Get out of here!"

"Don't move!" one of the Mages shouted from behind Vultrel. "Surrender at once!"

"Go, Arus!" Vultrel prodded. "Father and I will come up with something. Just get yourself out of here!"

"We can't do anything for them right now," Kitreena muttered under her breath as she backed toward Arus. "Let's get out of here. We'll find a place to hide until I come up with a plan."

"Are you crazy?" Arus shouted at her. "I'm not going to leave them! They need—"

Kitreena whirled to face him, her hair whipping behind her almost as sharply as her weapon. "You've already proven to be more trouble than you're worth. I didn't need to rescue any of you, and now you've jeopardized my mission. If you want any more help from me, you're going to have to do as I say! Are we clear?"

Everything was happening so fast. Vultrel and Eaisan, struggling against their captors, continued to plead with Arus. Though there were five of them, the Vermillion Mages fought to hold their captives, leaving himself and Kitreena free to escape. She spared him one last glare before racing down the tunnel.

"Arus," Eaisan's voice was calm despite the commotion. "Go. We'll be fine. There is no dishonor in living to fight another day."

Finally, Arus nodded. "I'll come back for you both. I promise."

He raced after Kitreena without looking back.

*******

Olock stood across from Sartan in the crude laboratory, leaning on the makeshift operating chair. It had once been a flight seat in a passenger starship, a relic Truce had salvaged from the war. Many sick and wounded had rested in that chair, but the most recent operation had little to do with health. To the side, a large cabinet full of tools stood within arm's reach. Medical books lined battered wooden shelves on the far side of the room, and lanterns hung from crude hooks of jagged steel along the wall. Sartan sat opposite Olock on a wooden stool beside a steel-topped counter—also taken from the transport ship—listening to the latest report from one of the patrols.

"They just split up, Boss. Senchil and his men have recaptured Eaisan and his son, but the red-headed kid escaped with the girl. They were headed toward the Barracks."

Truce grinned as he lifted the communicator. "That won't help them escape, that's for sure. We can use this to our advantage. See that the path to the surface is blocked, and call everyone else to the Audience Chamber. Bring Eaisan and his boy, too. It's almost time to test our new soldier's abilities."

"Yes, Sir," the voice on the other end responded. "And what of the two runaways?"

"Eaisan and his son will draw them into our hands like snakes to a pair of mice. They'll come looking for him, and then they'll be ours."

"Roger, Sir."

Sartan returned the communicator to his belt and glanced at Olock with a knowing smile. The gleam in his eyes came not from the glowing lanterns. "The kyrosen will rise once more, my friend."

Heavy footsteps crossed the laboratory behind them and stopped. Truce didn't look back. "And what of you, young one? Are you ready for your first challenge?"

Olock spared the newcomer a glance before looking away. A sturdy young man, tall for his age but shaped like a fighter, stood in silence opposite him. A brown cloak hung over his shoulders, and a cowl covered most of his face. Still, there was no missing the hard stare from the young man's eyes, nor the glint of steel beneath the hood.

"Don't worry," Sartan said despite the silence from his newest recruit, "I'm sure you'll do just fine."

"Sir," Olock spoke, swallowing hard. "Is the other . . . device ready yet?"

Truce must've noticed his nervousness. "Do you doubt my design, Olock? You certainly don't seem too trusting of my work."

"It's not that, Sir," Olock said, shaking his head. "I've just found this a bit more troubling than I had anticipated. I don't like the idea of using people as . . . slaves."

Now Sartan looked at him—a hard look of contemplation. "You think me an unfit leader, then? I'm not much for slavery myself, but we have little choice with no willing test subjects to select from. I'd much sooner enslave one of the worms of this planet than one of our own."

"You are a fine leader, Boss. And I agree, I'd much rather use one of the Keroko slimes than one of our own if none are willing. I just hoped someone would volunteer. If it had not been the first experiment, I may have done so myself."

Sartan waved the idea away with his hand. "I've told you before that adults do not make suitable hosts."

"Are there no willing youths among our families?"

"If we want the kyrosen to prosper in the future, we must protect our young. I won't expose them to an unproven technology such as this unless I must."

Olock forced himself to look at the young man again. "Do you think the programming will hold?"

"Time will tell." Sartan took a deep breath. "We'd better get down to the Audience Chamber. I don't want our runaways to get there before us."

*******

The corridor was quiet aside from the crackling torches. They had distanced themselves from the voices of pursuing soldiers yet also managed to lose their way in the process. The tunnels varied in shapes and sizes, always leading in new directions and rarely looking different. The only thing that changed was the heat—it was worse the deeper they traveled—and the rancid smell of decayed flesh hung in the still air.

"This way!" Kitreena whispered.

Arus pursed his lips and followed. Many times she dashed down one tunnel or another, seemingly confident in her choice. But each time, her pace would slow, eyes darting around with an obvious uncertainty. "Do you even have a clue where you're going?" he grumbled.

She didn't bother looking back. "You're free to wander where you like, you know."

Arus contemplated it, but of the two of them, she was the only one carrying a weapon. His chances of being caught were significantly lower with Kitreena and her whip at his side. He was no stranger to hand-to-hand combat—Master Eaisan trained all students in unarmed fighting techniques before he even let them look at a sword—but he was no expert, either. "I just don't want to be lost down here for the rest of my life, that's all."

"We're not lost," she replied. "We're being herded."

Arus raised an eyebrow. Herded? Like sheep? "I don't understand."

Kitreena stopped and held a finger to her lips. Uncertainty returned to her face, but this time she appeared to be listening to something. "Don't you hear them?"

He closed his eyes and listened. The beating of his heart was the loudest noise he could make out. Kitreena stared at him as though she'd already branded him a fool for missing sounds he still did not hear. "I don't hear anything."

Her scowl peeked from the blue cloth across her forehead. She looked him over for a moment, studying him, then snorted. "I guess I overestimated huma— . . . your ears."

She continued down the tunnel, leaving Arus frowning. "What's so special about yours?"

"Forget it," she shrugged off the question. "I suppose some of us just have keener senses than others. Whatever the case, the Mages are following us, but they aren't trying to catch us. At least, not yet. They're cutting off paths in certain areas, leaving only one or two options open for us."

"You mean they're trying to get us to go somewhere?"

Kitreena nodded.

"Any idea where?"

The hallway branched in several places like an underground network of traders' paths. Kitreena glanced down each with scrunched eyebrows. "Into a trap, I'd say. Doesn't much matter. Let Truce set his trap. He thinks we're trying to escape, but I want to find him just as much as he wants to find us. And when I do, I should be able to complete my mission and free your friends at the same time."

Arus wiped beads of sweat from his brow. "What exactly is your mission?"

"It's not your business," she said, her eyes warning him not to prod any further. "Just know that Sartan Truce will not have a breath left in his lungs when this day is done, and he'll lie beside the broken bodies of his heartless thugs."

Despite the heat, a chill ran down Arus' spine. There was a sincerity in the tone of her voice that told him she meant every word of it. They continued on in silence, Kitreena leading the way. Several times, Arus nearly decided it would be better to go off on his own rather than fall into whatever trap Truce might be setting for them. But he dismissed the idea, not wanting to leave Kitreena to fend for herself against the Mages. She claimed she could handle it alone, and she was certainly a skilled fighter, but Arus couldn't accept that this young girl would be able to defeat the army of sorcerers that had waged such a devastating war on Asteria. It wouldn't be right to leave her, he told himself, because it might mean sending her to her death.

Right, because I'm going to be able to help her. He nearly laughed aloud at the thought. There was no sense in inflating his opinion of his own abilities; he knew he still had much to learn. With or without him beside her, if Kitreena intended on attacking Sartan Truce, she would likely perish. And I merely condemn myself to death by following her. But if I could persuade her to reconsider . . .

"I saw you fight Olock the other night," Kitreena's voice broke the silence as they came to an intersection. She headed straight through without glancing at the other paths.

There was no need for Arus to ask who she meant. Until the festival, the only duels he'd ever fought were against friends and Master Eaisan. His battle with the Vermillion Mages at the Festival of Souls had been the first real combat he'd ever experienced. It was the Mages' attack that had stirred his anger and brought out his lust for vengeance. He likened it to a demon lurking within, awakened by his first encounter with the men responsible for the death of Dayne Sheeth, and sooner or later he'd have to confront it. The path of vengeance leads only to the grave, Master Eaisan would say. So how do I rid myself of this bloody anger?

Kitreena was looking back at him, her glare as sharp as ever. Arus tore himself from his thoughts. "Oh, yeah . . . That was . . ." Another thought hit him. "Wait, how do you know his name?"

"I've tangled with them plenty of times before," her voice was flat. "Olock, Sartan, that weasel F'Ledro,"—her words turned to a snarl at the last name—"I know them all."

Maybe she's from Narleaha, or Lyantisa. Certainly not from Keroko. Not in those clothes. She doesn't sound any older than Katlyn. Certainly no taller, either. He wanted to ask how old she was, but it was not a question that girls particularly enjoyed answering. "How long have you been fighting them?"

"We've had scattered skirmishes over the past seven years," Kitreena told him. "We've been trying to halt their development of—" She caught herself with a shake of her head. When she spoke again, she chose her words carefully. "Their operation endangers more than just the people of this land. They must be stopped."

There were too many questions left unanswered, but Arus could see she wasn't going to share anything more. He instead chose a less sensitive subject. "So you saw me fight—Olock, was it?"

"Yes, I saw it. You're not bad. For a beginner, anyway."

A beginner? He frowned at her. He certainly didn't view himself as a master swordsman, but a beginner? "I may have much to learn, but I'm no beginner. Olock was on the defensive the whole time. He couldn't keep up. If either of us was a beginner, it was—"

"He was toying with you, kid." Her laugh echoed in the hall. "He was testing your abilities. The Mage wanted to know how good you were. If he'd had a chance, he would've tested your friend, too."

"Me? What do they want with me? Or Vultrel, for that matter?"

"Sorry, that's classified information."

Arus grit his teeth in frustration. None of it made sense. She wore clothes like none he'd ever seen before. She spoke with the strength of a queen and fought with the ferocity of a tiger. The leather whip at her side was more like an extension of her body rather than a weapon, and nothing seemed to frighten her. She knew details about the Vermillion Mages that even King Sarathon did not, yet she couldn't have been much older than Arus. "Who are you?" he finally asked.

She stopped and looked at him. Her eyes were soft this time, as though she wished she could explain everything. She began to reach for the blue cloth covering her features, hesitating more than once before sliding down. She eventually let it hang loosely around her neck, exposing her young face. And young it was. Certainly a pretty girl, Arus thought, with a perfectly shaped nose over a sad frown. Her skin was light and smooth, and the sight of her face made Arus' cheeks hot and his knees weak. After a few moments of his staring, she colored and shifted her gaze to the ground. "I know you don't understand, but I can't answer your questions." She rolled clumps of dirt across the ground with her boot. "Things aren't quite as simple as—"

The voices were loud this time; even Arus heard them. They came from the tunnel ahead. Kitreena's head shot up in an instant. "They're ahead of us," she said, sounding surprised. "Probably trying to cut us off."

Arus clenched his fists. He grew tired of fleeing unseen enemies. "But I thought you said they were trying to force us to go in a certain direction."

"They may still be," her lips twisted, "but this leaves the way back to the surface clear."

"We can't leave!" Arus exclaimed, surprised at her suggestion. "Vultrel and Master Eaisan are still being held prisoner!"

"I'm not going anywhere," she said firmly. "I'll take care of your friends and the Mages as well. You get back to the surface where it's safe."

"No!" The word surprised even Arus. Am I ready for this? Ready to take on the Mages in battle? Even my father couldn't survive them. And here I am, lost in their hideout, unarmed. How can I hope to be of any help? It took a moment for him to realize that Kitreena was looking at him with a soft, almost concerned expression. Maybe she thinks I don't believe she could defeat them. I didn't mean anything insulting by it. "It's just that it wouldn't make sense for you to fight them alone when I . . ." But am I really ready for this? I can't even beat Vultrel! "I mean, I . . ." Why is she looking at me like that? I wish she wouldn't do that. Her eyes are mesmerizing. "Pretty" doesn't even begin to describe her. You dolt, she's waiting for you to finish your sentence! Say something! "I want to help," he finally squeaked.

Kitreena let out a long breath and turned her attention back to the direction of the voices. "They're coming," she told him. "Less than a minute until they get here, I'd say. You need to get out of here while you can."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"You'll die if you stay, Arus. You should get—"

Arus cut her off. "What makes you think you can beat them? Truce is a powerful warrior, and you can't be much older than me. What makes you think your chances of—"

He'd struck a nerve—one he immediately wished he hadn't. Her eyes widened under her scowl. "I was taking down soldiers stronger than Truce's punks when you were still learning to lace your boots, boy! I brought in Dexter Amaroth of the Deltorian Pirates and assisted the forces that pushed the Vezulian Armada from the Badlione sector! I've seen more combat than you will probably ever encounter on this rock, and you—"

She never finished the sentence. A train of Vermillion Mages stormed through the tunnel at the far end, shouting orders and raising swords at the sight of the runaways. Kitreena yanked her whip from her belt and gave Arus one more glance. "Do you have parents?"

Arus raised an eyebrow. "My mother is still alive . . . why?" The soldiers grew nearer.

"Do you love her?" Kitreena asked him.

"Of course," he said with a nod. "Why are you asking—"

"Go home and make sure that she knows it, because you never know which conversation with her may be your last." She pushed him back toward the corridor through which they'd entered and ran to confront Sartan's men.

Arus hesitated as the sentence echoed in his ears. What was that supposed to mean? The hairs on his arms were standing on end, and he stood frozen in place, Kitreena's words the only thing holding him from running to her side. Does she know something I don't? Is Mother in danger? Not twenty paces away, Kitreena tore into the Vermillion Mages, their bodies dropping one by one like heavy sacks of grain. The deafening cracks of her whip filled the air, matched only by the screams of the Mages on the receiving end of the weapon's fury. The soldiers poured into the hall steadily, some wielding balls of fire in their palms while others brandished swords and knives, but Kitreena met each of them with the same deadly force. Watching her, Arus began to believe she might be able to carry through with her promise as she intended.

As she rotated her body to swing her heel into the gut of one of them, her eyes caught a glimpse of him. "What are you doing?" she shouted angrily. "Get out of here before—"

The distraction was all the Mages needed. A bolt of lightning burst from the palms of one of the soldiers and crashed into Kitreena's shoulder. Arus was sprinting toward her before she'd even hit the ground. He leapt over her with a furious cry and thrust his foot forward, shattering the nose of the Mage with a powerful blow. His fist connected with another of them. And another. And another. He put every ounce of his remaining energy into fighting off the horde of Vermillion Mages. The burns beneath his bandages screamed with every movement, but desperation and anger kept him going. If I can just get one of their swords away from them . . .

The familiar crack of Kitreena's whip shattered the air, and two more soldiers fell. Arus took the opportunity to shuffle backward to keep the Mages from surrounding him. He was not surprised to find himself standing beside Kitreena again. The bolt of lightning had burned through her shirt, and her shoulder was a charred and bleeding. Still, she held her composure as though she'd merely been scratched. "If we continue to hold here they will overwhelm us. We must retreat."

The foremost Mages raised their hands, and large fireballs formed in their palms. Kitreena whirled and raced toward the end of the tunnel with Arus close behind. The fire crashed into the cavern floor at their heels with such force that the land groaned. Arus followed Kitreena down a different hall—one they'd ignored before. They continued through the caves, weaving and winding through tunnels in hopes of losing their pursuers, but the shouts of the Vermillion Mages were always close behind. Though Arus never saw them, he had little doubt they were just around whatever corner he and Kitreena had last turned. Finally, they came to a halt in the middle of another long tunnel, just outside a darkened cave.

"They're in front of us now as well," she spat, turning an ear to the far end of the tunnel. "We're surrounded."

"What about there?" Arus pointed to the pitch-black cave. "Can you hear them in there?"

She shifted her eyes between the two ends of the corridor several times before gazing into the cave. "I think," she began, "this is exactly where they want us to go."

As she took a step forward, Arus took a step back. "You want to just waltz right into Truce's trap?"

Men appeared at either side of the hall simultaneously, brandishing weapons and calling forth spheres of flame. Kitreena grinned and shook her head. "A mouse trap accomplishes little when sprung by a tiger."

It was slightly cooler in the pitch-black cave, and the hard dirt became sand beneath their feet. The flickering torchlight outside provided only a few paces of light before fading into nothingness, leaving Arus with only the dim shadow of Kitreena in front of him. Soon that, too, was gone. Darkness enveloped him, blinding him to the rest of the world. He continued stepping forward, following the sounds of Kitreena's boots in the sand. The muggy air was a tad thinner here, leading Arus to believe that this particular cave had to be quite a bit larger than the others. Still, he kept his hands out in front of him to prevent walking into a wall in the dark.

"Can you see anything?" he whispered. "I don't—"

"Arus?" a faint voice came from the black. "Arus, is that you?"

It sounded like Vultrel, but it had been so quiet that it was hard to discern. "Vultrel?"

"Arus!" Master Eaisan's voice came from the dark. "Go back! It's a trap!"

A burst of orange light came from above, a fire so large that it could've swallowed two men with a single lash of its flames. It stood atop a grand column of wood held together with a great deal of dried mud and clay. The cavern ceiling was double that height, reaching out far into the surrounding darkness. Another torch, standing twenty paces or so to the right of the first, ignited in a burst of blue flame. Two more, green and red, ignited behind Arus and Kitreena, filling the cave with uncomfortable warmth. As Arus' eyes adjusted to the light, his heart skipped a beat. And another.

They stood in what appeared to be a large arena, surrounded by throngs of Vermillion Mages. The entire expanse of the cavern floor had been covered over with a thick layer of sand, interrupted only by the four large torches that burned at each corner. The Mages sat on either side of the arena in assorted groups, though they rose to their feet when the torches ignited. Some of them wore smiles, others seemed uneasy, and still others looked anxious.

"I see you finally found your way," an arrogant voice boomed from ahead.

A staircase of dirt and rock, climbing nearly as high as the torches, stood at the furthest end of the cave. At the top, dirt and wood had been molded together to create a crude throne between two large bones. They curved inward and narrowed into sharp points—Almost like large fangs, Arus thought—and a sinuous red stripe ran along the inside of each. Three men stood atop the staircase, each of which Arus remembered from their encounter in the forest. The man Arus had dueled, the one Kitreena had identified as Olock, stood on the right with a broad smile on his face. To the left was the large-nosed fellow with the orange shirt. Sweat ran down his forehead as he stared at Kitreena with nervous eyes. His hand rested on the strange device holstered at his side. And in the center, seated in the makeshift throne, was Sartan Truce. His teeth shone through his grin, blond beard glistening in the torchlight.

"These caves once belonged to the sand snakes," he said. "When we began to convert the tunnels into our own, many of my men died trying to exterminate them."

Arus shuddered, remembering the stories of sand snakes he'd heard as a child. Some grew to enormous sizes, their hoods so wide they could block out the sun. It was said that they snacked on desert cougars in the same way that humans snacked on peanuts.

"In this cavern, I single-handedly fought and killed the queen of the lair," Truce continued. He motioned toward the bones on either side of his seat. "I placed the creature's great fangs here as a reminder to my people of our strength and perseverance. Let them also serve as a warning to you, young ones, of what becomes of those who oppose us."

"F'Ledro," Kitreena hissed. Her fists were clenched and her eyes narrow. She twitched her wrist back and forth, swirling the leather whip from side to side. "It all ends here!"

Truce glanced at the large-nosed Mage with a look of amusement. "It appears she remembers you."

"Arus," Vultrel's voice came from behind. He was chained beside his father against the rear wall. Heavy iron links wrapped around their wrists and across their chests and legs before latching to a pair of sturdy brackets bolted into the floor on either side. They appeared to be unharmed, much to Arus' relief. "Run, Arus," Vultrel was saying, almost pleading. "Get out of here."

"He has nowhere to go, boy," Sartan's voice boomed. "The halls outside have been sealed off. You all belong to me."

The audience of Mages roared in laugher and cheers. Swords pierced the air as others thrust clenched fists over their heads in excitement. Truce's grin widened, his pride shining as brightly as the torches.

A single crack of Kitreena's whip quieted the crowd.

"If you wish to see what's left of your precious kyrosen exterminated at my hands, then so be it!" she shouted. Her boots crunched through the sand as she dashed toward the stairs. "You," she pointed a finger at the one she called F'Ledro, "took everything from me, and I'm here to return the favor!"

The soldier shifted nervously, positioning himself partially behind Sartan's throne before Truce himself rose to his feet. "So much anger," he muttered, casual as ever. "What has happened to the children of the galaxy?"

Kitreena's eyes bulged, and she came sliding to a stop. Her hands moved to her temples momentarily before returning to her sides, fists clenched tighter than ever. Sartan took a few steps down the stairs. "Let's see if we can find the source of your anger."

"Resist him!" Eaisan shouted, pulling at his chains. "Push the thoughts from your mind!"

Arus' face went pale. He's toying with her emotions as he did mine! And her anger is greater than mine ever could be! His feet carried him toward her before he even realized he was moving.

Kitreena looked back at him, her movements blurring in Arus' vision. She connected with his eyes for only a moment, but what he saw brought him stumbling to his knees.

Her eyes were glowing.

They rolled with a deep purple light, like liquid amethyst. She only looked at him for an instant before returning her attention to Truce, but it was enough to send a chill through his body so cold he expected to see his breath. Above, F'Ledro called to Sartan.

"Are you sure that's . . . wise, Boss? She is a Morpher, after all. They channel their abilities through emotion, don't they?"

"Relax, F'Ledro," Truce waved a dismissive hand. "She's just a child. She's been away from Lavinia for many years now, and no one outside of her homeworld has the wisdom to train her. Despite what she'd have you believe, she's just a little girl with far too big of an ego."

A flash of light streaked around Kitreena's left hand. For a moment, Arus thought he'd imagined it, but the light blinked again, this time on her right. The flashes grew in frequency and intensity, forming streaks of electricity that slithered around her fists. When a puff of steam lifted from Arus' breath, he realized that his chills weren't simply formed from fear. The cavern had filled with a bitter cold like that of the harshest winter nights in Keroko.

"Sir!" F'Ledro's voice was more anxious, and his hand gripped the device at his side. "This is not a good idea! Look at her!"

Truce's grin was gone, replaced with a mixture of curiosity and concern. Still, he refused to release his hold on Kitreena's emotions. "She is a child," he said again, "and she cannot possibly wield such power. What you see is her dormant strength manifesting itself because of my interaction with her mind, but she cannot control it. Trust me, F'Ledro. She'll lose her composure in the same way Arus did, and when she does, I'll be ready."

Kitreena was seething, lips curled into a sneer, heavy breaths hissing through her teeth as those blazing purple eyes shimmered. A cold mist encircled her body, yet thin tendrils of smoke rose from her skin. Arus was torn between running to her aid and fleeing to Master Eaisan and Vultrel, but his limbs wouldn't budge either way. Fear and wonder held him where he was, and Kitreena—whatever she was—certainly wouldn't respond well to his interference.

Olock looked frightened, though he was working hard to cover it. He moved to Truce's side and said something quietly. After a moment, Sartan nodded and followed him back to the throne. As soon as his back was turned, Kitreena let out a shriek that pierced the air and collapsed to the ground in a motionless heap. The heat returned to the cave within seconds. Arus wanted to crawl to her side, but the image of her purple eyes was burned into his own, and if anything, he almost wanted to move away from her.

"And what of you, Arus?" Truce was sitting once more. "Shall I probe your anger once again?"

A thousand thoughts and ideas rolled through him, most of which he dismissed as juvenile. He wanted to respond like a man, not a child. Truce was obviously not intimidated by him, regardless of his bloodline, and Master Eaisan had always taught him that an opponent's arrogance was his greatest weakness. Arus returned to his feet and drew himself up as best he could, refusing to allow his fear to show any longer. "What is it you want from us, Truce? Why have you led us down here?" He fought to keep his voice steady and managed.

"To the point, I see," Sartan nodded once. "I was hoping you'd assist me in testing an experiment of mine. Please bear in mind that this is just a prototype, but the technology opens the door to a vast range of possibilities."

From the crowd to his left came a man, cloaked in brown, face shrouded by hood. He moved with a firm walk, almost like a soldier, toward the center of the arena. The cloak reached only to his waist, leaving his dark pants and boots exposed. The black sheath of a broadsword dangled at his side, attached to a silver-studded belt. Unlike the Vermillion Mages' garb, Arus recognized these clothes. They were the work of Tom Marchin, Keroko's most respected tailor.

"You may or may not know this young man," Sartan said, "but he has graciously dedicated himself to the future of the Vermillion Mages."

The hooded swordsman stopped, facing Arus only ten paces away. What little of his face that caught the light seemed familiar, but what drew Arus' attention was a glint of steel deep within the stranger's hood. It came from just beside his left eye, only appearing when the torches flickered just so. "Who . . ." He paused to take reign of his fear. "Who are you?"

The fighter's black-gloved hand rose, holding the red leather sheath of Arus' weapon. The golden handguard glimmered as he lifted it, and the Sheeth family crest shined in silver against the golden pommel. The swordsman tossed the weapon to him with a casual thrust. Arus looked over his weapon with a degree of uncertainty. What is Truce doing?

The shrouded man's eyes shimmered like a wolf's at twilight. He tore the cloak from his shoulders as Truce shouted, "Mayachi en dichen kyrosen!"

The audience responded with an emphatic, "Mayachi!" as Arus' eyes came to rest on the uncovered face before him. Curls of brown hair, matted by sweat, clung to the swordsman's thick brow. His bony cheeks put lumps in the side of his long face, his nose nearly as big as F'Ledro's. His chest was uncovered, glistening with sweat in the heat of the cavern, but it was the thin plates of steel along the side of his head that drew Arus' stare. They were embedded into his flesh, reaching from his left temple to just above the ear. Two small lights, one blinking occasionally while the other remained steady, sat below what was left of his hairline on that side. Most chilling was the fact was that Arus knew this young man very well.

"Anton," he managed to murmur. "What have they done to you?"

Eaisan, audibly yanking at his chains, shouted, "Draw your weapon, Arus! Anton or not, he comes for blood!"

Anton's wide broadsword was already in his hands. Steel flashed as Arus drew his blade, bringing it up barely in time to meet his opponent's weapon. Anton towered over him, pressing his sword down with frightening strength. "Anton, it's me!" Arus growled, pushing back with all his might. "Don't you recognize me? It's Arus!"

The young man's vacant eyes stared back indifferently, his furrowed brow and bared teeth showing more emotion. Arus shoved against Anton's blade once more and leapt back to give himself room to maneuver. Vultrel had always told him he'd be able to defeat Anton easily, but Anton had never displayed such power before. They exchanged a furious series of blows, shuffling back and forth through the sand. Whatever Truce had done, he'd managed to scramble Anton's perception of right and wrong. And Arus knew that the steel device was the center of it all.

He blocked another swipe and brought his weapon around for a wide slice. "Try to remember." He spoke calmly to counteract Anton's anger. Their swords clashed again beside Arus' waist. "Do you remember anything? Do you remember where you're from? Who you are?"

Anton drew himself back and paused for a moment as though contemplating his next move. Arus accepted it as a sign of recognition, though he knew that probably wasn't true. Maybe if I lower my sword. If I show him I'm not hostile, will he continue to attack? He began to straighten his back when Anton struck again, the gleaming steel of his broadsword pointed directly at Arus' heart. Arus stepped back, a bit too quickly, setting himself off-balance with an unsure foot at an awkward angle in the sand. His sword barely knocked Anton's to the side before he fell to the ground. Anton stood over him, blade held ready. Arus hesitated for a moment, caught by fear, before scrambling backward to regain his footing.

*******

Seated in the throne above, Truce scratched his beard. "Olock, I don't understand. I didn't program the implant to show mercy. I wanted to create the most dominant and lethal soldier possible. Anton has been neither so far. It's almost as though he's toying with Arus."

"Perhaps there is a programming conflict somewhere that is hindering his functions," Olock suggested. "Or maybe we didn't evenly distribute the power systems, thus slowing the entire process down."

"It's possible. Without any previous tests to go by, all I had to work with were hypothetical calculations. We'll have to tinker with the formulas once we see the test data." On his other side, F'Ledro cast nervous eyes on Kitreena's motionless figure. Truce spoke without even looking at him. "If you're so worried that she'll awaken and come after you, get Haralus to haul her to the cells. Unless you'd rather do it yourself."

It took a moment for F'Ledro to shake his head. "I'm not . . . worried, Boss. Besides, I can handle her if she comes after me." His voice didn't sound as convinced as he would have them believe.

"Suit yourself," Truce suppressed a laugh and turned his attention to the duel.

*******

The battle raged across the arena, the clashing swords sending an occasional spark flying. Arus moved as fluidly as Master Eaisan had taught him, connecting each parry and thrust together in a smooth stream of motions that seemed more like a dance than a duel at times. Anton held his own with little effort. Arus had never seen him fight so well.

"Move back, Arus," Eaisan shouted, trying to guide his student. "Give yourself more space. Don't let his weapon get too close to you."

Arus did as he was told, shuffling backward to try to put more distance between himself and his opponent. But Anton gave him little breathing room, his long legs matching Arus' distance. Their swords met again and again. Anton's eyes were blank, devoid of life.

"Come on, Anton!" Arus growled as he deflected another attack. "This isn't a game, this is for real! Wake up!"

For a moment, Anton's eyes glimmered. He swung his weapon down with a furious scream, meeting Arus' blade only inches from his opponent's face. ". . .Free . . ."

Arus' eyes widened. "What? What was that? Anton, can you hear me? Do you understand me?"

Anton screamed again, this time attacking from all sides in a series of blows that left Arus panting to keep up. His sword moved in a blur, forcing Arus backward further and further. It didn't take long for his broad blade to finally meet flesh, leaving a bloody gash on Arus' left shoulder. Soon there was another on his wrist. "Free!" Anton shouted. The flickering light on the side of the metallic implant was blinking more rapidly. "FREE ME!"

Arus ducked below a slice toward his throat and rolled across the sand. Anton towered over him with his broadsword raised. He only had enough time to get his knees under him before the weapon came down. "How?" Arus asked, raising his sword to block the attack. Steel met steel with a loud clang. "How can I free you?"

Anton ground his teeth as he pushed against Arus' blade. The response came in a grunt, one that hung in the air for a moment before the word sank in. "Death."

"I won't kill you, Anton!" Arus shook his head. He turned the young man's blade aside with his own and rolled backward onto his shoulders. As Anton stepped forward again, Arus' boots met his chest. The blow sent him stumbling momentarily, giving Arus enough time to scramble to his feet. "I can't do it."

Anton recovered soon enough, and he lunged forward with his blade ready. "Free me!" He seemed to be managing his words easier.

*******

Truce rose from his chair with a mixture of fear and disappointment on his face. "He shouldn't be able to speak other than to respond to my orders. Could he have found a way to somehow override the implant's programming?"

"The only way to compensate for that would be to rewrite the program to take control of even more of the brain's subconscious processes," Olock noted. "But the brain organizes so many functions that we don't even consider. How would we design a program to override them all?"

"It could be done," Sartan said, keeping his eyes on the duel. "It may take some extra time, but it could be done. It would be easier if I just hardwired it rather than programming it, but that would result in a much larger implant. I suppose I could sacrifice aesthetics in favor of progress, though. If necessary."

"And what of Anton?" Olock asked, motioning toward the arena floor. "The implant has a firm hold on his motor functions, but his consciousness seems to be seeping in. What's going to happen to him?"

Sartan shrugged. "He may be consciously aware of his objections to his own actions, but he'll follow orders. The implant is firmly in control of his motor functions. For the most part, the design works well. It just needs some tweaking."

*******

Arus fought desperately to hold off Anton's increasing intensity. Eaisan shouted words of encouragement and guidance while Vultrel watched in silent desperation, a desire to join the fight clear in his eyes. Arus was finding it harder and harder to ignore the pain that flooded his body, both from the burns on his chest and the bloody cuts he'd received from Anton's blade. His left arm was covered in crimson, and a new slice on his chin was dripping. He felt weak, tired, queasy, and defeated. "Anton," he breathed, barely deflecting another attack. "Please stop this. I don't know how much longer I can last."

Anton's eyes flicked again. He brought his blade around with a flourish and swiped outward with all of his might. The force of his blow knocked Arus' sword from his hands and sent it sailing to the sand several paces away. Arus collapsed to his knees, panting with exhaustion, but unwilling to surrender. Anton rotated his broadsword in his palm so that the blade was pointed downward and raised it for the killing strike.

"Anton!" Eaisan shouted at the same time as Vultrel screamed, "Arus, get out of there!"

Anton stood with his weapon poised, panting heavily, sweat rolling down his chest. "I will . . ." he began, trailing off. His knuckles turned pale as he gripped his blade tighter, and his arms began to quiver. "I—WILL—NOT—BE—CONTROLLED!"

The blade came down, and Arus instinctively raised his arms to shield himself from the blow. The weapon never touched him. Anton plunged the sword through his own body, impaling himself to the hilt. He let out a brief whimper of pain before collapsing to the ground. Blood soaked the sand immediately, gathering in the footprints before sinking through the grains. Arus stared at him wide-eyed, shock and disbelief overwhelming him. He could feel tears welling up before he could control himself. Anton . . . We may not have always gotten along, but you didn't deserve this. I'll make them pay, Anton. I swear it!

The crowd of Mages fell silent. Some nervously looked toward Sartan Truce; probably hoping for an explanation, Arus thought. He won't have a chance to explain. He'll die by my hands, now. He could hear the chains of Truce's prisoners shaking violently behind him amidst Vultrel's shouts of profanity and Eaisan's demands for retribution. Master Eaisan rarely lost his composure, even in battle, but being forced to watch one of his own students commit suicide had pushed both he and Vultrel over the edge. They bombarded the Mages with an endless stream of curses and threats, none of which they were in any position to carry through. But I am!

Arus' face darkened as he lifted his sword from the sand. He refused to look at Anton's fallen body any longer—I'll not remember him like that!—and instead focused his hard stare on Sartan Truce. His anger and frustration boiled, this time of their own accord, pushing his steady walk toward the staircase ahead. Olock handed a short sword to Sartan and stepped aside as Truce began to descend toward the arena floor. His expression was harder than Arus' own, if possible, and his eyes were narrow beneath a heavy scowl. The crowd quieted further, so much so that Arus barely remembered they were there. If he defeated Truce, they would surely kill him, but the price would be a small one.

"Arus, stop! He'll kill you!" Vultrel was shouting. He and Eaisan turned their threats into protests once Arus stepped toward the Mage. But Arus ignored their pleas and twisted his sword in a dramatic flourish around his body. Adrenaline surged new life into him as Sartan came to the bottom of the stairs and stepped around Kitreena's fallen figure.

"Arus Sheeth; son of Dayne," he began, his voice shattering the stillness of the cavern. "We have been destined to meet since your father killed mine. And though Aratus Truce was a fool of a leader, his death elevated me to the head of the Vermillion Mages, and it is my duty and responsibility to see that my people rise again. Like Dayne Sheeth and Eaisan Lurei before you, and Kindel Thorus before them, you seek to prevent the rejuvenation of my people; the rebirth of the kyrosen. But let the body of your fallen comrade," he pointed his sword at Anton, "let him be a symbol to you of what we are capable of. His death brings with it a wealth of knowledge that I will use to create the ultimate soldier. Take a good look at him, Arus." The grin was back. "Your destiny awaits."

Arus charged with a scream that would've startled even the fiercest of mountain lions. His sword met Truce's with a deafening clash, sending a shower of sparks to the sand. He unleashed every technique and every form that Master Eaisan had taught him, stringing them together in one seamless motion. Blood mixed with sweat and ran down his body as he moved, unwilling to allow any amount of pain hold him from what he knew must be done. For his father, for Anton, and for every other helpless soul that was lost to the Vermillion Mages. It had to be done. I have to kill him.

Sartan fended off the young man's attacks with ease, his short sword meeting Arus' blade with every swing. The grin of arrogance never left his face. It taunted Arus like a carrot in front of a mule, and the boy's hunger was strong. They circled the arena in battle, trading blows and dodging fatal strikes. A few times Arus' eyes caught Vultrel's open-mouthed stare—he'd never seen his training partner fight so passionately—but both he and Eaisan were solidly bound by the heavy chains. And though Arus knew he could use their help, a part of him was glad to have Truce all to himself. Sparks flew with nearly every blow, glimmering faintly as they fell to the ground. This can't be all he's got. He's holding back. Why doesn't he fight harder? And why hasn't he used any magic?

"You are good raw material, boy," Sartan said has he knocked Arus' long weapon to the side. "But you still have much to learn."

Arus grunted as he brought his sword around for another strike. "I know more than you think!" He dropped to the sand just as Truce moved to deflect the blade and swept his leg out. Sartan's blade swooped down like lightning, tearing through the fabric of Arus' pants and sinking into flesh. Arus rolled away with a yelp, folding the leg against his chest and clutching the gaping wound along the side of his calf. Adrenaline brought him back to his feet in moments, though he was forced to shift all of his weight to his good leg. Blood soaked the lower half of his pants below the injury. I'll die before I allow Truce to put one of those implants on anyone else. I can't give up. I just have to wait for the right moment to strike. All swordsmen have flaws. I just have to find his. The room spun for a moment, and the ground wavered beneath his boots. Stay focused. A little loss of blood never hurt anyone. But this was more than a little. The gash on his shoulder that Anton had given him left most of his left arm covered in blood, and his chin had been dripping the entire time. Combined with the overwhelming heat of the cave, it brought a flood of nausea and disorientation that nearly made him topple over. At the rate he was going, consciousness wouldn't be with him much longer.

"Come on, boy!" Truce was taunting him. "I would expect the blood of Dayne to perform better than this!"

It was an effort for Arus to block his attack, but he managed to continue, focusing only on each thrust as they came, rather than trying to strategize. Just watch for an opening. There will be one. There has to be one. He struggled on, hoping Sartan's arrogance would leave an opportunity to strike. But his vision began to blur, and his knees finally buckled. He landed on all fours, panting heavily as he fought the darkness that crept in from all sides.

Sartan laughed mockingly. "A pitiful display from someone so bold." He turned toward the audience of Mages seated on either side. "But he shall not be pitiful when I am through with him! I promise you this, gentlemen: In less than one week's time, we will ascend from these wretched caves and take up residence in the palace of Asteria! And this young boy, along with Eaisan and his son, will lead our way forward!"

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, weapons and fists held high. Arus glared up at Truce, who was thrusting a triumphant fist into the air, his attention on the audience of Vermillion Mages.

Now!

Arus lunged with the last ounce of energy within, sword aimed for Sartan's heart. But his legs quivered, and the blade landed higher than he'd intended. Truce growled sharply as the weapon pierced his shoulder, and a fiery blaze formed around his own. With a snarl of anger he brought the flaming sword down on Arus' left shoulder, cleanly severing his arm. Arus' cry filled the cavern as he collapsed to the ground, vainly clutching the bloody remains of his shoulder.

"ARUS!!" Eaisan shouted, tugging frantically at his chains. Vultrel echoed the scream, his bonds leaving welts in his arms and legs as he pulled against them.

Sartan wiped the blood from his shoulder with an emphatic gesture as though it was more of a chore than a comfort. Olock and F'Ledro were already at his side, looking down uneasily at the bloody young man. "Prepare the operating room, Olock," Truce said quietly. "We're going to have to move faster than I'd expected. Do you think we have the proper supplies to accommodate for this?"

"I think so," Olock said with a nod. "We'll probably have to reprogram and hardwire the implant this time, considering what happened with Anton."

"Agreed. F'Ledro, take care of the girl and our other prisoners. We have to get right to work if we want . . ."

Their words faded as consciousness slipped away from Arus. He'd never felt pain like this, though it seemed trivial compared to his failure to eliminate Truce when he had the chance. Six inches lower . . . Just six inches lower, and I'd have . . . defeated . . .

The thought went unfinished.

Chapter 1-5

Millions of stars shimmered across the backdrop of space behind the planet of Belvidia, their tiny pinpricks of light filling the deep abyss of the galaxy. The nearest of these stars, called Adorae, shone half-again as bright as the others behind the blue-green world. Belvidia was heavily forested, yet its atmosphere glowed with an azure tint that lingered amongst trees and draped across fields. Those who'd visited the land spoke of a world of unimaginable beauty and tranquility. Many tales told of a place of peace and serenity where one could spend eternity after passing through the mortal coil, and comparisons to such a paradise had become commonplace for Belvidia.

At least, that's what Lieutenant Petreit's report had said.

The Black Eagle slowed to a crawl as it approached the planet, its engines shuddering as they powered down. The rest of the Vezulian Armada followed suit, positioning themselves around the command ship like a pack of lions protecting their young. Three of the fleets' massive starcruisers formed a defensive triangle around the Black Eagle, and assault transports peppered the sky between them. Tiny starfighters zipped back and forth, running patrols around the perimeter of the fleet. As expected, the Aeden Alliance blockade was waiting. A mixture of Aeden assault transports and starfighters circled the planet in constant patrols as per the agreement between the Alliance and the Belvids. It was touted as some sort of charitable show of chivalry by the Alliance, but according to the information provided by Lieutenant Petreit, the concentration of Aeden ships had multiplied considerably over the years, giving Thorus the impression that they sought to turn the Zeros system into another Alliance outpost.

Staring at those enemy ships, Kindel ground his teeth. The presence of the more heavily armed transports meant that there were Alliance carriers in the vicinity. Assault transports were not capable of traveling long distances through space on their own; they were designed for interstellar combat, heavily armed and just as heavily reinforced. They were larger than one-man starfighters—most carried a crew of about twenty-five people—and laser turrets lined their hulls.

"Sir, we're approaching firing range," Captain Tiras reported. He was a wide man, sturdy and noble looking, with a thin line of a brown beard following the edge of his chin. His brown cap and uniform identified his rank, as did the steel black pin on his left shoulder. "Shall I scramble the squadrons?"

Thorus kept his eyes on the Alliance ships. "No, Captain. Bring the fleet to a halt. I do not intend to do battle today . . . if it can be helped."

"As you wish, Sir," Tiras responded, turning to the helmsmen seated beside him. "You heard him. All stop."

Across the main floor of the bridge, crewmen sat in front of illuminated control panels and colorful viewscreens. The helmsman, Geo Marnfell, handled the entering of coordinates and controlled the overall movement of the Black Eagle. He sat near the center of the floor, alongside Margis Cordlein, the tactical officer. Behind them, Beau Merlianis and Seavan Petreit of interstellar cartography planned courses and accessed necessary planetary data, and Aarn Goldsyn handled transmissions at the communications array. The sensor terminal stood against the wall on the left, manned by Treage Nardale. Thorus stood to the rear beside the transportation lift, flanked on either side by Scimitar and Kalibur, arms folded beneath his black cloak. He pondered the next move, somewhat surprised that the Aeden ships had yet to acknowledge their presence.

"Your command, Sir?" Tiras was looking at him expectantly.

Kindel glanced once more at the Alliance ships. "Odd that they haven't attempted to contact us. No matter, the less Aeden resistance we face, the better. I want to be out of here as quickly as—"

A long beep came from the communications array. Aarn glanced at the screen and nodded with a frown. "It's them. Shall I make a connection?"

Kindel grunted as he moved to the terminal. The signal was coming from one of the starcruisers. "Do it."

Aarn flipped one of the switches on the panel. A male voice began to speak, firm and obviously agitated. "Vezulian ships, by order of Marshal Jayde Windlest, Chairman of the High Council of the Aeden Alliance, you are hereby ordered to halt your approach immediately. Failure to comply will force us to take action against your fleet."

The suggestion infuriated Thorus; he had to bite his tongue to keep from inviting the challenge. "Nonsense, my good man," he said, trying to smile as he spoke, "we aren't interested in conflict. Tell me, with whom do I speak?"

"I am Captain Thomas Angeles of the Stardiver," the voice responded. "And you are?"

Again, Kindel bit his tongue. There was scarcely a man, woman, or child across the galaxy that didn't know Thorus commanded the Vezulian Armada. He almost wondered if the captain had put out the question simply to ruffle his feathers. Still, Kindel kept his diplomatic guise. "Admiral Kindel Thorus of the Thorus family of Zo'rhan. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Captain."

"Yes . . . Likewise." Angeles' voice suddenly seemed a bit hesitant. He certainly knew Thorus' name, but perhaps he hadn't expected to speak to him directly. "What is your business here?"

The best lies were always built upon truth. "Archeological research, Captain. I am a collector of fine artifacts. I've gathered fantastic pieces from some of the finest planets across the galaxy. During my stop at Geavaan, I learned of Belvidia. The man spoke of a world of delicate beauty and grace, envied for its lush forests and blue-green skies. After only a few words, I decided I simply had to see this planet for myself."

"I'm sorry, Admiral," Captain Angeles responded quickly, "but the Belvids are an endangered species. The High Throne requested our assistance in blocking the planet to outsiders. Even our own people aren't allowed on the surface. Our blockade is charged with seeing that no one passes. You'll have to turn your archeological interests elsewhere."

"Anything would be of interest to me, Captain." Kindel's voice was smooth. "If I cannot travel to the surface, may we at least take a few scans of the planet for our own curiosity?"

There was a moment of silence before Captain Angeles returned. Kindel's eyes caught a frantic hand gesture from Commander Nardale, indicating he'd picked something up on radar. "You have ten minutes," Angeles was saying. "We will expect you to leave promptly thereafter."

"Your understanding is most appreciated, Captain," Thorus was trying to sound humble, but a twinge of agitation tainted his gratitude. "Thank you." Aarn flipped the communications switch, cutting off the transmission. "Ten minutes certainly won't provide proper time to study the gemstone, but perhaps I can convince one of the Belvids to return here so that I can work without the Alliance hanging over my shoulder," Thorus grumbled.

Behind him, Kalibur's raspy voice spoke. "And what if they won't come, my Lord?"

Kindel turned halfway toward him. "They will. One way or another, they will. I am not leaving empty-handed."

Treage Nardale was still trying to get the admiral's attention. "Sir," he pointed at the terminal readout, "two Aeden carriers are moving aft. Their hangar doors are open, but they haven't launched any fighters yet."

"They are cautious of us," Thorus noted. "And with good reason. We've had our share of skirmishes with the Alliance in the past, have we not?" The question was a rhetorical one, but Nardale answered.

"Yes, Sir. I'm also getting reports of another incoming fleet of ships. Their make and numbers suggest more Alliance craft."

"Then we will have to move quickly, won't we?" Thorus said with a grin. "Scimitar, Kalibur, you're with me. Captain Tiras?"

The gruff man turned from the tactical viewscreen. "Yes, Sir?"

"Maintain a defensive stance while I am on the surface. Should the Alliance decide to attack, destroy them. All of them."

Tiras' eyes bulged, but he voiced no objections. "It shall be done as you have commanded, Admiral."

Thorus turned to his bodyguards. "Scimitar, Kalibur, prepare for teleportation."

The process of teleportation had been attempted by many yet perfected by few. It was a dangerous technique, one that could see a person disfigured, dismembered, or even destroyed if performed improperly. Even the most powerful sorcerers in the galaxy had denounced and refused to teach it. It had taken Kindel a lot of research to piece together enough information to make an attempt. It was all about strength of mind. Concentration was the key. Even the slightest distraction could disrupt one's flow of energy and jeopardize the safety of those transported by the spell. But Kindel was never one to flee from danger. It was his greatest ally at times; an asset and an advantage.

He focused his mind, blinding himself to the Black Eagle's bridge and crew. With his thoughts focused on the surface of Belvidia, his directed energy around himself and his bodyguards. A pure white glow surrounded them, somehow feeling both warm and icy at the same time. The light amplified dozens of times over until the bridge was no longer visible, and the brilliance of the energy was everything. Only inches from their noses, it seemed, yet impossibly out of reach. Kindel felt the ground shift beneath his feet, felt a sudden humidity in the air, heard the chirping of birds and the murmur of voices. He released gradually, allowing their bodies time to adjust to the new climate. When the last remnants of the snowy light vanished, he stood amidst a bustling village on the surface of Belvidia, Scimitar and Kalibur at his either side. It took only seconds for chaos to ensue.

"Intruders!"

"Offworlders!"

"Call the Disciples!"

"Protect the children!"

It was a quaint little village of wooden huts and cloth tents, scattered by towering trees that nearly touched the few clouds in the sky. The short grass was a healthy green, vivid despite constant trampling. A sweet aroma of fruit filled the air. Birds of a variety of colors darted between the trees overhead, occasionally disappearing into the sky's thick glow. The light seemed to swallow the treetops as though they were being dipped head-first into a solid sea of blue. Truly, Lieutenant Petreit's description had barely scraped the surface.

But Kindel's arrival abruptly shattered the peace, sending the angelic Belvids scurrying away while others drew arrows and strung longbows with haste. Petreit's description of their beauty had also fallen far short of the truth; they were the closest to perfection that Kindel had ever seen in a species. They stood no less than a head taller than Thorus and his bodyguards, skin tones varying in soft shades of green. Fabrics of soft colors adorned their bodies. Some had hair down as far as their waist, elegant and royal looking in different tones of blue and green and red. Others kept theirs barely long enough to run fingers through. Grand translucent wings rose from each lady's back, but it was the shimmering gemstone in the forehead of each girl that drew Kindel's eyes.

The pluck of a bowstring twanged from the trees ahead, and Kalibur's sword flashed with a clang. The arrow clattered to the ground in front of Kindel, its steel tip flattened by its impact with the blade.

"Hold your arrows!" a woman's voice shouted from the wooden cabin ahead. It was a long narrow house, nearly the length of four of the other huts placed in a row. Elegantly carved wooden steps led to a door in the center where a teal-green Belvid stood, her dark maroon hair spilling over her shoulders and down her back. Like many of the others, she wore short brown pants and a tightly wrapped sash of blue that crossed over her chest. However, a thick band of white silk was wrapped around her waist and tied in the back, the ends of which ran to the floor and disappeared into the cabin. "They've not shown themselves to be hostile yet." She walked down the stairs with two Belvids trailing her, carrying the streaming tails of her silk belt. She must be an authority figure, Kindel thought. Their leader, maybe.

The females were obviously the dominant gender of the society. Their garments were lined with silver and gold trim, while the men's clothes were bland and usually dirty. After a moment, Kindel noticed that the only men he saw were working on a small farm to the left of the oversized cabin. Unlike the women, their wings were tied together by heavy bands of leather and folded down. Are they . . . slaves?

"Though I don't know how it would be possible, did the blockade around this planet somehow elude you?" the Belvid spoke in a flat voice as she approached. Scimitar and Kalibur shifted their feet, but Kindel motioned them to stillness.

"I apologize for the intrusion," he began, all smiles. "You see, my travels led me upon the story of your world. In particular, I was fascinated by the gemstone your kind have embedded within—" The sounds of arrows being drawn and wooden bows creaking interrupted him. More of the Belvids were readying weapons as he spoke. "Again, I apologize. I'm afraid our knowledge of your people is limited, at best."

"Aeden fools! They have failed to keep their word once again!" a green-haired Belvid spat. "If they can't—"

"Silence, Meylinda!" the first commanded, shooting her a harsh glare. "I will handle this." Her blue lips curved in an artificial smile as she returned her attention to Kindel. "You seek the baharinda. You are hunters, then?"

Scimitar leaned forward and whispered in Kindel's ear. "Three minutes, Sir." He nodded in acknowledgment, though he was confident that Captain Tiras could stall for a few extra minutes if needed. Still, there was little time for negotiation.

"Hunters of knowledge," he answered the question, "and nothing more. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Kindel Thorus, of the Thorus family of Zo'rhan. I've traveled the universe collecting various archeological artifacts, studying cultures, and seeking knowledge and intrigue wherever I go."

"I am Lady Almatha Delgornis Baynyi, ruler of the High Throne of Belvidia." The other Belvids, even the men in the fields, kneeled at her introduction. "And while I respect those who hunt knowledge and hunger for learning, I cannot allow you to stay on our world. Our people are a dying breed, Kindel Thorus of Zo'rhan, and we cannot take any chances with offworlders. Before the Aeden Alliance agreed to defend us, many hunters came in search of the baharinda." She gently touched the glowing yellow stone in her forehead. "Some showed no restraint, slaying many of our Ladies and savagely tearing the baharinda from their flesh. But others came as you do, claiming only intellectual interest in our planet. They would gain our trust in the evening, and we would wake in the morning to find more dead among us. Perhaps you are noble in your hunt, Kindel Thorus, but it is a risk our people can no longer take. I must insist that you leave."

Years of research had brought Kindel to this planet, and now he was being asked to leave it all behind. It wasn't in his nature to disturb an innocent society; the Vezulian Armada only exterminated races that threatened others. Still, the future of the Armada depended on the lephadorite. War with the Aeden Alliance was inevitable, and it would give Thorus and the Armada the advantage needed for victory. But the success of the lephadorite depended on Kindel's success here. If he couldn't harness the reproductive properties of the Belvids' gemstone—the baharinda—then the Armada would likely fall to the greater numbers of the Alliance. Only the strong survive. Remember Zo'rhan. Remember the Ma'tuul. It must be done. "I'm terribly sorry about all of this."

The land surged, an upheaval that sent dirt and rocks and debris bursting to the sky from the center of the small village in a fountain of destruction. Belvids scattered in every direction—those that weren't caught in the blast—dropping their bows amidst screams of terror. Lady Almatha was thrown to the ground along with the two that held her sash, their bodies unintentionally shielding her from the falling rocks and dirt. Another, the short-haired Belvid that Almatha had referred to as Meylinda, snatched her bow from the ground and drew an arrow meant for Kindel's heart.

Thorus was already gathering energy, blinding light emerging from the humid air to surround his body. He reached out toward Almatha and her assistants, extending the glow around the crumpled ladies. Bowstrings twanged, arrows flew, and women screamed, but it was too late. When the light dissipated, Kindel was safe on the bridge of the Black Eagle with Lady Almatha and the other two Belvids in a heap beside him. Scimitar and Kalibur slipped to either side and hauled the assistants to their feet while Kindel yanked Almatha up. Dirt marred her otherwise pretty face, her chest heaving with panicked breaths.

"What . . . have you done?" she gasped. "You have violated—"

"It is not important what treaties I may have violated or what laws I've broken," Kindel cut her off. "I will stop at nothing to ensure the future of the Vezulian Armada and realize our dream of peace across the galaxy! To protect—"

"Peace?" Almatha recoiled in disgust. "You think your actions represent a desire for peace?"

"The laws of existence are harsh ones, my dear!" Thorus' eyes narrowed. "To protect oneself from the would-be champions of the universe, one must become more powerful than those champions. The phrase has been uttered for generations past, and will survive for countless generations to come: Only the strong survive. You may feel that my actions are hostile, violent, and destructive, but I assure you my Lady, it is for the greater good." He turned toward Scimitar. "See them to cells."

The black-clad ninja had already slipped steel shackles around the wrists of his prisoner. He handed her off to Kalibur, who led both of Almatha's assistants into the transportation lift. A similar pair of steel cuffs went around the wrists of the Lady before Scimitar led her to join them. The door slid closed with a quiet whisk.

"Admiral?"

A slight tremor of the floor accompanied by a distant explosion brought Thorus' attention back to the bridge. Outside, starfighters cut through the sea of space, twisting in loops and dips and turns, trying to get a clear shot at one another. Frequent laser streaks of red and orange ripped through the starry backdrop with brilliant split-second flashes of light. Assault transports unloaded their firepower in a thunderous shower of blasts that spread across the battlefield. The communication lines were alive with the chatter of the fleet, and the wreckage of ships already lost floated amidst the ongoing struggle. He'd been gone only ten minutes, yet the fight looked like it had gone on for hours. Not that it surprised Kindel that the Alliance had attacked; he was more shocked that he hadn't noticed the battle until now. "Tiras! Explain this."

"A distress call came from the planet almost immediately after you left," the Captain growled. "The Alliance must've provided the Belvids with the means of contacting them in case of trouble. I tried to stall Angeles to give you more time, but his ships opened fire. I launched all craft and ordered a full assault, as per your instructions. So far, they've lost twenty-seven starfighters and twelve transports, while we've suffered loses of less than half that. The fight goes well, Admiral."

"Shields holding at ninety-two percent," Margis Cordlein, the tactical officer, reported. "Two of the forward laser batteries have stopped responding." Two was not a number to panic over, but it certainly required attention. "Repair crews are already responding. The Falcon Mist reports four more squadrons ready for launch. E.T.A. on the approaching Alliance fleet is three minutes at best."

So reinforcements were on the way. And Aldoric is likely with them. Against a larger fleet, losses would be greater. Perhaps greater than the Armada could afford right now. Certainly greater than necessary, anyway. There was no more reason to remain in the system. Kindel's tasks here were complete. "Withdraw."

Tiras looked back at the admiral, surprise evident in his eyes. "Sir?"

"You heard me," Kindel snapped, his eyes thinning. "Take us out of here. We've done what we came to do. The Alliance will still be out there when we're ready for them. But that will have to wait for another day. Take us back to the human homeworld. I may need to conduct more studies there. Lieutenant Petreit, report to the prison cells and see what you can learn from our guests. It is doubtful they'll want to share information with me at the moment."

Petreit rose from his seat at the interstellar cartography station and headed for the lift without a word. At the tactical terminal, Commander Cordlein issued orders to all starfighters to return to their hangars and prepare for departure. When a long beep came from the communications terminal, Kindel expected to hear Captain Angeles gloating over the Armada's perceived "retreat." But when Aarn flipped the switch to make the connection, a calm and solemn voice spoke.

"What have you done, Kindel?"

Thorus' eyes shot to the viewport just in time to see a silver and black starfighter soaring just outside of firing range. It resembled a seagull, its wings spread wide to either side of its narrow body. The spidery looking emblem on the wings indicated its affiliation with the Alliance. "Aldoric," Kindel muttered with a grin. "Late as usual, I see."

"The Belvids are reporting that you abducted the High Lady Almatha and her assistants," the voice returned. "Return them to the planet, Kindel. There is no way the Belvids can help you achieve what you want in your absurd—"

"If you only knew, my dear brother," Thorus cut him off with a laugh. "These ladies will be the key to the rise of the Vezulian Armada! They will help me bring a new era of peace to the galaxy, starting with the destruction of the Aeden Alliance."

"You won't get away with this, Kindel." Aldoric's voice remained steady. "Almatha will not cooperate with you. She'll fight you every step of—"

"Do you think I'm unaware that you're trying to stall me so that your allies can arrive in a feeble attempt to stop us? I'm sorry, I'd love to stick around and play, but I'm afraid the stakes are too high, and I cannot afford to risk a full-scale battle right now."

"Cannot win, you mean," Aldoric grumbled.

"Believe as you wish," Kindel said, moving beside the communications array. "But I promise you, Aldoric, that when next we meet, you'll find a change of attitude to be in order."

Before the voice could respond, he flipped the switch on the terminal, severing the connection. "Commander Cordlein, have all starfighters returned to their hangars?"

"The last squadron just reported in, Sir. All are present and accounted for."

Thorus nodded with a satisfied grin. "Good. Helmsman, plot a course for Terranias and take us out of here."

Geo Marnfell typed in a series of commands, leading the fleet in full circle as the Aeden ships continued to pound away at their' shields. The engines of the Black Eagle powered up with an eruption of blue, sending the starship hurtling into the depths of space at a velocity that exceeded even that of light itself. The rest of the Armada followed suit, leaving Aldoric, the Aeden Alliance, and the planet of Belvidia far behind.

Kindel returned to his quarters and stared through the viewport. The family conflict had been brewing for years upon years, stemming from Kindel's initial decision to form the Vezulian Brotherhood. Aldoric feared what Kindel was capable of, feared his strength, and feared being forced to choose between his brother and his own ego. The day that Kindel left Zo'rhan to seek others to join his cause, Aldoric had challenged him to a blood duel. He'd had Kindel all but beaten, too, but he refused to finish the job. Aldoric could not bring himself to kill Kindel, bringing shame to both himself and the tradition of the blood duel. He'd proven to be the weakest of all the zo'rhan, and Kindel's brush with death further fueled his conviction that the weak must be made strong, or they might be forced to submit their sovereignty to the mighty.

But true power was never easily obtained. Brawn was one thing; any idiot could train their body. If a warrior's might was all it took to claim victory, Zo'rhan would never have been broken. No, true power was more than brains or brawn; it had to come from other sources. Unconsciously, he shifted his eyes to the collection of artifacts on the cabinets lining the wall. His gaze came to rest upon the long white cloth draped over a narrow flat piece. No, not yet. I'm not that desperate yet. Fool, you'd probably be incinerated just for lifting the cursed thing!

He returned to his desk and dropped into his chair with a sigh. Before long, the top drawer was open, and he was rolling lephadorite in his palm. With the Belvids aboard, the pieces of the puzzle were falling into place just as he'd hoped. The doorway to unlimited power stood before him, and with a little more work, he'd soon be ready to turn the key. "Only the strong survive, Aldoric," Kindel murmured as he gazed into the stone. "You'll soon learn the value of true strength."

*******

". . . going to have to cut deeper."

"We're getting too close to his optic nerve, Sir. If it's set any deeper it could damage the nerve endings."

"Then we'll have to replace his eye. The larger implant is a necessity now. I'll not lose this one, too."

"Body temperature is stable. What will you use as a replacement?"

"I may be able to attach one of our pistol scopes. If I can tie it into the implant electronically, he could magnify images and activate infrared searches. Perhaps I could even convert the laser targeting system to a weapon."

"Could the implant process such functions?"

"Easily. They are simple commands compared to the functions of the brain."

"Is it safe to keep the boy in stasis for that long?"

"I can power up the implant once I connect it to his nervous system. His brain will function as though he is conscious, but he will not awaken until I activate it. That will allow me to safely install an artificial eye without risking brain damage from prolonged stasis. I need the crimping tool."

"Yes, Sir."

"Thank you. Now, we'll feed the wiring from here, leading to the . . ."

*******

The last Vultrel had seen of his best friend, Arus had been lying in a pool of his own blood with his severed arm a short distance away. The image was etched into his mind, accompanied by Arus' piercing cries of pain. There were few things in Vultrel's life that had left a lasting impact on him, but he was sure, even now, that he'd be haunted by that image for years to come. His best friend—a young man he'd grown up with, trained alongside, taught, and learned from—was clinging to his last ounce of strength, his last bit of will, perhaps the last moments of his life, and Vultrel had been powerless to stop it.

They'd heard nothing of Arus' condition since being returned to their prison cells. Olock and F'Ledro had only shoved them inside and wrapped chains around the bars to replace the locks that Kitreena had destroyed. A series of heavy padlocks held the bonds tightly, though none of the prisoners had even tried to fiddle with them. Kitreena lay motionless on the floor of the cell across from him—the one Arus had previously occupied—with her black hair draped over her face and across the dirt. In the cell to Vultrel's left, his father sat with his back against he wall and his head slumped in despair. For all they knew, Arus could've died on that arena floor. But Truce had been adamant about getting medical attention for him, insisting that it was vital to the success of his experiment.

And then there was Anton. Regardless of his attitude or his skill, Anton was a fellow swordsman and a citizen of Keroko. They'd practically grown up together despite their constantly clashing personalities, and Vultrel had watched in horror as the young man thrust his sword through his own body. It was a fate he wouldn't wish upon anyone—the lone exception being Truce, perhaps—yet Anton's refusal to allow himself to be controlled by the Mages had shown more bravery and sacrifice than Vultrel would've expected from him. Rather than follow Truce's orders, rather than fight his own comrades, Anton had chosen death. There had been an honorable and noble young man underneath the arrogance, yet his life had to be sacrificed for his bravery to be revealed.

Truce's experiment had both succeeded and failed, it seemed. While the mind-controlling implant failed to keep Anton under the Mages' command, it had forced him to fight Arus, and only a brief moment of clarity had saved him from being Sartan's lapdog. If Arus managed to survive, Truce intended to fit him with another implant, one that was more powerful if Vultrel had overheard correctly. And if Arus withstood the loss of his arm, the possibility of being forced to fight him just as Arus had fought Anton was all too real. It was something Vultrel wasn't sure he could do.

A long sigh of dismay came from his left. Eaisan had not been taking the events well, either. More than once Vultrel had thought he'd seen tears in his father's eyes. It was no surprise, considering that Eaisan had taken responsibility for training Arus after Dayne had passed away. Anton had been one of his students, too. For him, it was like watching two of his sons getting skewered by a madman. And, like Vultrel, there had been nothing Eaisan could do to stop it. Vultrel had never known his father to harbor bitter feelings or a lust for vengeance, but it was hard to imagine that Eaisan would be able to maintain his composure the next time he and Sartan Truce were face to face.

"Are you all right?" Vultrel asked him.

Eaisan's unfocused gaze was directed at the floor, and he did not look up. "As well as can be expected, I suppose. How are you holding up?"

"Trying to keep myself focused," Vultrel said, rubbing his temples. "I don't want to seek revenge, but it's hard not to want . . ." he didn't want to finish the thought, ashamed that he'd even begun the sentence.

"Revenge?" Eaisan asked with a soft laugh. "I know, Son. I know. Everything I've ever taught you boys revolves around respect, honor, intelligence, and nobility. And murder for the sake of revenge carries none of those qualities." He fell silent for a moment, then sighed again. "Yet I find myself eager for a chance to run my sword through Truce's heart. I know it's difficult to keep your emotions in check sometimes, particularly times like this. When Arus' father died, your mother had to practically tie me down to prevent me from running off to the Mayahol to slaughter any leftover Mages I could find. But I kept telling myself that Dayne wouldn't have wanted me to get myself killed in a blind rage of vengeance. And I don't think Arus or Anton would want us to do that today, either."

Vultrel nodded, albeit reluctantly. "So . . . what do we do now?"

Eaisan wiped the sweat from his forehead. "We wait for an opportunity to present itself and then try to get back to the village."

"But what about Arus? We can't leave him here!"

"We don't even know if he's alive, Vultrel." It visibly pained him to suggest otherwise. "Even if he is, I think it is abundantly clear that there isn't much we can do here on our own. We should go back to Keroko, round up as many members of the militia as we can find, and come back to destroy the Vermillion Mages once and for all."

Vultrel thought about it for moment. He hated the idea of leaving Arus alone, alive or otherwise, but both he and Eaisan were still unarmed and heavily outnumbered. All it would take was an unlucky encounter with a pack of Mages in one of the tunnels for any hope of escape would be lost. If they could manage to get free in the first place.

Across from him, Kitreena stirred. She groaned softly as she moved a hand to her face. "What about her?" Vultrel asked. "We can't leave her here, either."

"She's welcome to accompany us, should we manage to escape, but I doubt she'll take kindly to the suggestion."

*******

The nearby murmur of conversation floated through Kitreena's mind. She could almost feel the dirt floor waver beneath her as she drifted along the edge of consciousness. The voices were muddled at first, speaking of names that sounded faintly familiar yet unrecognizable. A hand brushed her face—her own, she realized—to wipe her dirt-matted hair from her eyes, and she heard herself groan. Her body ached as though every muscle had been tensed for days. Combined with the swirling of senses and the unsteady floor, she felt ready to vomit. The uncomfortable warmth of the cavern was all too familiar, along with the beads of sweat running down her forehead. The voices began to sharpen as consciousness crept over her, and at the mention of the name "Arus," her eyes sprang open.

She'd first seen him in Keroko, fighting Olock to defend the children. It had initially surprised her when she found him in the prison cell of the Underworld, though she couldn't really give a reason. He had been headstrong, and a bit too eager to run into trouble, yet the same could be said of herself. Unconsciously, she reached for her shoulder, and her fingers found a white patch of bandages taped across the injury she'd sustained during the fighting. That's right; he helped me back in the tunnel. Even unarmed, he raced to my aid. She wanted to kick herself for not escorting him safely from the Underworld while she had the chance.

"Are you all right?" a quiet voice came from the darkness. She struggled to push herself to her knees, her head spinning more the higher she rose. But how did I end up here? What happened? Where am I? Her surroundings were slowly coming into focus. The single lantern on the wall provided less light than she would've expected from a flame of its size, but it glowed brightly enough to reveal the steel bars running from the ceiling to the floor. She was in a prison cell. This is the same cell that he was locked in, isn't it?

"Can you hear me?"

Kitreena rubbed her eyes with her knuckles. "Yes, I can hear you." Her voice sounded strained. It felt strained. What happened to me? Why am I here? Where's Arus? "I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine," the voice said. It sounded distinctly familiar, yet her mind was swirling so much that it took her several moments to even comprehend what was being said. "You gave us quite a scare back there."

"I . . ." His last comment caught her off-guard. "What?"

"She doesn't remember," a firmer voice came, no doubt the young man's father. "Just as Arus didn't remember when Truce used the technique on him."

"My name is Vultrel," the young man spoke again. "And my father, Eaisan, is also here. Do you remember us?"

What am I, some sort of addle-brained child? She groaned and forced herself into a sitting position. The light of the lantern, though dim compared to most, was so overwhelming that she was forced to cover her eyes. The room teetered. "Of course I remember you," she muttered. "You're the fools who didn't escape when you had the chance."

"The same could be said of you," Eaisan's voice rumbled with frustration. "For all your arrogant proclamations that Truce and the Vermillion Mages would stand no chance against your might, in the end you didn't put up much of a fight."

Kitreena opened her mouth to argue, but she knew nothing of which he spoke. The last thing she could remember was rushing into a darkened cavern with Arus, worrying that it was a trap, yet determined not to be snared by it. It would seem she had failed in that aspect of things, if their imprisonment was any indication. "What . . . happened to me? To us, I mean? And where is Arus?"

A few moments of silence passed before Vultrel began to explain, detailing the events from the moment he'd heard Arus' voice in the arena to the tragic battle with Truce. His emotion caused his voice to waver more than a few times when discussing Anton's death and Arus' injury. It frightened Kitreena to learn that Truce's implant technology had already been tested. The data she'd been receiving on the project was that he'd barely begun construction on the unit. But if the boy's story was true, then Truce already had test data to work with, and Arus was going to be his next subject. If he survived. And though she refused to allow it to show, it pained her heart to hear of Arus' fate. It was nearly enough to bring her to tears. Fool girl, he's just a naive boy who threw himself into a den of hungry jackals. Stop this ridiculous behavior and focus on the task at hand. Still, the sadness remained, a hollow feeling in the center of her chest that cried out with despair. I hope he's all right. Please, let him be all right.

Vultrel's story had not mentioned a word of her own involvement, or how she'd come to find herself in this prison cell with such a wretched headache. "And what about me? Where was I during all of this?"

For a long time, her question was met with only silence. She briefly uncovered her eyes, but a quick glance at the lantern light set them burning once more, and she squeezed them closed again. Whatever had happened, her body was certainly taking its time in recovering. Eventually Eaisan spoke, though his answer was vague, at best. "Truce used one of his techniques against you. I'm not sure what it was—there wasn't much to it—but you ended up lying unconscious in the sand."

Kitreena thought she heard a snort from Vultrel's direction, as though the answer given was an understatement of the truth. "Why do I get the feeling there's more to it than that?" she asked.

More silence. Eaisan cleared his throat, and it sounded like Vultrel was pacing. This time it was he who spoke. "Kitreena, do you know what a Morpher is?"

Her breath caught. Surely no one but Truce and F'Ledro could've known, but how much had they told him? Did they overhear a conversation not meant for their ears? "Why . . . do you ask?"

"Something strange happened to you in the arena," Vultrel responded. His voice was tense. Nervous. Perhaps even a little frightened. "When Truce's soldiers dragged us in here, we heard one say something to F'Ledro about Morphers, and he seemed to be talking about you."

Again, Kitreena looked up, this time forcing herself to stare through the mind-numbing brightness of the lantern. "What happened to me? Tell me everything that happened! Every detail!"

Finally Vultrel explained, though a bit reluctantly, Kitreena's encounter with Truce, and the bizarre transformation her body had undergone. By the time he'd finished, she was trembling like a terrified child, gripping the iron bars of the cell until her fingers ached. Lightning around my hands? Smoke from my skin? Purple eyes?! I could've killed us all! What would've happened if Truce hadn't released his hold on me? She realized that both Vultrel and Eaisan were waiting in silence, likely expecting some sort of explanation. Unfortunately for them, there were some things not meant for their ears. According to the documented history of Terranias she'd read in the Alliance's archives, humans had chosen to be excluded from interstellar relations with the rest of the galaxy after a war with an invading force several thousand years ago.

She could see the blurred image of Vultrel's face waiting for an answer on the opposite side of the prison bars. Rather than try to lie her way out of it, she turned the conversation in a different direction. "I wonder why he didn't kill me," she murmured, thinking aloud. "He knows I won't stop until both he and F'Ledro are dead."

"Because he wants to do the same thing to us that he did to Anton," Eaisan spoke up. "Nothing would thrill him more than to be able to pull our strings to make us walk."

"Like puppets," Vultrel muttered absent-mindedly. "You still haven't answered my question, Kitreena."

He wasn't as easily distracted as she'd hoped. She gave a shrug and said, "I don't have any answers to give."

They sat there for what seemed like days with only the dim light of the lantern keeping them company. Kitreena rolled onto her back and draped her arm over her eyes, impatiently trying to will her body to recuperate. She could still hear Vultrel pacing across the way; it reminded her of a caged tiger waiting for his chance to break free. Aside from the occasional dejected sigh, Eaisan remained silent for the most part. With nothing to do but sit and wait, Kitreena's thoughts returned to Arus. I wish I hadn't allowed him to accompany me. He didn't deserve any of this; he's a good kid. And now Truce is going to make him a slave . . . if he survives at all. I wish Damien were here. He'd know how to fix everything. She shook the thought away. Pull yourself together, fool. You're independent now, remember? Fifteen years old or not, you've got to fend for yourself! You've got to get up and find a way out of this. If Truce is already attempting his second experiment, then his research is farther along than we'd feared. And if he finds a buyer for the technology, there could be hundreds of cybernetic slaves across the galaxy in a matter of months! Maybe even thousands of them! And if the Armada ever got their hands on it . . .

The sudden thought had her stumbling to her feet, clinging to the prison bars to support herself. The room whirled, and her knees shook. Can't let it keep me from doing what must be done, she kept telling herself. Her head pounded, and her stomach seemed to be floating up into her chest.

"Don't rush your recovery," Eaisan's voice came from the darkness beyond the cell. "Lie down. Even if we managed to break out of here, you can go nowhere in your condition. You need rest."

"I appreciate your concern," she growled, "but I can make it just . . . fine—"

Her knees finally buckled, and she found herself lying flat on her back again. After a few moments, the room began to settle, and her stomach returned to its rightful place. Well, maybe just a little rest, she thought, her eyelids sinking. Just until this bloody headache goes away.

"Are you all right?" Vultrel's voice called. "Kitreena?"

"Fine," she murmured, half-awake. "I'm going to . . . save . . ."

Sleep had never been more welcome.

Chapter 1-6

"Uploading auxiliary databank."

"Secondary systems online. Main power is stable."

"Have all test cycles completed?"

"Yes. All systems are functioning properly."

To his surprise, Arus felt completely rejuvenated as consciousness swept over him. It was an odd feeling, though, much different than awakening after a long night's sleep. It was abrupt, like his mind had sprung to life as a spark would set a bale of hay ablaze. There was no weariness or fatigue, just raw energy and a surprising clarity of mind. Still, his thoughts raced uncontrollably as though his brain was functioning too quickly for its own comprehension. Most lasted so briefly that he had forgotten them seconds later. The few he managed to single-out seemed to be incoherent nonsense. Main power drive stable. Laser coupling enabled. Scanners online. Movement functions synched. None of it made any sense, and they disappeared as quickly as they appeared. I must still be dreaming. That's it.

Upload complete.

"Auxiliary databank has been uploaded."

"I'm picking up unrelated brain activity. He's thinking about something. Confused, it seems."

"To be expected. Pay it no mind. We're almost finished. Begin writing primary backup."

"Backup initialized."

He was on a cool surface, possibly metal. The air was warm and thick, and his body was drenched in sweat. The random thoughts continued, mixed with the foggy memories of his battle with Sartan Truce. Did I really lose my arm, or was that a part of the dream? Though it refused to move, he could feel his arm lying beside him. If I dreamt that part, how much was real? He tried to move, tried to shake himself into consciousness, but his body remained perfectly still. I am awake, aren't I? I've never had a dream where my own thoughts were so vivid before. Why can't I open my eyes? What's happened to me?

"Primary backup complete."

"Begin auxiliary backup. Initialize onboard life-support and disconnect from the main terminal."

"Auxiliary backup initialized. Life-support systems online and functioning."

A chill swept across Arus' body, sending shivers down his spine, and with them, images of Kitreena skimmed the surface of his mind. Her eyes of amethyst, glowing, staring, piercing his own with their ferocious energy. That was certainly a part of the dream. No human can wield power like that, unless she was one of the Vermillion Mages. Unlikely, given her utter disdain for anything involving Truce. She certainly was pretty. Will I ever see her again? The images faded into nothingness, replaced only by the sea of darkness that plagued him. I wonder what happened to Vultrel and Master Eaisan. I hope they're all right. Anton, too. Maybe that was part of the dream! Maybe Anton is still alive!

"Auxiliary backup complete. Life-support is active and stable."

"Good. All right, I think we're ready. Switch power to full and Initialize mainframe."

"Power to full. Initialization commencing."

Abruptly, the world appeared. The rocky cavern ceiling came into focus almost immediately. A strange winding sound buzzed near his left eye, and a thin red film tinted his vision. For a moment, blocky-shaped text appeared, echoing the various thoughts that continued to stream through his subconscious. When the words "Scanners Enabled" appeared, a small circle of deep maroon appeared in the upper right edge of his vision, marked with a dark red point in the center and two white points on the left side. Toward the bottom-left, the words "Main Power: %100" glowed in the same red as the circle. Opposite that, a message reading "Current Magnification: %100" sat near the corner. What is all this? By the Maker, would someone please tell me what is going on?!

"Initialization complete. Mainframe is up and running. Audio recognition protocols are active and responding. Visual cortex is functioning as anticipated. He's ready to go."

"Arus? Arus, can you hear me?"

For the first time, Arus recognized Sartan Truce's voice; he couldn't fathom how he'd not realized sooner. What has he done to me? Why am I—

"Yes, Master."

To hear himself speak when he hadn't even attempted to open his mouth was frightening, but to hear himself refer to Truce as "Master" was terrifying. He wanted to scream—he tried to, actually—but his mouth wouldn't open. Panic washed over him like the waves of the South Sea. He tried to struggle, tried to yell, tried to do anything to get his body to respond, but he only succeeded in panicking himself further. Is he . . . controlling me? Oh my . . . He trailed off as he remembered Truce's threats, and the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. I've replaced Anton! He's put one of those machines on me, and it's controlling me!

"How are you feeling, Arus? Are all systems in working order?"

He watched in horror as his head turned on its own, bringing Truce and Olock into view. "All systems are fully operational." Blood stained Truce's shirt and sleeves, and a wide variety of tools lay scattered across a metal counter beside him. Olock stood beside some sort of machine just behind Sartan, staring intently at glowing text that scrolled across a sheet of glass on the front. "His heart is racing," he murmured, glancing at Arus. "He's not reacting well."

"Neither did the other one," Truce noted. His eyes were visibly heavy from an apparent lack of sleep. There was no telling how long they'd been working on Arus, but they seemed pleased with the results. "Give it time, he'll get used to it."

Never!

"How about that arm, Arus? How does it feel?"

He lifted his left arm—felt it lift—and gazed upon a shining steel forearm. The entire limb had been replaced by a machine, solid metal plates wrapping around greased joints and bundled wires. It looked remarkably like his human arm, if only made of steel. So I did lose my arm. None of it was a dream, it was all real. I can't believe this. I can't believe this is happening! "It meets system requirements, Master," he heard himself say. "No compatibility issues to report."

"Good," Sartan nodded, rising from his chair. He stifled a yawn, looking over Arus with obvious pride and satisfaction. "Well, let's get you started on your training. We can't send you into battle until your systems have been properly tested and tuned to perfection. Come."

Arus' body moved stiffly as he rose, but his legs held firm beneath him. His back remained straight as an arrow as he walked—almost marched—behind Truce and Olock. They left the medical facility behind and headed deeper into the network of caves. Arus ran over every conceivable idea in his mind as he searched for some way to regain control of his body. Anton did it. Somehow, he broke the hold. If I can just figure out what he did . . . But even then, Anton had only gained a brief moment of sanity, and he'd used it to end his life. Arus had no intentions of following suit. I won't let this go unanswered. I won't. I can't. Truce and Olock rounded a corner and led him into a large cavern. Easy for me to say that now. I don't know how much Anton may have fought against the implant before he decided that suicide was the only way. For all I know, I could be begging for the same in a few days.

The den was much like the arena, though Vermillion Mages were scattered throughout. It appeared to be a training room of sorts, complete with weights for strength and fitness training, target dummies for archers, and a dueling ring for swordsman. Near the right wall, a group of younger Mages were huddled in a circle, channeling small spheres of fire into their palms. Training to use magic, probably. Grunts of soldiers hard at work echoed across the cavern, and the foul smell of sweat floated in the thick air. Some stopped momentarily as he passed, staring in open awe. His mechanical arm got an uncomfortable amount of attention.

"Are you sure you want him to train with everyone else?" Olock asked, glancing at the others. "I thought you gave Anton one-on-one training."

"I did," Truce nodded, curving through the crowd toward the dueling ring, "but afterward, I thought that exposing the implant to a wider variety of fighting styles and techniques would give a more robust learning experience. I'm hoping it will allow Arus to become an even better fighter."

You'll regret that when I turn my sword on you.

The soldiers, their shirts varying in bright colors, parted to either side as Truce led Arus into the dueling ring. One man, wearing green under a black vest, handed two rusted swords to Sartan and stepped away. "My fellow warriors," Truce began as the rest cleared from the ring. "Three days ago, you saw the beginnings of a technology that will lead us back to our former glory." So it's been three days. No wonder he looks so exhausted. "Today, I welcome you all to take part in the testing of the next phase of that technology. Arus Sheeth, son of Dayne, will be happy to duel with any and all challengers. The first to draw blood will be declared the victor, and if any of you manage to defeat him, I'll see that you and your family become the wealthiest of all the kyrosen. Well, aside from myself, of course." The last comment drew several laughs. "So, how about it? Any takers?"

"I challenge!"

"Aye!"

"I accept!"

Sartan grinned. "Now, now, one at a time. Any who wish to try their skill will have a chance."

"Challenge accepted," a large man in the front of the crowd bellowed. He was a bulky, hulking, brute of a man, standing a head taller than Truce, nearly two taller than Arus. His wide frame was well defined, muscle seemingly carved from stone. Dirty blond hair dangled below his chin on either side of his face, and he carried a curved sword larger and thicker than any Arus had ever seen before. That thing looks like it could cut a bear in two with a single slice! The fighter stepped into the ring opposite Arus, removing his vest and shirt as he walked.

Truce nodded his approval. "Very well, Muert, you have the honor of being the first to test Arus' abilities. I expect you to show no mercy, soldier." He handed one of the rusted swords to Arus and shifted to the right side of the ring. Arus' vision shifted for a moment. The magnification reading switched to one hundred and fifty percent, and the image of his opponent was suddenly much closer. Words glowed in his vision, detailing Muert's physical statistics before fading away.

Height: 6' 4"

Weight: 270lbs

Weapon: Great Scimitar

Strengths: Power, Stamina, Endurance

Weaknesses: Speed, Agility, Intelligence

Estimated Warrior Rating: 7.9

Arus had no idea what the rating meant, though the implant seemed to. If only I knew whatever it knows, I might be able to find a weakness in it. His vision shifted again, returning the magnification level to normal. A box of light surrounded Muert, followed by a soft rhythmic beeping that only Arus appeared to hear. The image of his opponent began to fill with different shades of green and orange and red and yellow, each apparently indicating conditioning levels in correspondence with a color-striped bar lining the top of his vision. Muert's arms and chest were filled in with yellows and oranges, indicating solid muscle mass, while his legs were a dim yellow and green mixture. I bet it means he's weaker there. Arus' sight switched back to normal—if that red tint could be considered normal.

The sword felt strangely light in his hands; either his strength had been greatly increased, or the weapon was poorly made. A little of both, he decided. The mechanical arm certainly felt strong, though his heart twisted every time he caught a glance of it. I can't believe what they've done to me, he thought to himself. For so many years humans have avoided machines because of the evil they can bring, and now, I've become one. I'll never be able to go home again. No one will accept me now. The rusted blade rose, gripped solidly by the steel hand. Muert was stretching his arms to loosen his joints while Arus' body took up a fighting stance he didn't recognize. Eventually, Muert hefted his own weapon to his shoulder and focused his attention on his opponent. Fear rippled through Arus, but his face was expressionless. He was a prisoner of his own body reduced to nothing more than a spectator along for the ride. And despite every bit of psychological effort he made to force his body to move as he wanted, nothing he did brought him any closer to breaking the implant's hold. What am I going to do? Master Eaisan, Vultrel, Kitreena . . . Someone, help me! Please, free me!

Truce raised an arm, bringing a hush over the crowd. "Warriors to battle! Begin!"

*******

Kitreena did not know how many days had passed since she first awoke on the dirt floor of the prison cell. Day and night seemed irrelevant in the Underworld, deep below the planet's surface, hidden away from the sun and the stars. She slept when she was tired, and plotted her escape when she was not. She had tried a number of ideas—digging beneath the base of the bars had seemed smart at the time, but they reached down much farther than she had expected. Still, she refused to give up hope. I'm smarter than them, she told herself. Even if she couldn't escape when the kyrosen weren't looking, sooner or later they'd come for her and try to bind her in shackles to be taken to whatever fate awaited. And when they did, she'd be ready. The days of rest had treated her well, and aside from a slight shakiness in her knees when she stood, her body had almost fully recovered.

But the kyrosen hadn't come, much to her surprise. Various soldiers had passed through to feed them minuscule portions of dried fruit, and F'Ledro had stopped by to taunt her twice, but none said much more than that. She had spent several hours trying to reason out the possibilities before falling asleep the previous night—or day, or whatever it was—but nothing she'd come up with made sense. If Arus had died, Truce would've probably come for herself or Vultrel to replace him on the operating table. Yet with his injuries being as serious as Vultrel had described, she didn't see how he could've lived if Truce hadn't finished the operation by now. No doubt he would test the new implant and Arus' receptiveness to it by putting him in the arena with one of his friends, just as he'd done to Anton. Instead, Kitreena, Vultrel, and Eaisan were left in disgusting prison cells, apparently forgotten.

The loud clanking of stone against steel came from Vultrel's cell, momentarily distracting Kitreena from her thoughts. While she'd been attempting to dig her way out of the cell, Vultrel had asked her to toss him one of the palm-sized rocks she'd unearthed. He seemed intent on smashing the lock on his cell until he was free, but all he'd succeeded in doing was bruising his hands with repeated pounding. He'd woken Kitreena up several times with it; she almost believed he'd developed a personal vendetta against the lock for being so stubborn. Still, he was a persistent one. But his father rolled his eyes at his back on more than one occasion. Eaisan had suggested luring the soldiers into opening their cells with false promises of negotiation, but thus far, none of the kyrosen had fallen for it. They were smarter than they looked. Most of them, anyway.

Kitreena relaxed against the wall and sighed, strands of thick hair falling over her eyes. They'd been stewing in the prison for days, and she had begun to fall into deep despair. It felt as though something had bored a hole where her heart should've been, and the vacant space was a void of nothing but pure sadness. And for reasons she couldn't even hope to understand, she somehow knew it was connected to Arus. It hit her abruptly while she'd been trying to fall asleep, an image of the boy's face wearing a crimson mask of blood, and she'd been afraid to close her eyes ever since. I have to get him out of here. Her compassion for him surprised even herself. Concern turned to worry that plagued her mind, and she had long since promised herself that she would not leave him to Truce's control, even if she had to kill him to free him.

Her ears perked at the sound of a distant beep from the connecting hallway. Though Eaisan and Vultrel didn't know it—they wouldn't understand if they did—she had a heightened sense of hearing that surpassed that of the average human. At least, that's one of the things she learned from her time with Arus. "Hush," she said, motioning for Vultrel to take a break from his pounding. She crawled to the door of the cell and watched the dark end of the corridor intently. It took only seconds for the beep to repeat. My communicator. Damien wants to know where I am. The sound was growing progressively louder, accompanied by light footsteps. Whoever was carrying it was coming to the cells. "Hide the rock," she instructed. "Someone's coming."

Vultrel raised an eyebrow. "What makes you say—"

A slim figure emerged from the darkness, a scruffy man in a brown shirt and black pants. "You," he snapped, pointing at Kitreena. "This is yours, is it not?" He lifted her silver communicator.

Kitreena's mouth twisted as she looked at the Mage with contempt. He looked as though he hadn't bathed in weeks, and smelled worse. Shaggy blond hair dangled just above his beady eyes and stuck out in places around his ears. His stare made her uncomfortable, but she never let it show. "Considering that you've left us to rot in these cells, I don't see any reason why I should cooperate with you."

Abruptly, an unseen force threw Vultrel's body against the back wall of his prison cell. He slumped to all fours, grunting through clenched teeth. The Mage's eyes never left Kitreena's. "Defiance will only bring pain to your companions," he warned. "That was the least of what I'll do if you do not cooperate."

Kitreena wanted to turn her eyes to Vultrel, to see if he was all right, but she knew the importance of maintaining a strong appearance to the enemy, both physically and mentally. "You can kill them, for all I care." Without looking, she knew Vultrel and Eaisan were glaring at her.

"If not for my orders to see that you three remain alive, I would," he responded. The communicator beeped again. The longer she stalled, the more the delay would arouse Damien's suspicion. "But don't think I'll forget your insolence once Truce no longer has need for you."

"You waste your breath with idle threats," she snarled back. "The moment that you or any of your goons open these cells, your lives end."

The skinny man laughed in a disturbed cackle. "Is that a threat?"

"A fact," she replied. "Whether or not you believe isn't important to me."

Another beep. "We shall see," he chuckled. "For now, you will answer this. You will be casual and calm, and say nothing that will lead anyone here. If you do not do as I say, your friends here," he motioned toward Eaisan and Vultrel, "will suffer dearly."

"They aren't my friends. And I thought you said Truce wanted us alive." She didn't want to say it, but she couldn't allow him to have such leverage over her.

"Alive, yes. But nothing was mentioned of what condition." His emphasis on the last word sent a shiver down her spine. He held up the communicator just out of her reach. "Answer," he ordered, pushing the thin button on the side.

The line was open, and she knew Damien was on the other end. She could say anything, even blurt out where and how she was being held. But as much as she said she didn't care about Vultrel and Eaisan, nothing would've been further from the truth. She shot the Mage a look that might have turned most men to stone, and spoke. "Yeah?"

"Kitreena?" There was obvious panic in Damien's voice. "Where have you been? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Things have been hectic, that's all. How did everything go at Belvidia?" The Mage shot her a look that said this was not the time for small talk.

"Not well, I'm afraid. Kindel made off with Lady Almatha and her assistants. The Alliance is currently formulating a plan to rescue them. We may be needed to help out. How has your assignment gone?"

Kitreena's eyes met the scrawny soldier's with fierce defiance. "It's not over, yet."

"Do you need any help?"

The Mage released the button. "You tell him it won't be necessary, and tell him to leave you alone until you contact him again."

Before she could protest, he pressed the button. Grinding her teeth, she said, "That won't be necessary. I'll handle things here." Pressed for time and limited on options, there was only one idea she could come up with, and she knew she had to do it before the weasel decided she'd had enough time to speak.

"Are you sure?" Damien asked. "I can be there if you—"

"No, Zhun Hai, I can take care of myself."

The soldier snarled as he pulled the communicator away. "What was that?" he demanded, grabbing the prison bars. "What did you say to him?"

She didn't budge, meeting his fierce stare with one of her own. The communicator crackled with Damien's reply. "Understood."

The Mage grabbed her, wrapping quivering fingers around her throat. "What was it?!" he growled again.

Regardless of what he did to her or the other two, Damien was certainly on his way. She rarely asked for help, but when she did, he was always quick to respond. And if she knew Damien, he was already close. Finally, she smiled. "I apologize. Old habit of mine. It means 'thank you' in his native tongue."

But the soldier wasn't buying it. "Don't feed me such rubbish! I'm not some fool—"

The lantern abruptly extinguished, cutting him off in mid-sentence as darkness overtook the prison. Kitreena's smile grew, though he couldn't see it, and she tore his hand from her throat. "Don't be silly. You're a much bigger fool than you give yourself credit for!"

Heavy boots rushed across the dirt floor, and the Mage grunted sharply before collapsing in a heap. The lock shattered with a spark, and seconds later she felt a strong hand wrap around her wrist. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Damien," she told him, pulling away. "I'm not a child anymore. I can look after myself."

She didn't have to see his face to know he was grinning. "And a fine job you've been doing so far, I must say."

She rolled her eyes and began to grope around the floor in search of her communicator. "A little help?" she muttered.

The lantern sprang to life with an unnatural brightness, forcing Kitreena to shield her eyes for a moment. When she returned to her feet with her communicator in hand, her eyes met the shocked stares of Vultrel and Eaisan, side by side in their respective cells, as they looked upon Damien. She was aware they'd never seen a foreign life-form before—or so they believed—but they openly gaped as though he had six heads. To be expected, she supposed. To someone unfamiliar with the other races of the galaxy, Damien's appearance could be quite intimidating.

He stood half-again as tall as her, his head nearly brushing the cavern ceiling. Most of his sturdy body was shrouded by his cloak, its deep blue almost appearing black as it rippled with his movements. Black leather pouches hung from either side of his belt, and his fine blue coat was embroidered with silver thread and elegant jewels arranged in the appearance of a tree bearing fruit. But it was Damien's face that garnered the most attention. His skin was pale blue, and dark eyes glistened over his warm smile. Long snowy hair ran halfway down his back. He had the appearance of a battle-hardened warrior with the gentle demeanor of a lamb. "I believe this is yours," he said, raising her coiled whip. He held two sheathed swords in his other hand, which Vultrel was eying. "Who are they?" Damien asked, motioning toward the other prisoners.

"Locals," Kitreena told him, latching her whip to her belt. ". . . And friends. Let them out."

Damien nodded, and the locks on both cells burst in a shower of sparks. Vultrel opened his cell door with obvious caution, no doubt unsure of what to make of Kitreena's companion. "I thought you said we weren't your friends," he grumbled at her. "Truce could kill us, for all you care, right?"

She headed toward the main hall without even looking at him. "An enemy will use any weakness he can to exploit you. I was doing you a favor. Give them their swords, Damien. They're trustworthy."

Vultrel was obviously grateful. He strapped the sheath to his back and drew the weapon to inspect the blade. Eaisan latched his sword to the back of his belt, his eyes shifting from Damien to Kitreena and back again. It was clear that he didn't trust either of them, but he kept whatever reservations he had to himself.

"You'll have to excuse her," Damien's voice was polite. "She can be a bit . . . passionate about her work."

"What . . . are you?" Vultrel finally asked. "You can't be human."

Damien chuckled. "No, I am not. As you have probably assumed by now, we are not of this world. I regret that I cannot tell you much more than that, but please believe that we are not here to harm you or any of the natives of this planet. Kitreena came to prevent Truce's cybernetic implant from becoming a reality, but it seems that plan has failed. Now we must see that it is destroyed, along with any research and documentation that is connected with it. He cannot be allowed to share that technology with anyone, or the consequences may be severe."

"I see you've been doing some investigating of your own," Kitreena said as they gathered near the exit into the main tunnel. "How much do you know, and how much do I need to go over?"

"I know that he has completed his first experiment and that the subject didn't react as he'd hoped. I've heard rumors of a second experiment, but I haven't been able to learn anything else as of yet."

Kitreena peered through the door and surveyed the connecting hallway. Several bodies were scattered across the floor, lying in motionless heaps. The path to the upper levels was clear for the moment. How far that security stretched, however, was difficult to estimate. "We have to return with backup," she told him. "This is no longer a solo operation. If Truce does have a second experiment up and running, it will take more than just us to bring it down."

"I get the feeling you've seen a lot of action around here," Damien noted, ducking through the doorway.

"Is the Refuge here?" she asked, ignoring his comment.

"She's on her way. I came straight from Belvidia, but Commander Naelas stopped off at Outpost Seventy-Six to refuel. I don't know how close he'll be able to get, though. The Armada has returned."

Kitreena swore silently. "Why? What interest could he possibly have in this planet?"

"Is Terranias in danger?" Eaisan spoke up. Kitreena and Damien both glanced at him, then each other.

"There's no need to worry," Damien finally responded. "I apologize. We should not be troubling you with such matters. Come, we must get you two out of here."

The pathway winding to the next level of the Underworld was relatively quiet, the occasional pops from the torches being the lone exception. Kitreena anxiously ran her hand across the handle of her whip. She had no fear of an ambush; she could handle a few of Truce's goons just fine, and Damien could take on more. Her concern was more about who would be leading them. Truthfully, she couldn't explain how or why she was so convinced that Arus was alive, but if he were to jump out of the shadows at them, driven by that cursed implant . . . The thought was enough to make her shiver. I don't want to kill him, but if I have to do it, I will. I must.

Eaisan finally broke the silence as the path leveled, leading toward an intersection in the distance. "May I ask where you come from?" he asked, his wary eyes meeting Damien's.

"A place far from here. A planet called Zo'rhan."

"And her?" He motioned toward Kitreena. "Truce said she was something called a 'Morpher.' What did he mean by it?"

Kitreena shot a look of warning toward Damien. "It's not important."

He frowned for a moment, then shrugged. "There are many things we cannot reveal, I'm afraid."

"What about the Vermillion Mages?" Vultrel spoke up. "You two seem to know a lot about them. Are they from another planet, too?"

"That certainly would explain a lot," Eaisan added. "Is there anything you can tell us about them? Regardless of what happens, the Mages will still be here once you've returned to wherever it is that you're from. If you can tell us anything that will help us fight them, we'd be most grateful."

Kitreena remained silent, leaving it to Damien to decide what to reveal. The dangers of exposing an isolated planet to the rest of the universe were great. Differences in opinion regarding foreign life cut rifts among societies, sometimes leading to irrational actions and needless bloodshed. She remembered when the planet of Kardelia was inadvertently exposed to a being from a distant planet. It sparked a controversy that led to a horrific war years later.

A few scientists had drawn up plans for the planet's first starship, but a large portion of the population rallied against the idea of exploring the galaxy. They feared the unknowns of the universe, feared the dangers of space travel, and feared the foreign races of other planets. Many were convinced that those who traveled the cosmos would return with strange diseases that would plague Kardelia. Even amongst the scientists, there were quarrels about how to proceed. Money was an issue, too, as each fought to claim the right to captain the starship in hopes of riches and fame. Kardelia bubbled like a burning cauldron, and when a band of opposers bombed the facility where the starship was being constructed, civil war erupted.

And it had all started when a lost Orach from the planet of Orachael had crashed on the shores of one of their most populated continents. Needless to say, it was clear that sharing information about the universe with cultures that had yet to find their own way into space was a decidedly bad idea. Kitreena hadn't come to Terranias to start a war, and Damien had only come to rescue her. And while her appearance could pass as human, Damien's presence had completely broken the barrier between Terranias and the stars. How much more could they safely share? Or had they already set events in motion that would irrevocably change the course of the planet's history?

"It is dangerous to share outside information," Damien eventually said. "The less you know, the better off you are."

The three of them held back for a moment while Kitreena peered around the corner of the intersection. "Clear," she said in a soft voice. "Which way?"

"Right," Damien instructed as he passed her. "I'll take the lead."

"This is my mission," she protested. "I am a capable leader, Damien."

"Once word of your escape gets back to Truce, he'll send every one of his men after us. I can retrace the path I took when I arrived and cleared out the guards. It will be safer that way. And faster."

"But I—"

A figure emerged from one of the corridors ahead of them, shaking his head. His shaggy black hair and oversized nose identified him almost instantly. As soon as Kitreena took her first step, she knew she was in for a tongue-lashing from Damien. But that concern was replaced by rage, and she yanked the whip from her belt. "F'Ledro!!" she snarled, cracking her whip. The wiry man looked up in a startled panic, his hand darting for his laser pistol. But at the sight of her, he instead fled down the hallway with Kitreena in pursuit.

"Kitreena!" Damien shouted, chasing after her. "Get back here! Stop!!" Vultrel and Eaisan followed, hands on the hilts of their weapons.

"Face me, F'Ledro! Fight like a true kyrosen!" Kitreena taunted, her knuckles turning white around the leather-wrapped handle of her whip.

F'Ledro drew the pistol and fired blindly over his shoulder, blasting the cavern ceiling with a brilliant crimson streak of energy. "Warriors to battle!" he screamed, his whiny voice tense with fear. "Warriors to battle!!" Laser blasts continued flying over his shoulder, most landing nowhere near his pursuers.

"Kitreena, stop!" Damien called again. "Let him go! We have more important duties to attend to!"

"He won't get away this time!" she yelled back. She had a good idea of how his lecture would go, rambling on about how she barely considered the dangerous weight of her actions. But it would be worth it if she could just finish the job here and now.

F'Ledro tore around a distant corner, screaming his rallying cry the whole way. Vultrel bared his sword, grumbling, "So much for not drawing attention to ourselves," under his breath. Damien continued his protests, insisting that Kitreena halt her pursuit, but she pushed ahead, running as fast as her legs would carry her. Her adrenaline surged as she rounded the corner . . .

. . . and skidded to a stop so abrupt that her feet slipped, bringing her down on her backside.

F'Ledro stood less than twenty paces away accompanied by at least that many soldiers. Many had swords drawn, and those leading the pack had conjured glowing balls of fire in their palms. Shouts rang through the cavern, and fists pierced the air above the crowd. The fear was gone from F'Ledro's face, mocking arrogance in its place. The lanky Mage's gap-toothed grin glistened in the torchlight, and the barrel of his pistol was pointed at her head.

Everything happened so fast. The trigger was pulled, and the piercing shriek of the laser blast echoed, but the shot never reached her. Damien stood between herself and F'Ledro, a shield of magical energy pulsing around him. The laser was absorbed by the barrier. Kitreena scrambled to her feet and backed away, curious if Damien intended to fight the soldiers. His dark gaze met hers as he peered over his shoulder at her. The gentle demeanor had vanished from his face, replaced by the determination of the battle-tested warrior she'd fought alongside for so long. "Run, Kit," he said simply.

"I won't leave you—"

"I'll be fine. Go back to the tunnel that F'Ledro came through. It will lead you out."

F'Ledro continued firing blast after blast from his pistol, pummeling Damien's shield. The other kyrosen had joined in, launching a seemingly endless array of magical attacks. The energy field glistened with each blow, but it held. Vultrel and Eaisan stared in open amazement as they tried to convince her to flee. Kitreena met Damien's eyes again. "You don't mean to fight them alone, do you?" she asked, nervously twitching her whip.

"No, I don't. I'm just going to give you enough time to get away from here. I'll follow shortly." His attention shifted to Eaisan and Vultrel. "Please take care of my daughter."

That drew more uncomfortable stares, but she had no time to deal with it now. "Come on," she growled reluctantly. "Follow me."

The opening from which F'Ledro had emerged led to a long curved path with a sharp upward slope. At the top, the corridor opened into a large cavern, presumably another of the sand snakes' nests. Countless bodies of fallen kyrosen lay scattered across the floor. Damien's work, no doubt. Why Truce and his men hadn't come to inspect the devastation for himself was certainly a wonder, but Kitreena wasn't about to complain. The lone opening on the far side of the cavern led to another corridor, this one sloping upward at an even sharper angle.

"It's cooler here," Vultrel noted as they ran.

Eaisan nodded in agreement. "We're nearing the surface. The exit can't be too far now."

The hall ended at an awkward intersection of paths and caves where the sand snakes had obviously burrowed multiple times in numerous directions. A fork in the tunnel was intersected by another, creating a jumble of paths amongst haphazardly placed columns of dirt. Kitreena took a quick look around and smiled. "I know where we are," she told them. She'd come through the area when she'd entered the Underworld, though she'd used a different corridor. "If I remember right . . ." she paused, trying to recall. They all look the same. But when I came through, the tunnel stretched in two directions to my left. Now they're on the right, which means . . . "There," she decided, pointing to one of the openings in the opposite wall. "That should be—"

The sudden rumble of shouts filtered through the hall behind them. "They're coming!" Vultrel exclaimed.

Kitreena dashed toward the doorway. "Come on!" Damien, please be all right.

The tunnel was straight this time, its incline so steep it may as well have been the side of small mountain. The dirt was rigid and gnarled, marred by a mixture of protruding rocks and empty holes where previous stones had fallen away. Vultrel stumbled several times, and Kitreena had to use her hands to scramble up the hill. But at the top, a radiant glow of light filtered down, a light too pure to have been made by a torch.

Sunlight.

"Is that what I think it is?" Vultrel asked with wide eyes.

Kitreena used it to motivate them. "You won't know unless you climb up there and see for yourself. Move!" Her hands ached, and her knees were bruised, but no amount of pain would stop her now. She scurried up the rocky path with the agility of a cat, glancing behind herself every so often to check on her companions. They were making slower progress than her, but it was progress nonetheless.

"How in blazes did they manage to carry us down here in the first place?" Vultrel muttered.

"The kyrosen have lived here for years," Kitreena responded without looking back. "I'm sure they can cover this path with their eyes closed." Sand mingled with the dirt amongst the rocks, thickening the higher they climbed. It filtered down from the top of the hill like a frozen waterfall, shifting only when Kitreena's fingers sank into it. By the time she pulled herself over the last stone, the dirt had disappeared beneath the thick blanket of sand. It stretched nearly a hundred paces ahead, ending at a round opening of light where the cave ended and the desert began. Behind her, Vultrel and Eaisan had barely passed the halfway point; they seemed determined to traverse the path upright rather than climb across the stones as she had. "Come on!" she urged them.

Without warning, an azure sphere of light burst through the cavern door below and exploded against the base of the hill, shattering stones and sending debris flying. Vultrel fell to his knees and grabbed hold of a large rock to steady himself. Beside him, Eaisan peered down toward the cloud of dust that now obscured the door. The dark form of a towering man dashed into the room, his features hidden by the debris in the air. Eaisan's eyes widened at the sight, and he grabbed onto Vultrel's arm. "Go! Get moving! They're—"

Damien burst through the billowing haze, leaping from stone to stone with a swiftness that belied his muscular form. An army of kyrosen followed close behind, waving swords and launching balls of flame from their palms. Kitreena drew her whip as she watched, inching toward the edge of the hill in anticipation. She expected to hear Damien yelling for her to run, but she was more than reluctant to abandon him to the kyrosen again. On either side of her, Vultrel and Eaisan finally pulled themselves to the top of the hill. Damien leapt from left to right as he scaled the path, dodging the fiery blasts with agility that could only be described as uncanny. When his eyes finally locked with Kitreena's, the expected order to retreat came. "Get out of here, Kitreena! Go!"

She defiantly cracked her whip as she shifted her glare to the kyrosen. "You saved my hide back there," she called, her voice firm and commanding. "I'm prepared to return the favor."

"I appreciate the sentiment," he growled as an azure ball of flame crashed into the wall to his left, narrowly missing his shoulder. "But now is not the time! I'll take care of these guys! Just go!!"

Kitreena grit her teeth in a snarl of anger. Behind her, Vultrel and Eaisan had their swords drawn and ready to support her if needed, but when Damien made a decision, she knew better than to question his judgment despite what her feelings said. She didn't always like it, but feelings had no place on the battlefield. "Come on," she muttered to the two behind her, "we're leaving."

With Eaisan and Vultrel close behind, she raced for the tunnel exit as fast as her legs could carry her. After being trapped underground for so long, the desert air was refreshingly cool against her skin, and the rays of sun pouring into the cave almost blinded her. She dug her heels into the sand just short of the doorway and slid to a halt. Damien was just clearing the top of the hill when she looked back. He shrugged his cloak from his shoulders as he turned his back to her and extended his hand toward the enemy soldiers. Palm outward, he clenched his other hand into a fist and brought it close to his stomach. A blinding teal light enveloped both arms from the elbows down, and his knees bent gradually as he shifted backward. Kitreena's back hit the wall; it was the first she noticed she'd been stepping away. Vultrel and Eaisan were looking at her expectantly, fear and anxiousness evident in their eyes. "Come on!" she motioned for the exit again. "Go!" She stepped behind them as though she meant to follow, but her eyes turned back for one more look.

Damien was screaming now, his hands radiating with an immense amount of energy. Kitreena barely saw one of the Mage's heads pop into view over the peak of the rocky path before Damien threw both arms forward with a deafening roar. The light shot forward in a massive beam of searing light, exploding into the cavern roof above the kyrosen soldiers with unspeakable force. The dirt roof crumbled in an avalanche of dirt and rocks. Come on, Damien. Come on! Run! For a moment, she could still see him as the energy poured from his palms, but then he was obscured by the billowing fog of dust and soil. Finally, Kitreena growled in frustration and escaped into the desert.

The sands of the Mayahol were dotted with large boulders and odd rock formations across the area. The ground was more solid beneath the boot than the rest of the desert, likely due to the kyrosen's constant foot traffic as they came and went. The air felt cool, though in reality it was actually a scorching summer day. After her time spent underground, Kitreena imagined a branding iron would feel like ice to her skin. A gentle breeze blew through her hair as she glanced at the height of the sun. Nearly noonday. But who was to say what day?

Vultrel and Eaisan had run from the boulders and into the open desert like fools, and they frantically waved to her as she rushed from the cave. Her whip still in hand, she headed toward them, if only to yank them out of plain sight and behind one of the larger clusters of stones. "Get over here!" she ordered in a scolding, motherly tone. "Have you both taken leave of your senses!? There are patrols all over this area! You two are easy targets out in the open like this! All it would take is one—"

Apparently, Vultrel had heard enough. "Well, forgive us for being a bit spooked by your friend!" he shouted at her, vigorously pointing his sword toward the cave. He twisted his mouth around the word 'friend' and eyed her as though she was no better than Truce. "You two nearly got us all killed several times back there, and I'm sick and tired of being ordered around by a bossy little girl who—"

Eaisan finally silenced his son with a wave of his hand. "Calm yourself, Vultrel. The young lady and her companion got us out of there, didn't they? Please, show a little bit of gratitude."

Kitreena had already turned back toward the cave. Dirt and smoke poured from the opening now, but her heart leapt as Damien emerged, walking with a confidence that was obviously meant to cover his exhaustion. She knew him too well; such a use of his power had most certainly drained him, but he would try to hide it to keep her from worry. It had rarely worked in the past, and it wasn't working now. "Are you all right?" she asked as he reached them.

He must've seen that he wasn't fooling her, because his words were blunt. "The shielding drained me. But that last technique nearly killed me."

"We've got to get you to Doc Nori," she told him. It came out a bit harder than she'd meant it, but he took her orders when he knew she was right, and this was one of those times.

"Agreed," he nodded, "but not yet. We will first see these two safely from the desert."

*******

The perimeter of the dueling ring was lined with the dejected faces of defeated soldiers, each anxiously awaiting another chance to meet Arus in combat. They were marked by the scars of battle—a narrow slice here, a minor puncture there—but all were eager to return to the ring, each man hoping to be the first to crack the implant's seemingly impenetrable defenses. To Truce's credit, the device performed remarkably well; no man lasted longer than a few minutes before blood was drawn and the next challenger called. Every soldier in the cavern crowded around the ring, each with at least one or two slices on their cheeks or arms.

To say that Arus had been surprised by his newfound abilities would be a drastic understatement, but he frequently reminded himself that it was the implant's skill rather than his own. He watched his sword whirl in techniques he'd never seen Master Eaisan perform, and his defense never faltered. The exercise had been meant to help Truce see flaws in the implant's design and to seek out holes in Arus' combat abilities. But thus far, no such holes had been revealed. The machine was flawless.

And it had turned Arus into the perfect swordsman.

His weapon returned to its sheath as he stepped away from his opponent, a shifty-eyed Mage named Nevin with a rusted sword and an inflated ego. Truce was inspecting the soldier's forearm where Arus' blade had made contact. Nevin insisted the mark was from his previous attempt against the boy, but Arus knew better. So did Truce. "You're out, Nevin," he said, shaking his head. "To the back of the line with you."

The Mage stormed off in a trail of obscenities laced with an occasional threat directed toward Arus. Most of the others had been gracious about their losses, but Nevin was about as mature as a four-year-old child and perhaps half as smart. Muert stepped into the ring for his third round with Arus, signaling that every challenger in the cavern had been defeated twice. Muert had surprised Arus after their first round, bowing in a show of respect after receiving a narrow slice on his chin. Between battles, the soldier had suggested he and Arus train together, forcing Truce to explain that the implant only responded to his own voice. Muert had almost seemed disappointed at that. He'd been a gracious opponent despite his menacing appearance. It was almost surprising that he was one of the Vermillion Mages.

The enormous sword rested across Muert's shoulders as the two locked eyes. Arus' hand moved to the hilt of his weapon, but a shout from the crowd interrupted. The Mages split apart with quiet murmurs, making way for F'Ledro.

"Boss!" he shouted, rushing to Truce's side. "The prisoners have escaped!"

The murmurs grew to a dull roar at that, with many drawing their weapons and rushing for the exit. Truce glanced briefly at Arus. He had to be considering whether the implant was ready for a real combat situation. Muert nodded respectfully to Arus before following the others.

"How did they get free?" Truce demanded of F'Ledro. "Were you taunting the girl again?"

"No! I swear to it!" F'Ledro insisted. "Damien came for them. I counted nearly fifty of our soldiers fallen at his hands. All patrols from level three up!"

Again, Truce looked at Arus, more intently this time. "And where is he now?"

"I saw them heading for the first level. I sent what remaining soldiers I could find, but it couldn't have been more than twenty men."

"Arus, do a scan of the entire Underworld," Sartan ordered. "Find my prisoners."

Despite Arus' inward objections, the circular display in the upper right corner of his vision shifted to the center and grew, the words "Scan in Progress" glowing across the center. When they disappeared, the circle rounded into a full sphere displaying an assortment of white dots within a series of interconnected tubes. Without fully understanding how, Arus knew that he was looking at a map of the Mages' lair and that the glowing dots represented the people within the network of caves. Somehow, the implant had the ability to locate and track other life forms. Incredible.

A section of the map flashed momentarily before enlarging, showing twenty-six—he knew the number without counting; how, he could not say—dots of white slowly scaling a steep incline. "They're in the entrance tunnel," he heard himself say. "There are twenty-two soldiers in pursuit. Estimated time to escape at their current movement speed: four minutes."

Truce's eyes bulged. "We've no time to lose. Come! If they escape, they'll surely return with an army!"

Olock and F'Ledro fell into step behind Sartan as they followed the other Mages into the corridor. Arus unwillingly followed. I don't want to fight my friends! I've got to stop this somehow. What am I going to do!? Please, Master Eaisan, help me!

"Sir," Olock began as they rounded a corner, "I thought you intended for Arus to fight their army. Why not let them bring the Keroko Militia? We could finish them all!"

"I don't like to fight in my own territory," Truce said. "Besides, it's not the Keroko Militia I'm worried about. If Damien returns here with the Aeden Alliance, not only will they bomb the Underworld, but I fear they'd overpower Arus. He may be ready to take on the locals of this wretched planet, but I don't know how comfortable I am pitting him against an intergalactic military power like the Alliance. Not yet, anyway."

Intergalactic military? Wretched planet? They're . . . aliens?! No wonder they have such power! They aren't even human! What in blazes have I gotten myself into?!

The group raced through tunnel after endless tunnel, winding around curves and cutting through caves and dens of varying size while Arus worked over the situation in his mind. The implant had to have some kind of weakness to be exploited. Nothing was perfect, least of all something manmade. The mechanism's hold only seemed to reach as far as his motor functions; his consciousness remained intact and uncontrolled. Perhaps there was some way to use that to his advantage. Personal will could be a very powerful thing—Anton proved that—but the implant had thus far ignored Arus' resistance. What could he possibly do to disrupt the bloody thing's hold? Little was known of machines in Keroko beyond the fact that they'd been forbidden. Who besides Truce would be able to reverse the mechanism's instructions?

A chill ran through him as a different thought emerged. What if my condition isn't reversible?

The group fell silent as they entered one of the larger dens where bloody and charred remains of countless Mages lay scattered across the floor. A skilled magic user had obviously bested them, though it frightened Arus to think that such a man was helping his friends escape. Truce muttered something unintelligible and moved on. It almost sounded like a prayer.

The implant's sensor grid flashed briefly, noting that three of the four escapees had made it to the surface. The last was holding back a bit near the top of a sharp incline that led back to the desert. Truce drew his blade as they entered an intersection of tangled forks, shouting praises to his people. The men rushed toward battle with a lust for blood; a stark contrast to Arus' own feelings. Still, his body moved with the swiftness of an assassin preparing to strike, sword in hand, boots barely touching the dirt between steps. Flashes of light and deafening explosions boomed on the other side of one of the doorways ahead. I hope they're all right.

"Make way!" he heard himself shout. A divide formed amidst the crowd, giving room enough for Arus to cut through. He'd barely reached the base of the rocky slope when his sensor grid flashed in conjunction with a repeating beep from the implant. The display enlarged to highlight the final escapee, still near the top of the incline. Scrolling text read, "Hazardous Energy Buildup Detected." He stared momentarily at the army of Mages scaling the hill before shouting, "Fall back! Warriors ret—"

A brilliant explosion of blue and red detonated overhead, blowing a portion of the ceiling apart with a deafening blast. Arus dashed back the way he'd come, flanked by Mages on either side. They fled through the door one by one as debris fell, crushing countless men beneath an avalanche of dirt and rock. On the other side, men continued to flee along connecting paths while others tended the wounded. When the last stone had finally settled, desperate cries for help could be heard from beneath the rubble.

Arus found Sartan and Olock near two of the injured soldiers and rushed to his new Master's side like a faithful lapdog. F'Ledro was not far from them. Relief was evident in Truce's face when he looked up. "Arus, scan the rubble for survivors. I need to know how many are trapped in there."

The implant performed a quick sweep of the tunnel, showing a total of forty-seven life signs within. Many of them were faint. The final prisoner had also escaped, it seemed. The report didn't do much for Truce's spirits; he immediately started barking out orders to the surviving Mages. "I want as many of the medical staff members as we can find brought up here immediately! Trest, Bredaan, gather what tools you can from the labs and get them up here. Those of you who are injured should get to the infirmary and see that your wounds are treated. The rest will help Arus clear away debris. We have to recover as many survivors as we can! Move, people!"

While the others scattered in either direction, Arus returned to the mountain of dirt that had poured through the door. His vision shifted, and the red cross of a targeting scope appeared in the center. Several additional gauges glowed near the bottom, showing laser intensity, angle, and width. Laser? What's a laser? The gauges filled with a maroon color just before a brilliant beam of red light burst from his mechanical eye and exploded into the dirt, incinerating the debris and clearing an arm's width swath through the doorway. What in the name of the Maker was that? A rapid succession of blasts created a path large enough for him to step into the archway. A wall of boulders and soil blocked the opposite side.

"That's it, Arus," Truce's voice came from behind. "Hurry! And be careful not to hurt anyone in there!"

A strangled grunt came from the rubble. A soldier's muffled call for help. More followed, some more distant than others, each echoing the first as they clung to life. They're suffocating in there . . . Those that haven't been crushed already.

So what? They're Vermillion Mages, remember? They killed your father. They've converted you into an emotionless slave. They've killed countless Asterians! They should all—

NO! Father did not teach me to be some sort of blind vigilante! Master Eaisan would never stand back and allow the helpless to suffer. These men have many crimes to answer for, but they do not, do not, DO NOT deserve to be left for dead!

Though he knew the metallic hand was moving on its own, he was almost happy to see it crash into the boulders. His ears rang with each violent crack as he pounded away at the rocks. The nearest survivor was too close for him to consider using the laser again—he wasn't sure how he knew that—but the inhuman strength of his artificial limb was more than up to the task. Chucks of stone shattered away with each strike, and Arus' other hand clawed at the soil caked between them. Crumbled bits of land accumulated at his feet as he tunneled through the debris, and his arms hurt—the mechanical arm actually hurt—from the constant exertion. Red smears streaked across the dirt as his now bloody fingers continued digging and scraping. Though it startled him, his body barely reacted when a massive fist burst from the rubble, causing a slight avalanche of new soil and rocks. Arus grabbed hold of the soldier's wrist and tugged with seemingly endless might. Truce and Olock were at his side, fists locked around their fellow Mage's, struggling to pull him free. When Muert's bloody face emerged from the soil, relief swept over Arus. He was injured, but the massive soldier was smiling at his comrades. With one final grunt, they yanked him free.

"There are many more inside," Muert said, pushing to his knees. A jagged gash split his scalp, and his pants were matted to his legs in several areas where blood soaked through. His grin was deceiving; there was a vacant look about his eyes.

"We are aware." Truce put a hand on Muert's shoulder to keep him from rising. "Stay down. Medical attention is on the way."

"Is anything broken?" Olock asked as he eyed Muert's bloody cuts and bruises.

The implant initiated a scan of the soldier, overlaying his body with a projected display of his massive skeletal structure. After a few moments, the image of Muert's right leg enlarged, highlighting a partial fracture. "Fracture," Arus heard himself say. "Right tibia."

"You there!" Sartan shouted to one of the nearby Mages. "Get a splint on the double! Move!"

Muert's fist wrapped around Arus' arm. "You have given me another chance to see my wife." His gruff voice was about as soft as the sands of the Mayahol. "My little girl is eight years old. I thought I'd never get to see her again. Kyrosen or not, you are noble, young warrior."

Compassion began to well up despite Arus' emotionless stare. The day Dayne Sheeth returned from the Vermillion War had brought both great joy and terrible despair. Though his father had survived the battle, he died shortly after his return. Arus wished he could tell Muert to cherish his time with his family because life-altering events could happen in the blink of an eye.

Sartan and Olock helped Muert to the side of the tunnel as the medics arrived with a variety of supplies. The implant's laser systems reactivated, and Arus returned to the pile of rubble. Life signs were disappearing from the sensor readout at an alarming rate. Judging by the time it took to free Muert, he'd be able to save less than a quarter before it was too late. Still, he would continue until every body was unearthed. Even though Truce controlled the implant, and thus, controlled Arus, there was little doubt that it was the right thing to do. It was a slight comfort to be able to see his body doing what he wanted in some form, but he knew it wouldn't last. Truce would have him carrying out despicable orders in no time, and Arus had no idea what he would do then. If I ever get control of myself, I swear I'll never seek vengeance again.

Chapter 1-7

The sun was well below the trees by the time the Keroko Militia had gathered the appropriate supplies needed for the journey north. Though he knew it to be the wiser choice, Vultrel disagreed with his father's decision to ride to Cathymel rather than attempt to rescue Arus. The king needed to be warned of the Vermillion Mages' resurgence, but if the militia marched for the desert immediately, Truce and his lackeys could be eliminated before they had a chance to organize an attack. The damage that Damien had inflicted upon the Mages' underground lair would have them digging out for weeks. What better way to force their surrender than to have an army of soldiers waiting on the other side?

Then again, the resilience of Truce and his men had been underestimated before. Kitreena and Damien had warned them about that before leaving. With the type of power Sartan wielded and the still unexplored potential of the implant, it was conceivable that the damage caused during their escape could be repaired faster than expected. What if the Keroko Militia marched into the desert while an army of Vermillion Mages, led by Arus and that bloody implant, marched for Castle Asteria? The possibility sent a shiver down Vultrel's spine.

Trader's Square was packed with villagers, most of them friends or family of militiamen. Repair work had begun on the buildings that had been damaged during the Mages' attack. Scaffolding lined the sides of several shops where charred thatch and wood was being removed and replaced. And though the majority of the battle had taken place within the square, some of the homes leading toward the shelter were also marred by blackened ash. Vultrel hoped the sight wasn't a sign of things to come.

Eaisan had erected a long tent near Ben Mantes' shop where Keroko's various merchants had donated an assortment of weapons, armor, food, and other supplies for the journey. Soldiers packed the tent from end to end, donning leather jerkins covered with steel plates, bell-shaped helmets and iron-backed gauntlets. Some strapped swords to their belts or backs while others hefted curved spears and heavy axes. To the left of the tent, horses from the militia's stables had been tethered with more being brought as villagers donated.

For Vultrel, it was all very surreal. He vaguely remembered similar events before his father and Dayne Sheeth had left for the war. It rattled his nerves a bit to be included in this particular outing, though in truth he hadn't actually told his father of his intentions. Neither he nor his mother would allow their son to join the militia at his age, that much was certain, but for Vultrel, Arus was just as much his best friend as Dayne was to Eaisan. And just as Eaisan would never have abandoned Dayne in a moment of need, Vultrel was not about to leave Arus to the wolves.

He'd already set aside a smaller leather jerkin, plated with wide steel bars across the chest, and a pair of riding boots. There was a spare helmet near the end of one of the tables that he'd been eying, but his father was standing not three paces away giving orders to several soldiers, and he didn't want to draw unwanted questions. If he could somehow get a hold of that helmet, he'd easily be able to blend into the rest of the militia once they rode. If he could find a horse of his own, of course.

When the first stars appeared, Eaisan climbed onto a supply box to address the crowd. Vultrel snatched up the helmet and headed for the alley beside the cobbler's shop where he'd stashed the other pieces he'd chosen. He emerged minutes later, slipping the domed helmet over his head so that only his eyes were visible. The crowd's attention was on his father, allowing Vultrel to blend in with the surrounding militiamen.

"From the Narleahan Outpost in the Lamonde Plains, we shall make for Castle Asteria," Eaisan was saying. "The journey will take approximately four days, barring any unforeseen developments, but I assure you that we will travel for as long as it takes, wherever our king may order us, until we have ensured Keroko's safety and security."

Veran Lurei was no doubt wondering where her son had gone. The note Vultrel had left on her pillow at home would explain everything, but he forced himself to push away thoughts of the tears that would fall when she found it. She would be hurt and frightened, but no one was going to make Vultrel just sit home and wait for news of Arus' death. If he didn't at least do something to help, he'd regret it for the rest of his life. The young man was his brother in every way apart from blood, and Vultrel knew that Arus would do the same for him.

"Never too small to be a soldier, eh?" Mathin Bere chuckled as gave Vultrel a passing pat on the shoulder. The old carpenter couldn't have identified him through that helmet; the comment was a general observation rather than a personal jab at his size. His words rang true, however. Vultrel was considered tall for his age, but he still stood a good deal shorter than the rest of the bulky militiamen. It was going to take some work to blend into the crowd.

Eaisan was barking out more orders. His usual attire had been replaced by a new steel cuirass and shining greaves, gilded along the edges to show his rank. His helmet and gauntlets lay in the grass beside his perch. "We'll ride north for an hour or so, then shift eastward. We will not make camp until I feel we've covered enough ground. At first light, we continue. Now, it has come to my attention that we do not have an adequate number of horses to accommodate for the amount of soldiers I've ordered. Those who do not have mounts will have to share with those who do. Any such soldier will be on lookout duty and shall be armed with a bow. I realize it's been a long time since we've seen any significant activity from the Mages, but I promise you, they are more dangerous now than ever before. As I said, they may already be on their way to the castle. Stay on guard, and remember we also have the usual dangers of the wild of which to be aware."

There were over four dozen horses lined along the side of the tent. The militia's numbers totaled in the seventies, leaving many without mounts. It was going to be difficult for Vultrel to secure a ride of his own, but as a watchman he'd be able to ride unnoticed in the shadow of another. It was the best option available to avoid the sharp eyes of his father.

"Saddle up, men! We ride!"

The militia threw up their arms with a boisterous cheer as Eaisan climbed down from the supply crate. Chaos ensued as the crowd scattered in a hurry, mounting horses and snatching up last-minute supplies. Weaving amongst the other soldiers still bustling about the tent, Vultrel came upon a long wooden stand lined with sturdy Keroko-made bows. Most were in fair condition, carved with precision and freshly polished. Leather quivers filled with steel-tipped arrows were lined up beneath them, each embroidered with elaborate designs in gold and white. Arthur Penning, the fletcher, hobbled over with a noticeable limp—he'd taken an arrow in his left knee during the war, an injury that never fully healed—as Vultrel lifted one of the bows to inspect it.

"That's a fine selection, lad." He carried a handful of arrowheads with him. "It'll do you well in a scrum."

"Do you have any spare strings for it?" The weapon was solid, a good weight with a fine curve.

Arthur nodded and went back to his desk. Vultrel had always been picky about the bows he used when hunting, and given that this one would serve to defend others as well as himself, it was important that he select just the right one. He found it easier to hold a bow steady when it had some weight to it, and the leather wrappings around the center were smooth and clean, providing for a firm grip. The fletcher insisted on stringing the bow for him—as if he was some sort of inexperienced rookie—and Vultrel tested the tension.

"That's a good choice, soldier."

Vultrel grimaced. Of all the bloody luck! Surely only the hand of the Maker himself would save him now. Eaisan's stern glower met him when he turned, and though all but his eyes were hidden by the helmet, his father's expression was like a roll of thunder before a frightful hurricane. He forced himself to relax his muscles and opened his mouth to apologize.

"Take good care of it," Eaisan said. "The lives of your comrades depend on it."

He knew. He had to know. That look in his eyes. There was no mistaking it. Vultrel had seen that look aimed in his direction every time he even thought about breaking his father's rules. Eaisan knew it was his son under that helmet, yet he said nothing. He just stared quietly—angry or disappointed, Vultrel couldn't tell which—silent as Keroko Lake at dawn. He knew. Didn't he?

"Grab a quiver and saddle up, soldier. We're moving out."

Vultrel managed a salute, and Eaisan headed toward the horses. Had it all been paranoia? Eaisan wouldn't knowingly allow him to come along. It must have been Vultrel's imagination. It must have been. Generals needed to be firm with their soldiers. That's all that had happened. Eaisan thought he was just another soldier in need of guidance.

It took no time at all to find a soldier to partner up with; most men were anxious to have another set of eyes guarding their back. Raye Toffel was an energetic man, his bright green eyes sparkling under his bell-shaped helmet and a belly that spoke of a few too many drinks at the pub. His horse was a shaggy mare called Pepper, named for its black speckles. Raye was checking the saddle when Vultrel had timidly approached. He was quick to accept the suggestion of a partnership. "Sure, I'd be glad to have you ride with me. What's your name?"

Vultrel froze. It would take no time at all for someone to alert Eaisan if he gave his real name, but he hadn't yet come up with an alias. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he uttered, "Marc Cohen." Raye didn't seem to notice the hesitation.

"Welcome aboard, Marc!" He patted Vultrel's shoulder before turning back to his steed. "How long have you been a member of the militia? Your name doesn't sound too familiar."

Careful words were required here. "I've worked with the night watch, mostly." That included a number of posts across the village. "Patrolling for thieves, keeping the wolves out. That kind of thing."

"Really?" Raye glanced back at him before climbing into Pepper's saddle. "What segment? I have northwest duties until daybreak. Well, except when things like this come up."

He'd made Vultrel's bluff easy. "I patrol east-central. First shift."

"Eastern edge, huh?" Raye extended his hand to help Vultrel into the saddle behind him. "That's gotta be rough. I wouldn't want to be that close to the desert so late at night."

If only he knew just how much experience Vultrel already had with the desert. "It's not so bad. It's usually pretty quiet."

"Were you on duty during the Festival of Souls?" Raye led Pepper into a line of riders already headed toward the north gate.

"Unfortunately, no," Vultrel sighed for effect. "Wish I had been, though."

"Bah," Raye snorted. "Don't be hard on yourself for it. We'll have our chance to settle the score with those bloody goons."

"Well, we may—"

Eaisan's voice boomed over the militia, though he was nowhere to be seen. "As soon as we're out of the village, I want Eagle Formations to the east and west and Pride of the Lion in the center. Any soldier still without a mount had better team up with a rider now. We're moving out!"

Vultrel was glad he didn't find a horse of his own, given those instructions. Obviously, the rest of the militia knew how to interpret those formation orders, but he wouldn't have had the first clue of what to do. There seemed to be no shortage of details he hadn't considered when planning this ruse. He could only dodge just so many punches before the knockout blow would inevitably strike. Just stay alive, Arus. We're coming for you.

*******

"Get to the point, Doctor. Can it be done?"

"Not without killing the patient, Admiral."

Kindel's temper flared as he turned away from the viewport, fists and jaw clenched. The wiry Doctor Barrine stood just out of arm's reach, an almost arrogant stare plastered across his gaunt face. A human from the planet Mel'dathia, Tundrus Barrine had served the Armada since Kindel had liberated his people from their own oppressive leadership. Doctors had been hard to come by in those days before Thorus had really established his army as one of the dominant forces in the galaxy. Surgeons were even rarer. But now, Barrine had an entire staff of doctors beneath him, and the wealth of medical knowledge and experience that came with them.

"I don't care if it kills the patient as long as that doesn't affect the outcome," Kindel growled, more harshly than he'd intended. After clearing his throat, he continued in a softer tone. "The life of the girl means little to me, but the life of the stone must be preserved."

"The baharinda will remain intact, Sir." Head held high, Barrine's silvery hair was smoothed back neatly, creating an almost noble air about him. Dark eyes glistened above his sunken cheeks where wrinkles had long since formed. Despite his age, he filled his uniform nicely, and performed his duties just as well.

"This outrage will not go unanswered! Do you hear me? Your hearts will be riddled with arrows when my people come for me!"

Kindel's gaze shifted to the long table behind Barrine where eight other doctors in white coats and masks prepared observation tools and studied assorted documents. Most had been excited to be included in this procedure, though none were at all familiar with the biological mechanics of a Belvid. Shining steel countertops lined the tops of cabinets along the walls on either side of the table. Various tools were laid out, mingled with documents and reports they'd managed to dig up regarding the Belvids and the baharinda. On the table, held by restraints around her neck, wrists, and ankles, one of Lady Almatha's assistants struggled to break free. Mia, her name was. A blue-skinned beauty of considerable height, her blond hair was partially threaded through the neck restraint where her squirming had yet to loosen it. But if there was any fear behind those sparkling green eyes, she never let it show. While she'd been silent in the presence of Almatha, now her mouth never seemed to run out of words. Threats, usually.

Scimitar and Kalibur stood with arms crossed on either side of the door, their casual demeanor casting a deceptive impression of their ability to strike at a moment's notice. Days of interrogation, research, and negotiation yielded little cooperation from the Belvidian prisoners, let alone information. Lieutenant Petreit had attempted to convey Kindel's intentions in the kindest light, but Almatha would accept nothing less than an immediate return to her planet. And though Kindel didn't like to interfere with innocent societies, casualties were inevitable. It was important to keep the greater good in sight and blast through whatever blockades stood in the way. Once it became clear that there could be no cooperation, Kindel ordered the nine senior members of the medical staff to conduct an observational study of the baharinda up close to determine if it could be extracted unharmed.

Thorus shook his head at the Belvid and returned his attention to Barrine. "Listen to me, Doctor. I need to find a way to harness the reproductive qualities of the baharinda so that I may reproduce another stone of mine. It is absolutely vital that it remain unharmed and unaltered."

"As with most other organs of the body, we can keep it alive for a period of time after extraction," Barrine said, "but it will not last forever. In addition, I've never heard of what you suggest being done before. Living organisms can only reproduce living organisms. I don't see how living tissue cells could be engineered to reproduce an inanimate object. That's not to say it cannot be done, but it will take a great deal of studying of both the baharinda and the stone you wish to reproduce."

"No!" Kindel's eyes narrowed. "I'll not let it out of my hands."

Barrine's surprise was evident in his face, though it was quickly replaced by unease. "Sir, it will be difficult to determine a method of reproduction without being able to study the stone you want to copy."

"I will provide you with a detailed scan of it, complete with molecular analysis. But the stone shall not leave my hands."

"But Sir, it will—"

"That is what I will give you, Doctor, and you will make do with what you have. I will listen to no more arguments." Kindel's already thin patience was beginning to crack. "Now, conduct your studies so that I may return our prisoner to her cell."

Barrine said nothing, rotating on his heels and returning to the computer terminal beside the observation table. Kindel returned his attention to the viewport and the tiny grey speck near the far left edge of the planet. The Refuge had arrived shortly after the Armada had returned to Terranias, yet the expected threats and demands for Lady Almatha's freedom hadn't come. Kindel couldn't imagine what could have Aldoric's attention so strongly that he would neglect the Belvids, but it made Thorus uncomfortable. If the abduction of the highest ranking member of a quarantined society wasn't enough to keep the Aeden Alliance's attention, then something much bigger had to be happening. And considering Kindel's own reasons for returning to the planet, there was only one conclusion he could reach.

The kyrosen.

Kindel was fairly certain that Sartan Truce was unaware that his whereabouts had been discovered. It had been years since he had tracked the remnants of Truce's gang to Terranias, but investigations had led him to stumble across the story of the lephadorite, and his quest to find the stone had pushed Truce and the kyrosen to the background. If Truce had regained enough power to attract the attention of the Aeden Alliance, he would have to be squashed quickly. But when? There was no time for Kindel to launch an assault now, not with all his attention on the lephadorite. "Scimitar? Kalibur?" The two were at his side in an instant, their feet barely making a sound. "I want you to head to the surface." He nodded toward the Refuge. "Find out what has attracted their attention. Do not engage in combat or take any prisoners, just gather information and report back to me."

"Thy will be done, Master," Kalibur's rasped.

The sight of his brother's starship floating so casually close to his own made Kindel's blood boil. I know you've come for me, Aldoric. Why do you now act as though I don't exist? While common sense told Kindel not to be eager for a confrontation, his zo'rhan instincts for battle called to him. Aldoric continued to insult the Thorus name by hiding behind the Aeden thugs like a coward. The zo'rhan do not run from a challenge, brother. When my work is compete, you will join me on the battlefield, or I shall bring the battlefield to you.

The ships intercom came to life as a frantic voice announced, "Emergency alert! Security breach on deck fourteen! Several prisoners have escaped! I repeat, several prisoners have escaped!"

Kindel made for the door, his heavy boots clopping across the floor. Barrine's voice stopped him.

"Sir? What about this—"

"I leave this Belvid in your custody for the time being, Doctor." Thorus didn't look back. "If she causes an incident, I'll have not only your head, but the rest of your team's as well."

The door slid shut behind him amid Barrine's protests. He hurried down the corridor toward the lift while the intercom repeated the emergency message. Faint laser fire rumbled, accompanied by shouted orders. There were few other captives being held in the prison cells besides the Belvids, though he couldn't imagine how any might have broken free. Regardless, it seemed as though someone had not only broken free, but armed themselves as well. As he pressed the call button on the lift, he activated his communicator. "This is Admiral Thorus calling all frequencies. I want deck fourteen locked down and the escaped prisoners apprehended. Alive, if possible. Is that understood?" A slew of responses came back as each of the crew members assigned to deck fourteen acknowledged the orders. "I'm on my way."

When the lift finally arrived, Thorus was whisked to deck fourteen. A message appeared on the control panel indicating that the floor had been locked down. Kindel's authorization code released the lock and the doors slid open in the middle of a raging firefight. Using a technique taught by his father, Kindel manipulated the energy within his body outward, forming spherical barrier around his body as he stepped into the hallway. Each laser was harmlessly absorbed into the shield while he surveyed the battling factions.

To his left, the grey-uniformed soldiers of the Vezulian Armada had gathered at an arch in the hall, some leaning around the curve to fire their pistols while others used doorways for cover. On the opposite side, Lady Almatha and her other servant were accompanied by a grungy, well-proportioned man with a square face and a thick brown beard. Regal Bune, if Kindel remembered correctly. The man was a Deltorian Pirate, apprehended by Kalibur a few months earlier at a refueling station near the planet Deltor. He'd been caught trying to stowaway in the cargo compartments of the Black Eagle, no doubt hoping to find something valuable to take off Kindel's hands. Now, the scruffy pirate had somehow managed to escape and arm himself, along with the Belvids, and they returned fire on the Vezulian soldiers using the Armada's own laser pistols. How did they acquire weapons?

Kindel's appearance startled the prisoners; the Belvids nearly dropped their pistols. Regal's eyes widened, and he aimed at Kindel's head. The blast was absorbed by the energy shield, but the attempt triggered a violent flurry of laser fire from Kindel's troops. "Vezulian soldiers, hold your fire!" The crimson shower of lasers ceased abruptly. Fear and disappointment flashed on the faces of Lady Almatha and her assistant, their feet taking timid steps backward as Kindel approached. Regal shuffled backward as well, the barrel of his weapon still aimed at Kindel's face.

"We can work this out," he said, a quiver in his voice. "We can cut a deal that leaves everyone happy, can't we?"

"This is my ship." Kindel's voice was calm, though his eyes were thin slits of blue. "You are in no position to bargain."

Sweat ran from Regal's brown hair and dripped down his face as he considered his options. He took a quick glance toward the Belvids before choosing Almatha as his new target. "I heard the message you gave over the intercom." He trembled with fear in spite of his size. "You want us alive. If you don't guarantee my safety, I'll kill them both right now." The threat brought looks of shock and disgust from the Belvids.

Kindel bared his teeth. "You'll do no such thing."

Blue light surrounded Kindel's fist, and a beam of energy launched toward Regal's chest. The pirate pulled the trigger just as the attack threw him against the wall. With an angry growl, Thorus released his energy shield and turned toward his Belvid prisoners.

Lady Almatha was on her knees, cradling her servant's lifeless body. A tendril of smoke rose from the Belvid's laser wound. Almatha nuzzled her forehead against her assistant and whispered something unintelligible before turning her eyes to Kindel. "If not for you, she would live. She will return to nature prematurely, and your heartlessness will be rewarded with suffering, Kindel Thorus."

Regal groaned, clutching his chest against the opposite tunnel wall. "I was going to split the profits of the fairy's rock with you," he mumbled.

Kindel's face hardened further. He pressed his fingertips along Regal's forehead and temples on either side. "No, my friend, I believe that I shall keep the rewards for myself." Brilliant bars of energy shot from each finger, riddling Regal's skull with a series of white-hot beams. Death was instantaneous.

The Vezulian troops approached with caution. "Get to the infirmary and secure the other Belvid," Thorus ordered. "See that she is returned to her cell safely. And tell Doctor Barrine and the others to get down here on the double."

The foremost soldier saluted. "Yes, Sir!"

"And dispose of this," he added, kicking Regal's ribs.

"Right away, Sir!"

As they departed, Thorus returned his attention to Almatha. She trembled visibly, clutching her servant so tightly that her nails nearly broke skin. Kindel dropped to a knee beside her, trying to soften his appearance. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. "I realize you don't understand my motives. But the loss of her life will help to save countless others. The gain is worth the loss in the end, I assure you."

"Lives can be saved through peace, Kindel Thorus," Almatha said in a near-whisper. Tears rolled down her face as she cradled her assistant. "You destroy that which you claim to protect."

"I agree that peaceful means would be more prudent, my Lady," Thorus said with a nod, "yet the rest of the universe does not. Peace prospers only when both sides agree to work together. No matter how much anyone tries to avoid conflict, it will always be there. And when it comes, they must either fight or be destroyed."

"I'd rather die for peace than live by murder."

"You may yet have that chance," Kindel responded. Her eyes shot up at the statement. "I fear your seclusion on your homeworld has blinded you to the reality of things."

"If peace works on Belvidia, it can work everywhere." She was defiant in spite of her wide-eyed stare.

"Can it?" Thorus returned to his feet and turned away from her. "Have you ever heard of the Ma'tuul, Lady Almatha? They were a highly intelligent race of vicious warriors that gained knowledge and power by conquering other worlds. They had no use for the planets they destroyed, no interest in natural resources or new settlements. They simply wanted to defeat, destroy, and move on. They grew stronger and more dangerous with each planet they left in ruins and absorbed each society's technology and wisdom after every victory. Their goal? To be the most superior force in the universe."

"I've never heard of such beings," Almatha grunted, refusing to look at him. She kept her eyes closed and her forehead against her assistant's.

"You wouldn't have," Thorus laughed. "They were exterminated a long time ago . . . by the Vezulian Armada."

"I suppose you are quite proud of yourself, then."

Kindel grit his teeth and squatted beside her. "They targeted Zo'rhan, my homeworld, when I was just a boy." Memories of those days always heated his blood. "We are warriors, we always have been, but they had might and technology on their side. Some were as large as four times our own size with strength to lift a hundred men in one arm. They were larger, stronger, smarter, and always a step ahead of us. When we planned ambushes, they were waiting for us. When we drew swords, they launched missiles. They ravaged our cities and looted our technology. Before we knew it, they were using our own weapons against us, integrating them into their own artillery. They killed over three hundred-million zo'rhan during their invasion—nearly ninety percent of our population."

"Is that what turned you into the heartless conqueror that you are?"

Thorus balled his fists; it was all he could do to keep from slapping the teeth out of her mouth. "Don't you ever call us conquerors. We liberate others from their prison of fear by destroying those who seek to cause war. We are peacemakers, not warmongers. What would you have had us do? Should we have stood there while the Ma'tuul unleashed an unprovoked attack on our planet? The universe is not as friendly as you imagine it, I'm afraid."

Lady Almatha met his angry gaze levelly. "I am truly sympathetic for what your people experienced, but it does not justify your interference with Belvidia. It does not bring Shien back!" She sobbed as she hugged her servant closer still.

"Prevention of further catastrophes like the breaking of Zo'rhan justifies my interference. The sacrifice of your lives will, in the long run, have little effect on your society as a whole, but the fruit of my work will help protect civilizations for generations to come." Standing, he turned his back. "You just don't get it, do you? We had to abandon our homeworld to the Ma'tuul. My parents were brutally murdered and eaten—eaten!—right in front of me! Savages like that cannot be reasoned with. The only thing we could do was escape, regroup, and return with an army big enough to wipe out every last one of them. War cannot be avoided, and the true warrior is always conscious of the threat, always prepared to do whatever is necessary to survive."

Her voice cracked as her anger boiled over. "Even when it ends the lives of others? You murder and destroy as though it a small price to pay, but all you seek is to make yourself the strongest being there ever was! You hunger for power and will trample over anyone to attain it! Listen to yourself speak! All you want is to kill every other living thing in this universe before it has a chance to kill you!"

"I cannot allow compassion to stand in the way of the greater good!" he shot back. "Power is a necessity in life. There are too many threats out there to have the luxury of apathy that your race covets. Perhaps if your world wasn't cut off from the rest of the universe, you'd appreciate the values and ideals of the Vezulian Armada a bit more."

The smooth sound of the lift door drifted down the hall, and moments later a detachment of soldiers entered alongside a bound and shackled Mia. Doctor Barrine rushed ahead, his eyes fixed on the woman in Almatha's arms. Kindel forced her to release the servant and yanked her to her feet. "Though you may not live to see it, the universe will enjoy peace and prosperity once the Armada eliminates all civilizations deemed dangerous. Every planet will sing praises to me for liberating them from fear's hand of stone."

Almatha muttered words clearly not meant for his ears. "I see little difference between you and the Ma'tuul."

As the soldiers filed through the hall with Mia, several grabbed Almatha and wrapped shackles around her wrists and ankles. She shot him one more glare before allowing herself to be led away. Perhaps if she'd been forced to watch a giant tear her mother's head from her body before feasting upon it, she'd see things differently. How dare she?

"Admiral," Barrine's voice tore him from his anger, "I may be able to save the baharinda if we work quickly, but I'll need that paperwork on the stone you wish to duplicate right away if I'm going to even attempt a cloning." With no time to wait for a flatbed, the other doctors, still in their white coats, lifted the dead Belvid for transportation to the infirmary. They shuffled down the hall toward the lift while Barrine looked at him expectantly.

Thorus directed one last glare toward Almatha's back. "You'll have it shortly, Doctor. I shall meet you in the infirmary."

*******

The night sky was black by the time the militia came to the clearing where Eaisan elected to make camp. Tents were raised in little time, and cooking pots steamed over campfires shortly thereafter. They managed to arrive without incident; there had been no attacks by wild animals and no encounters with the Vermillion Mages. Still, Vultrel's white-knuckle grip on the bow's handle had yet to loosen a hair, and his heart pounded through the jerkin. He'd gone camping with Arus numerous times, but never in an area that required a military patrol. The fear of an ambush—Vermillion Mages or otherwise—had reduced him to a jittering fright, and it made him sick to his stomach. At home he'd been brave. Arus looked up to him, his father was proud, and the girls wanted to kiss him. But if any of them saw him in this condition . . . Where is the bravery I had when we were trapped under the desert?

To be fair, his fear was based largely on the expectation that his father would discover him and send him home alone in the night. And under the Mayahol, Eaisan had been by his side protecting him from danger. Here, he was a soldier as far as anyone else knew, and he'd be expected to defend himself when the time came. What would happen if he were cornered by a group of Mages? Mauled by bears? Hunted by wolves? What have I gotten myself into?

"Relax, Marc," Raye's hand thumped his shoulder. "You act as though you've never spent a night in the wild before." He laughed as though he'd made some fantastic joke.

Vultrel's voice squeaked when he spoke. "Just anxious to get to the castle, that's all."

"Well, we won't be going any further tonight, so you may as well have a seat and take a breather."

Their tent was located on the east edge of the clearing where the trail to Narleaha disappeared into the night. A small fire warmed their cooking pot just outside the tent where logs had been hauled in for seating. They were a good distance away from where his father settled—luck had been on his side—and the numerous tents between them gave a good amount of cover. A little more luck, and he'd be able to get through another day's travel without being discovered. By then, they'd be too far away from Keroko for Eaisan to send him home alone. Hopefully.

His breath caught when Raye spoke the words he'd feared. "Take your helmet off, lad," he prodded, removing his own with a grunt. His yellow hair curled so tightly that it looked like giant kernels of corn haphazardly lined across his scalp. "Enjoy the relaxation while we can get it."

He couldn't hesitate—that would raise any soldier's suspicions—but his eyes searched the nearby camps for familiar faces. Please don't let anyone recognize me! The helmet slid from his sweat-slicked hair easily; it had been made for an adult, after all. Raye gasped when his eyes fell upon Vultrel's face for the first time, bringing the young man's heart to a stop. Why is he looking at me like that? Does he know who I am? I never should've done this! What was I thinking?

All Raye said was, "Boy, they're recruiting younger guys every year! You can't be a day past sixteen!"

People had always said he looked older, and he knew he had to use every bit of luck he had. "Yeah, I wanted to join last year but Captain Eaisan wouldn't allow it. Said I still had youth to enjoy and that I shouldn't be so eager to throw it away."

Raye nodded as he sat on one of the logs beside the fire. "Aye, ain't that the truth." His armor, similar to Vultrel's, glinted in the light of the flames. "Don't take but a single arrow or a well-placed bear's claw to finish you off."

That was the least of their troubles. "I just wanted to be able to help out," he said with a sigh, seating himself opposite the soldier. "I know Arus. I want to help save him, if we can."

A puzzled look crossed Raye's face for a moment. "Arus? Oh! That boy that the Captain says the Mages hauled off, right?" Vultrel only nodded, staring into the fire. "That's a shame, if it's true. Those bloody Vermillions have gotten away with too much in the past. But don't you worry. Once His Majesty hears what those rats have been up to, why, he'll send so many lances to the desert that there won't be a Mage left when it's all over! He'll set things right. He always does."

"Don't underestimate the Vermillion Mages, Raye." Vultrel's face had hardened. "They're no pushovers."

Raye spread his hands. "Oh, I didn't mean it like that. I just like to keep hope alive, you know? It's good for morale. Besides, they may be strong, but Asteria's army is stronger."

"I hope so."

A long silence passed as they served themselves some vegetable stew. Vultrel worried about everything from being caught by his father to what the Mages might have done to Arus. What if they catch up with us? What if Arus is with him, enslaved by that implant? Will Father allow the militia to fight him? To kill him?

"Do you think it's true?" Raye finally spoke up when they'd finished eating. Vultrel gave him a questioning look. "About the boy, I mean."

It was Vultrel's turn to be puzzled. "I told you, I'm friends with him. He was taken—"

"No, no, that's not what I meant," the soldier shook his head as he poured some water into his flask from the waterskin. "I'm talking about him being, you know, a sorcerer."

Now Vultrel's eyes widened. "What? What are you talking about?"

"You haven't heard? There are rumors all over camp that the boy can use magic, like the Mages, and that's why they captured him. Wanted to raise him as one of their own, I hear."

The nerve of the man! Suggesting that Arus was a Vermillion Mage? "Arus is the son of Dayne Sheeth, former captain of the Keroko Militia. I assure you, he is no sorcerer."

Raye shrugged, gulping water from the flask. "Well, I just know what I hear. Whether or not it's true isn't really important to me. I just follow orders. I mean, some people even say there was no kidnapping at all, and that Captain Eaisan just wants to get revenge on the Mages for killing his partner during the war."

"My fa—" Vultrel barely managed to catch himself. The man's stories were beginning to heat his blood. "Captain Eaisan would not risk the lives of the militiamen for revenge. It goes against everything he stands for."

"But Marc, don't you find it kind of odd?" Raye continued, clearly oblivious to the effect his suggestions were having. "Why would the Mages kidnap some random kid? Why not two? Ten? Fifty? Why kidnap? Why not just kill them and get it over with? It doesn't make any sense."

There was so much more to the story that Eaisan had obviously left out during the explanation of his absence, but it was not Vultrel's place to reveal it. Likely his father didn't want to raise additional fears among the soldiers. "I'm sure they had their reasons."

Raye shrugged again as he returned his bowls and utensils to his saddlebags. "I don't know, maybe Eaisan is just losing it. He's an old man, after all. Maybe he dreamt the whole thing up and thought it was real. Maybe he glimpsed them dragging an animal carcass out to the desert to be cut for meat and mistook it for a person."

"I told you before," Vultrel rose to his feet, fists unconsciously clenched, "I know Arus, and I know that he has been abducted!"

"Did you see it happen?"

He again caught himself before speaking. It was important that he be careful what to reveal. "N-No," he finally stammered, "but I—"

"Then how do you know that's what happened? Maybe he went to Narleaha to see a relative. Maybe he went out late one night and got attacked by wolves. There are a lot of possibilities besides kidnapping, and each of them seems more likely to be true."

Vultrel had heard enough. "You don't have to believe it. Just be sure to follow Captain Eaisan's orders when they're given." Raye opened his mouth, but Vultrel gave him no room to reply. "I'm taking first watch. Get some sleep while you can, because Eaisan likes to rise before the sun in the morning."

Raye muttered something as he walked away—Vultrel caught the word "touchy" near the end—but he put on his helmet and headed into the forest. As soon as Raye was out of sight he swore loudly and drove his fist into the closest tree. Listening to the man disrespect Arus on any other day would've been merely insulting, but considering what had happened, it was more hurtful than even Vultrel could've anticipated. Arus would never have allowed anyone to speak of his closest friend in that manner, yet Vultrel had just walked away while Raye spat on the sacrifice Arus had made to rescue him from the Mages.

No doubt that was why Eaisan was so determined to strike back at Truce. Arus could've escaped from the Mayahol, but he instead chose to risk everything to save both Vultrel and Eaisan. Now, he was either dead or enslaved—the former being more likely—and no one even knew of the bravery he'd shown . . . or the punishment he'd received. Eaisan had always taught them that revenge was immoral, petty, dangerous, and futile. Yet Vultrel couldn't help but wonder how much of his father's recent actions had been driven by his desire to see Truce pay for what he'd done. If that were the case, Vultrel would never blame him.

He supposed he had no right to be angry with Raye. Eaisan had, after all, held back a large part of the story. All the militiamen knew was that the Mages were once again building up strength in the Mayahol and that more manpower would be needed to overwhelm and defeat them once and for all. Vultrel wondered what it would be like to be a real soldier, always expected to follow orders without question, never really knowing why or for what cause. He wasn't sure he could have such blind loyalty to anyone, the exceptions being Arus and Eaisan. I'd never make it as a soldier. I don't have the nerve for it.

The thought brought his attention back to the forest he'd lost himself in, and his fears sprang to life once more. He could vaguely make out the silhouettes of several other watchmen in the distance, keeping guard over their sections of the border. Clad in steel-plated leather with bell-shaped helmets like to his own, they walked in circular patterns that intersected with each other to form a chain link of patrols around the entire camp. A quick look showed the empty link that either he or Raye was expected to fill, and Vultrel headed in that direction. His heart nearly thumped into his throat, and he forced away the urge to vomit. I cannot let fear stop me. I was going to have to fight on my own sooner or later anyway. If I can survive the Mayahol, I can survive this. I can't have my father watching over me for the rest of my life.

A shout from the left drew his eyes to several militiamen northeast of the camp, swords drawn and shields ready. The cry came again, this time crisp in the night air. "Wolves spotted northeast! Wolves to the northeast of camp!"

The other soldiers in the area raced toward the commotion, raising swords and drawing arrows as they ran. Vultrel had barely taken three steps when he saw them; wolves of white and black sprinting toward the clustered men from their left. An arrow flew from his bow before he realized he'd drawn it, sailing through the air and piercing one of the animals' ribs. It snarled and snapped the arrow in its jaws before turning its golden eyes upon him. An icy chill ran through Vultrel's bones as he lifted the bow again, this time aiming for its eyes. The arrow found its mark in the animal's left socket, and the wolf slumped to the ground. Its body was trampled by the rest of the pack as they continued toward the militia.

He was still moving forward, he realized, closing in on the battle. A scream pierced the air—human, to Vultrel's disappointment—and an armored figure fell amidst the struggle. Soon another fell, and another. Vultrel lifted his bow several more times without firing a shot; the wolves had unknowingly positioned the militia between themselves and him. He kept shuffling to the left, hoping to clear a path, but the other soldiers that had responded to the call added to the mayhem, preventing Vultrel from firing any more arrows.

Behind, a flow of soldiers emerged from the camp with Captain Eaisan in the lead, his long sword glistening in the moonlight. Vultrel's feet felt frozen in place as he stared at his Father. Don't look at me, please!

But Eaisan hurried right past him, sparing him only a momentary glance before shouting, "To arms, men! To arms!"

As the militia streamed by, Raye thumped Vultrel on the shoulder with a heavy hand. "Your sword, Marc! Draw your sword!" He was off and running before Vultrel could say a word.

It all seemed to be happening in slow-motion. The militia converged upon the pack of wolves with blades bared while the occasional scream signaled another fallen soldier. Others called to him, pushed him, begged him to join the fight to save the camp. Arus was able to fight without my father's supervision to get him through. He was brave for us, and now I have to be brave for him. He dropped the bow and ran, sword suddenly drawn, teeth clenched in a mixture of fear and determination. I will not be controlled by fear. I will not be controlled by fear!

The blade severed three paws and felled two wolves before he stopped screaming. Adrenaline kept him moving, swinging his blade in a fluid motion of attacks that dropped wolves and scattered others. Up close, the pack appeared to total nearly twenty, though the number dwindled quickly under the attacks of the militia. Vultrel slashed his weapon through the side of another, and hacked the spine of one more. The last fell with a vicious bark, and Vultrel drove his sword through its heart. When it finally stilled, an eerie quiet filled the woods.

The militiamen kept eyes in all directions, watching and waiting for further attacks. Slowly, men began to exhale, hands loosening around hilts and attentions shifting to the injured. Once it was clear that they were safe—for the moment, at least—Eaisan began handing out orders. "All right, men! Listen up! I want the wounded brought back to camp immediately! Wolves can smell blood, and I don't want to attract any stragglers. Everyone clean up your injuries if you have any." He paused for a moment, his eyes falling on two motionless soldiers amongst the wolves. When he spoke, his voice was solemn. "Are they dead?"

A helmetless soldier with shaggy dark hair bent beside them to check. After a few moments and a heavy sigh, he rose and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Captain."

Eaisan bowed his head, and the other soldiers followed suit. Vultrel closed his eyes, too, until his father spoke again. "They died protecting us, and we fight to protect Keroko. Let us not allow their sacrifice to be in vain."

"Yes, Sir!" the militia responded in unison.

"Bring their bodies to camp," Eaisan said, sheathing his sword. "We'll give them a proper burial there."

The injured soldiers were helped back to camp by their comrades while the dead were lifted by several others. The remaining men had already begun to spread across the forest in an attempt to reestablish control of the perimeter. Vultrel returned his weapon to the scabbard on his back, but he couldn't tear his eyes from the motionless bodies being carried back to camp. That could've been me. It could've been Father. Under his father's tutelage, Vultrel had felt as though he could walk through fire and carry the world on his shoulders. But on his own, he suddenly felt naked, teetering on the edge of a blade, positive that it was only a matter of time before he fell.

He never heard the patter of paws across the grass behind him. The wolf's weight crashed into his back, knocking him to the ground face-first. The animal had a mouthful of his jerkin between its jaws, violently yanking and pulling at Vultrel's shoulder. There wasn't enough time for panic despite the flood of fear that had stopped his heart. His elbow managed to find the animals snout, knocking its grip loose long enough to roll onto his back. The wolf snapped at his helmet—thank the Maker for that helmet!—and its paws clawed and scratched against the steel-plated armor. Vultrel wanted to cry out for help, but terror swallowed his voice, and the beast once again locked its jaws onto his shoulder. It struggled wildly, tearing holes in the leather between the plates as it thrashed, its claws stomping holes in his legs. He grabbed the animal around the throat with both hands and squeezed as hard as he could, hoping to force a release. And then what? What can I do?

The wolf let out an abrupt yelp and released Vultrel's shoulder. Another cry, and it scampered to the right, freeing his legs. Vultrel shoved with every ounce of strength he had, knocking it to the ground as he scrambled to his feet. It was upright again before he could even draw his sword and leapt for Vultrel's face with jaws wide open. Steel flashed as Eaisan's blade came down on the wolf's neck, knocking the animal back to the ground with a fatal blow. With its head nearly severed, it took mere moments to die.

"Are you all right, soldier?"

Reluctantly, Vultrel faced his father. It was an effort to disguise his voice, but it a deep tone, he responded. "Yes, Sir. Thank you."

"A bit different from the Mayahol, isn't it?" Eaisan asked, wiping his blade on the wolf's fur.

I knew it! He knows it's me! Still, without an outright admission, Vultrel had no intention of surrendering his identity. "The Mayahol, Sir?"

Eaisan's brow furrowed. "It's Marc, isn't it? Marc Cohen? Don't you patrol the forest between Keroko and the Mayahol Desert?"

How did he get that name? Did Raye say something? Maybe he overheard? "Y-Yes, yes it is. I mean, I do."

"There's a lot more room to maneuver out there," his father continued, "and the torchlight from the village walls make it easier to watch for animal attacks. Keep your guard up, Marc. Things are a bit more primitive out here. And see that those injuries are taken care of." He pointed to the spots of blood on Vultrel's pants where the wolf's claws had punctured his skin. "We don't want to draw any more unwelcome guests."

Vultrel could barely bring himself to murmur a response as Eaisan headed back to camp. "Yes, Sir." If he does know who I am, he's playing a cruel joke. But I guess as long as he allows me to remain under his protection, he can play as many jokes as he wants.

Chapter 1-8

The Vezulian Armada sat in silence on the far side of Terranias, the occasional starfighter patrols providing the only activity within the fleet. Why they'd returned was hard to determine, though Kindel Thorus' reasons for any of his actions were questionable. The only certainty was that he was not visiting the planet on vacation. If Thorus had set his eyes on Terranias as he had Belvidia, then no good could come from it. The problem came in trying to track his movements as his ability to teleport from place to place made him nearly impossible to find until it was too late.

And that was just a fraction of troubles facing the universe.

Kitreena let out a long breath as she shifted her eyes from the Armada to the glowing blue planet. Arus was down there, somewhere. Whether he was alive or dead was impossible to know. Either way, Truce and the kyrosen had developed a weapon of unlimited potential. Machines had been trusted for manufacturing, calculating, measuring, and a myriad of other tasks for thousands of years. Lives depended on their proper operation day in and day out across the universe, and as technology progressed, machines only became more precise and efficient. Humanity, in contrast, was the epitome of imperfection. The same could be said of any sentient life form across the cosmos, for that matter. Machines lacked the consciousness and intelligent decision-making abilities of humans. Imagine the unlimited potential and creativity that could be gained from merging the two together!

Precisely what Sartan Truce had done.

Shaking her head, she turned away from the viewport and flopped onto her bed. Damien's starship was the closest thing she had to a home, and though she'd never admit it to him, she always felt safe when she was onboard. He'd been given command of the Refuge only a year ago, after their raid on the Deltorian Pirates brought in Dexter Amaroth and freed nearly four hundred prisoners. Damien had allowed her to choose the name of the vessel, and she selected Refuge in honor of those they'd liberated from their enslavement to the pirates. Since then, the ship had become their base of operations, and the only place where Kitreena could feel at home.

Her room was the first of the living quarters, located on the starboard side of the ship near the forward decks. The craft was shaped like two cylinders conjoined side-by-side with a long nosepiece where the bridge was housed. Small fins protruded from either side of the grey-plated hull at the rear. It was one of the more majestic starships used by the Aeden Alliance, acquired as a gift from the Blumosian council for the Alliance's assistance in ending a centuries-old civil war that had wracked their world. Kitreena remembered the day they'd first boarded; she'd chosen this room as her own because it had the largest viewport of all the living quarters and she loved staring at the stars. It brought peace when there was none, which was frequently the case.

She'd done very little to personalize it, aside from changing the glowing window border from a white light to a vivid pink and lining up her collection of flowers from distant planets on the wooden bureau beneath it. Her bed sheets were pink as well, a tone so light that they may as well have been white. The colors, combined with the deep brown wood of the wardrobe on the left and the bookshelf beside it, created a warm atmosphere that reminded her of home—her real home—where she could curl up with some hot tea and a good book for hours on end. Perhaps more personalization had gone into it than she'd realized.

There would be no such relaxation today, though, as a knock on her door sent her scrambling for her covers. She hated being seen in her nightgown. "Just a minute!" she called, shoving her feet under the blanket and pulling it up to her chin. "Come in!"

The door beside the bookcase cracked open, and Damien poked his head through. "Morning, Kit. How are you today?"

"I'm here," she responded in a bland voice. "Isn't that enough?"

"I have something here that may lift your spirits," Damien said, shaking what sounded like a bundle of papers on the other side of the door. "May I come in?"

"Of course," Kitreena nodded. "What is it?"

He entered slowly, sliding the door closed behind him. The thick stack of papers in his hand seemed tattered and worn with abuse; someone had certainly studied each page extensively. Damien dropped it on the bed beside her and grinned. "Lueille managed to link our systems with Truce's long enough to strip half of his database. It took a bit of decoding, but we finally have an in-depth technical schematic of the implant prototype."

Her eyes widened as she sat up—it wasn't as though the nightgown wasn't decent—and grabbed the papers. "I thought recon said they couldn't get into his database unless it was powered up."

"All of his systems are salvaged parts from old starships," Damien said with a grin, "and every starship terminal has remote access capabilities, meaning—"

"Meaning there had to be a remote power-on command as well?" Kitreena looked up at him.

"Exactly. They just had to figure out how to activate it."

"So what does this stuff say?" She flipped through the pages, hoping to find something that wasn't written in scientific technobabble. "Is there a weakness? Can it be removed without killing the patient?"

"We don't know yet," Damien admitted. "Recon is still analyzing everything. They expect to report their conclusions to me by the end of the day."

Kitreena groaned and dropped back to her pillow. "You mean this is going to be another day wasted? How many days has it been now?"

"Just because there's nothing you can do at the moment doesn't mean it's a day wasted," he told her, taking the paperwork. "Relax. Enjoy the break while we have it."

She gave him a sour look. "How can I enjoy it when I'm confined to my room? I can't go to the simulator, I can't go to the training room, I can't go to the lounge, I can't do anything!"

Damien's snow-white eyebrows rose over his grin. "Perhaps you should've have considered that before chasing after F'Ledro and nearly killing us all in the process." He sounded as though he was holding back laughter.

Kitreena's face darkened. "I won't stop until he's kissing my feet, Damien. You know that."

"Yes, I do." He turned and headed for the door. "But that reckless attitude and thirst for vengeance is going to lead you down a dark, dark path. Trust what I teach you, Kit. I've seen it happen to people . . . very close to me."

She couldn't help but roll her eyes. "I'm not going to turn out like him, Damien."

He stopped in the doorway for a moment. She almost thought he might turn and shout reprimands at her, but that had never been Damien's way. It was hard for him to discipline her, she knew, not being her biological father, but he'd never once given any sign of giving up, no matter how difficult she made the job. "What frightens me," he began, not looking back, "is that he didn't realize it until his brother pointed it out. And even then, he didn't believe."

With that, he was gone, and the silence of Kitreena's room seemed to scream at her. Deep down, she knew he was right, but her stubborn streak was not willing to relinquish its hold on her anger just yet. All that aside, the paperwork on Truce's implant was a great leap forward for their mission. Once deciphered, the information would certainly lead them to some kind of weakness in the machine's design. It could be deactivated without losing the victim. It had to be! I won't let them use Arus as their killing machine!

But how do you know he's even alive? How do you know their experiment was a success?

She'd found herself having this internal argument countless times over the past several days, and though she knew logically that there was almost no chance Arus had survived, she couldn't quite seem to shake the voice that assumed he lived. How can you be so sure he's alive?

Because he is. I can't explain it, he just is.

She let out a long breath as she stood and opened her wardrobe. "Stupid" Imagine! Arguing with oneself over something so stupid! Even if the boy was alive, it only meant that Truce had likely enslaved him, and that he was being used as the ultimate weapon against the people of Terranias. And if Thorus manages to get his hands on it . . . She glanced back at the Armada through the viewport. No, better for the galaxy to hope that he's dead.

But he isn't.

*******

Kindel's pale fingers drummed against the desk as he looked over Dr. Barrine's report. Biology had never been his thing—archeology was his passion—but the information contained in the report from the research team proved to be more than fascinating. Extensive analysis of the lephadorite had revealed something he hadn't expected. "Explain this to me again, Doctor. I'm not sure I believe what I'm reading here."

"Again, it is all speculative since we haven't been able to examine the stone itself," Barrine reminded him. "But from the scan results you sent us, we've theorized that your 'lephadorite' may be a living organism, not just a rock."

Thorus shifted his eyes to the soldier. "How is that possible? How could such a living organism sustain itself without nutrition of some kind?"

"That is one of the many things we have yet to determine, Sir." Barrine was clearly agitated that he wasn't permitted to study such a scientific marvel. It was evident in his voice, his expression, and his entire demeanor. "If we could just be allowed to sit down and study the sample, I may be able to—"

The boom of Kindel's fist against his desk echoed through the ship. "I will not allow it to leave my possession!" he shouted, rising to his feet. "When the time comes to begin the cloning process, I shall bring it to your lab myself, and I shall do whatever is necessary for the procedure, but I will not allow it to fall into anyone else's hands!"

Barrine didn't flinch, staring at Kindel with unwavering frustration in his eyes. "As I've stated multiple times, Admiral, I cannot even hope to duplicate the stone without studying it. If it is a living organism, then it is certainly possible to clone it, but computer scans do not provide me with detailed cellular analysis or DNA samples. That information is critical if I am to find a way to adapt the reproductive capabilities of the Belvid's stone to yours. For that matter, as a living organism, it may have its own reproductive functions written into its DNA that I may be able to make use of. But without being able to take a sample and study it, I cannot do anything."

Thorus swore loudly and punched his desk again. "What is the condition of the baharinda you extracted from the Belvid?"

"It is deteriorating rapidly," Barrine didn't seem at all phased by the outburst. "I don't know what kind of sample we'll be able to retrieve from it at this point. I'm not sure any cells we draw from it would last. In another day, it'll be nothing more than a lifeless rock."

That meant it had a preservation period of approximately three days, given that two had already passed since the incident on the prison level. "Are the other two Belvids still secure?"

"You would know better than I would," the doctor responded, sounding almost bored.

Kindel whirled and extended his hand toward Barrine. The wiry man's body raised from the floor slightly, finally breaking his indignant and annoyed expression and replacing it with shock and fear. "Your attitude is less than acceptable, Doctor. I suggest you learn your place, lest I show you to it. Repair whatever cracks have formed in your respect for your superiors, because I do not tolerate insolence in my crew. Are we clear on this?"

"Yes, Sir!" Barrine saluted, still hanging in mid-air. "I apologize, Admiral! I meant no disrespect, I simply—"

Thorus lowered the doctor's feet to the floor. "Save your groveling. You are dismissed."

For a moment he thought Barrine might ask to study the lephadorite again. The doctor hesitated for an instant before wisely nodding and making for the door. "Fool," Kindel muttered, though he wasn't sure if he meant himself or Barrine. He knew that what he asked for was going to be nearly impossible to determine without handing over the stone, but everything he'd read about it—prior to today—had stated that any changes to the composition of the stone could have an adverse effect on its properties, and he couldn't risk allowing the research team to work with it. It was an unpredictable little thing, capable of granting such immense power, yet the slightest change could theoretically turn it into a ticking bomb.

And who could say what kind of damage could be caused by a magical living stone?

Living? The word echoed over and over in Kindel's mind. It couldn't be possible, of course. Barrine's report only suggested it as a theory, but the entire report had revolved around that concept. Imagine! A living rock that required no nourishment to sustain itself! Living. Is there . . . a race of these things out there somewhere?

He opened the top drawer of his desk and removed the lephadorite. If it was, in fact, a living organism, and if there were more such rocks out there, perhaps there would be no need for genetic engineering. It was the records of Terranias' history that had led him to find this one. Had the warrior that had nearly destroyed Terranias so many years ago found a planet were these stones were indigenous life-forms? The records he'd studied had not mentioned such, only that a human by the name of David, or something similar, had claimed to have been hired to craft a golden amulet for the stone. Precise measurements and calculations that had been listed—supposedly provided by David himself—and it was those specifications that allowed Thorus to create his own amulet—rather, have a jeweler on Ariath create it—to house the lephadorite. The records then went on to describe the powers David had unknowingly unlocked, leading to the near-complete destruction of the planet. But nothing described where the stone came from in the first place.

Lifting his communicator from his belt, Thorus summoned Lieutenant Petreit to his office. The soldier had led him to the Belvid's stone, giving a great deal of credit to his abilities as a researcher and his knowledge about the life-forms of the universe. What he didn't know he learned from connections he'd formed across many galaxies. If a planet existed where these stones were commonplace, perhaps Petreit could find it.

Kindel was staring through the viewport, rolling the Lephadorite in his palm, when the visitor alert tone sounded from the door. "Enter," he called. The glowing blue aura of the Terranias memorized him. If only the humans had kept better records of their own history, the information he sought could have been right at his fingertips. Instead, he was reduced to scavenging for clues in countless databases of those supposedly descended from the humans that had fled during the invasion, most conflicting each other on many of the details, yet all agreeing that it was the stone that had caused it all. But where had the stone originated?

"You called for me, Sir?" It was the second time Petreit had said it, Kindel realized.

"Yes, Lieutenant. Remember this?" He held up the stone as he faced the soldier. Petreit nodded, suppressing a nervous gulp while he was at it. "Dr. Barrine tells me that this stone may actually be a living organism. That, of course, increases my interest in where it came from. I want you to trace this stone to its origin. If there is a planet out there where these rocks are considered a species, I need to know about it. We may be able to return the Belvids to their home without harming them if you can find it."

"Y-Yes, Sir!" Petreit responded with a nod. "But . . . a question, if I may, Sir?"

Kindel turned back to the viewport with a sigh. The man was brighter than he gave himself credit for. He always performed well, but only once he'd been shoved in the right direction. "Yes, Lieutenant, what is it?"

"Sir . . . where did you learn about it?" He was obviously uncomfortable asking about Kindel's personal research. "So I have a starting point for my research, I mean."

A reasonable question. "Begin with the great invasion war that nearly destroyed Terranias," he answered. "That is where I first read about the stone."

"As you command, Admiral," Petreit bowed slightly. "Is there any other way I may assist?"

"That will be all, Lieutenant," Kindel told him. Through the reflection on the viewport, Kindel could see Petreit heading for the door. "And Seavan?" The use of his first name caught the lieutenant off-guard, as he froze for a moment before facing his superior. "Great work, thus far. Keep it up."

Petreit smiled openly. "Thank you, Sir! I'll do everything in my power not to disappoint!"

Amazing, Kindel thought as Petreit hurried through the door. If all my soldiers had his humility, the Armada would be a machine that never needed grease. Dr. Barrine could stand to learn something from the lieutenant. It wasn't that Kindel despised dissent; a fresh point of view was always welcome. But Barrine went beyond dissent to downright insolence, and there was no room for such behavior in the Vezulian Armada. Command decisions were respected, or punishments were doled out. Barrine would learn his place. How harsh the lesson would be was up to him.

His eyes caught a glance of the Refuge, still orbiting the Terranias in silence. Scimitar and Kalibur had taken a transport to the surface days ago and had yet to report. Not that there was any cause for alarm—the two were the best fighters in the galaxy, aside from himself—but it was unsettling not to have any information regarding Aldoric's activities. If the kyrosen had indeed caught the Alliance's attention, Thorus wanted to know. Truce couldn't have rebuilt his army that quickly. Could he have? But if he hadn't, what then could've attracted Aldoric's attention? Perhaps the kyrosen and the Aeden Alliance are working out a partnership to strike against the Armada. The last thought stopped his heart for a moment. Knowing the deceptive natures of both groups, it wasn't entirely impossible. And he still hadn't even managed to duplicate the stone once, let alone enough for every soldier under his command.

And as long as I keep it out of the hands of the research team, that won't change.

*******

A subtle breeze fluttered through the grass across the Lamonde Plains as the sun rose above the hills, its orange light casting long shadows behind the horsemen. With the Narleahan Outpost shrinking behind them, the Keroko Militia set off on what was hoped to be the final day of travel; the forest on the horizon surrounded Cathymel, the sprawling city that served as home to Castle Asteria and Lord Sarathon, King of Asteria. The white towers of the palace could be seen over the trees, though they were mere specks to the naked eye. Still, the Red Bear banner swayed atop each, and as long as the banner flew, the castle belonged to Sarathon.

For Vultrel, it was his first visit to the Lamonde Plains. Eaisan had never taken him further than Narleaha, though Vultrel had always wanted to see the castle. The Plains were beautiful, dotted with grazing deer and rabbits and squirrels, and blanketed with a lush sea of green. If there was a patch of dirt or a single weed, Vultrel never saw them. Here and there Narleahan soldiers patrolled the land, often seeming more focused on the beauty surrounding them than their duties to the kingdom. More than once Eaisan had called out to them, no doubt testing their reflexes to keep them sharp. A small lake broke the land ahead, though Eaisan's direction would likely take them nowhere near it. They'd emerged from the woods early yesterday, yet the beauty of the Plains kept Vultrel's eyes wandering. Good thing he was on watch duty.

"Sunrise over the Plains," Raye murmured to no one in particular. "Each one is more beautiful than the last."

They'd managed to settle their differences two nights earlier, following Vultrel's brush with death. Raye hadn't apologized for his thoughts about Eaisan, but he admitted that he had no reason to be suspicious about Arus' abilities or the Captain's actions. The next morning they talked for hours about anything and everything, though Vultrel had to bluff his way through most of it. Still, it was good to have a friendly dialogue between himself his partner once more. "It is gorgeous, isn't it?"

"Ain't nothing like it," Raye nodded.

But while his relationship with Raye had improved, hiding from his father had gotten harder as the journey progressed. While the tents were being erected at their last stop, Eaisan had gone to each fire to speak with each of his soldiers. Nothing serious, just lighthearted chat to keep morale up. Vultrel had barely managed to grab his bow and join the watch before Eaisan got to his tent, narrowly avoiding the probing eyes of his father. He was positive that if his father caught him with that helmet on one more time, suspicion would get the best of him, and he'd be asked to remove it. But the castle was in view, now. A distant speck, but in view, nonetheless. He'd almost made it without being discovered.

"It's been a long time since I last visited Cathymel," Raye said. "Ever been there, Marc?"

"This will be my first time," Vultrel responded. For once, it wasn't a lie.

"I'll show you around while the Captain meets with His Majesty. There's a place in the East City where you can get the best pie in the city. I've tried to get their recipes for my wife, but the cook there won't give them up. Don't suppose I would if I were him, either."

"Sounds great." Fresh cooked food sounded pretty good at that moment. The vegetable stew on the first night had been the last hot meal he'd had. Every meal thereafter had consisted of cheese and dried fruit.

"I'd take you for a mug of ale, but at your age I doubt Eaisan would take kindly to it."

Vultrel suppressed a grimace. The thought of what his father would do to him if he even considered drinking ale sent shivers down his spine. "I'll pass on that, but thanks."

For a while, they rode on in silence, with nothing but the singing birds and the soft breeze to keep them company. The horses had moved slower and required more rest than Eaisan had expected, though Vultrel couldn't imagine it was easy with most carrying two armored soldiers on their backs. Still, the difference had only meant they'd arrive after dusk, which wasn't such a big difference in Eaisan's eyes.

When Raye spoke again, it was with downcast eyes. "It's a shame about Narleaha, though."

Vultrel nodded with a dejected sigh. Word at the Narleahan outpost was that there'd been an attack on the village, though the exact details were sketchy. Several of the soldiers had pleaded with Eaisan to take the militia there, but he had refused. If the attack came from wildlife—which was unlikely in that area; Narleaha's walls were twice as high as Keroko's and heavily guarded—then the Narleahan militia could handle it. But if the attack came from the Mages, then it only meant that they were indeed headed north, and Eaisan was determined to get to Cathymel before they did. "Think the Mages are on our tails?" he asked, scanning the forest along the western edge of the Plains.

"Hard to say," Raye admitted. "We are out in the open, after all, but if they were behind us I think they would've attacked by now. Still, they could be following us through the woods along the border, waiting to ambush us when we reach the trail to Cathymel."

If it were up to Vultrel, they'd have headed into the woods to the west and moved along the border of the Plains until they reached the trail. But when someone had suggested that to Eaisan, he disregarded it, saying that it would add too much time to the journey. If they blended into the forest on one side, the Mages could easily travel along the opposite border until they reached the trail. Eaisan meant to stop Truce, not hide from him. If the Mages wanted a battle in the middle of the Plains then so be it, but the Eaisan would not give them any chance to reach Cathymel if he could help it.

So they instead rode through the center of the plains in a diamond formation, with Eaisan's mare in the center. He was flanked by two archers and two swordsmen, each with weapons held ready to defend their captain. Though a well-placed magical attack could hit any number of them, it was unlikely that an enemy on foot would break through their defense. An army, however, would pose more of a threat. The Keroko militia was not large enough to defend against a large-scale assault. If Truce came at them with every one of his soldiers . . .

"Militiamen halt!" a shout rose from the center of the cluster.

The cavalry came to a silent standstill almost immediately. Ahead, Vultrel could see his father standing up in his stirrups, a silver looking glass to his eye, peering toward the eastern edge of the plains. Something had caught his attention, and from the look of chagrin on his face, the news wasn't good. The captain exchanged words with one of the swordsmen beside him, every so often pointing discreetly toward the woods. Murmurs spread amongst the soldiers, and many hands shifted to sword hilts. Vultrel leaned forward, trying to catch whatever bits of Eaisan's conversation he could hear.

". . . attack now or try to race them?"

"Either way, we'll have to fight. It may be better to keep the fight away from the city."

"Yet, if it is a trap, we'll be walking right into it."

"It must be a trap. They wouldn't send such a small force to claim the throne. There must be more out there somewhere."

That set Vultrel's eyes wandering, along with many of the others. If there was someone out there looking to assault the castle, it could only be the Vermillion Mages. And Truce was a smart tactician; he wouldn't send a small group of his men to do the job of an army, which meant that there were more Mages out there somewhere, likely watching them, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. And Arus could be with them.

". . . best if we just high-tail it to Cathymel. At least then the Royal Guard will be able to lend its assistance."

"And they'll have warning before the strike. Agreed."

Eaisan stood in his saddle once more, raising his voice so that everyone could hear. "Soldiers, listen up! We have unidentified individuals—possibly Vermillion Mages—making for Cathymel through the woods to the east. I fully intend to arrive before anyone has a chance to attack the palace, so we will push the horses as hard as they can handle for the remainder of the journey. Make certain you keep up with the rest of the group, because I cannot afford to waste time rounding up stragglers. If, by chance, you manage to get separated from us, head for either Cathymel or back to the Narleahan Outpost and wait for us there. Any questions?"

An unidentified soldier to the left raised a hand. "If we should be attacked, do we plan to fight or to continue pushing for the city?"

"Fight if you must, but only if you must," Eaisan responded. "Any others?" The soldiers collectively shook their heads. "Very well, then. Move out!"

The group lurched forward this time, so much so that Vultrel was forced to grab onto Raye's waist when Pepper jumped forward. The thundering hoofs echoed across the land, shattering the peaceful morning and sending animals scurrying for safety. How long the horses could keep up at this pace was hard to say, but Vultrel doubted they'd make it all the way to the city as Eaisan suggested.

The cry of "Incoming!" had barely registered in his ears when the land surged and erupted in a fiery blast beneath him, sending his body flailing through the air above the rest of the militia. The other soldiers—those not caught in the explosion—scattered beneath him as he flew, their attentions divided between their injured comrades and the safety of their captain. Vultrel came down hard on his back, the impact knocking the helmet from his head and bow from his grip. His lungs felt as though they'd caved in on themselves, forcing him to gasp for even the slightest breath. Despite that, he rolled onto all fours and looked back at the militia.

And gasped again.

A new set of horsemen were running through the group, swinging swords and firing magical balls of fire from their palms. Their clothes marked them as Vermillion Mages, clad in black pants and vests over various colored shirts, though he'd never seen the Mages ride horses before. Regardless of who they were, they were slaughtering Keroko soldiers left and right, and it made Vultrel grind his teeth. Still struggling for air—the breaths were coming slightly easier—he scampered over to his bow and a handful of the arrows that had fallen from his quiver. His first shot pierced the unarmored chest of a particularly hairy Mage, who fell from his saddle and was subsequently trampled by his own horse. Vultrel winced; he'd never killed anyone before, but if there was any time it was necessary, it was now. I'm sorry, but I have to do it. I have to. Another arrow left his bow, and another, felling two more Mages.

Enemies continued to swarm the militia, swords clashing and arrows flying across the grassy field. Magical attacks seemed to die down—it had to be difficult to wield such power at close-quarters without injuring yourself or allies—but it didn't seem to diminish the ferocity of the battle. Mages and militiamen were falling everywhere, and Vultrel's arrows didn't seem to be making very much of a difference. There was no sign of Captain Eaisan anywhere.

"Marc, look out!"

It took a moment for him to realize that Raye was shouting to him from the crowd, pointing wildly over his shoulder. Vultrel turned around just as a passing Mage swung a sword down from his saddle. He barely managed to raise his steel-backed gauntlets in time, blocking the blade with a loud clang that sent sparks flying. The Mage reared his horse to make another pass when Vultrel saw his father, blade crossed with another opponent's, standing a good twenty paces away. Eaisan's helmet had been lost in the commotion as well, and a trickle of blood ran from his lower lip. With his own helmet gone, Vultrel's true identity was revealed, which Eaisan acknowledged with less than a nod. "Fight, Vultrel!"

Vultrel dropped to the grass to avoid another slice from the rider. His father's voice shouted once more. "Draw your sword! This is what you've wanted all along, isn't it?"

His blade slid from its scabbard as the Mage's horse galloped toward him for the third time. Weapons met with an ear-piercing clash, drawing startled glances from nearby soldiers. The horse bucked and whined, obviously agitated by its rider's actions, and the bony Vermillion Mage swung his leg over the pommel and descended to the grass. "The second rise of the kyrosen begins today, boy!" he laughed through a gap-toothed grin. "No child is going to stand in the way of our coming glory!"

Vultrel could no longer see his father; Eaisan's fight had taken him beyond several other skirmishes, but he could still hear words of encouragement drifting over the violence. "Stay focused! You are ready for this, Vultrel! You've proven it time and time again in the ring! The only difference is the killing blow; on the battlefield, you must strike!"

The boy nodded and raised his weapon. If Father thinks I can do this, I can do it. No fear this time. The enemy soldier's eyes held an uneasiness that never touched his smile, but it was enough to ease Vultrel's own nerves a bit. If he, a battle-hardened sorcerer, was afraid, then it would be Vultrel who held the advantage psychologically. No fear. His feet shifted into his battle stance with the thought. I can do it. He could almost see the dueling ring around them. The Mage brushed grungy brown hair from his eyes with the back of his palm as he readied a rusty sword. Despite the weapon, his stance was relaxed, as though they were having a pleasant conversation. No fear.

Vultrel screamed as he dashed forward, swinging his weapon toward the soldier with all of his might. The Mage was caught off-guard by the assault, barely managing to twist his blade to deflect the attack. Vultrel shuffled his feet through the steps and maneuvers that Eaisan had taught him, moving his weapon as quickly as his mind could process each thought. His opponent's expression changed from surprised to annoyed to angry as they fought, seemingly frustrated with the immense skill coming from such a young boy. Their blades met in a constant rattle of steel on steel, sending an occasional spark into the air. A slightly overzealous step put Vultrel off-balance, forcing him to shift back to defensive maneuvers as the Mage attempted to capitalize on the mistake. Vultrel smoothly recovered, knocking away a series of thrusts meant for his heart.

"Don't be too anxious!" Eaisan's voice called, fainter now. "Let him make the first mistake! Just like you do in class!"

The words had barely registered when the Mage swung his rusty blade in a long swipe, leaving himself wide open. Vultrel's weapon held the sword at bay, and he drove a stiff boot into the soldier's mid-section. The Mage gasped for air and stumbled back, but he never took his eyes off of Vultrel. Blades met again and again as the two circled each other, each watching and waiting for the other to slip-up. A misplaced step, an overanxious attack, even a weak stroke could be enough to turn the tide of battle. Sweat dripped down Vultrel's forehead with each parry and thrust, giving the impression that he was wearing down.

"I wouldn't expect a child like you to be able to keep up with a warrior such as myself," the Mage proclaimed in a whiny voice. "If you run away now, I may spare your life."

I can do this. "I won't be intimidated by your kind," Vultrel responded through clenched teeth. No fear. "Your crimes have gone unanswered for too long." No mercy. "It's time to put an end to it all!"

His sword met his opponent's rusted weapon once more, and he leapt forward, sliding his blade down to the hilt of the soldier's weapon until it met flesh. The Mage yelped and dropped his weapon as he pulled his hand away, clamping his other palm down on the fresh gash. Vultrel stepped forward and held the tip of his blade to his neck. The killing blow, he thought, remembering his father's words. On the battlefield, you must strike. Abruptly, he realized he no longer heard Eaisan's voice. Unconsciously, he glanced toward the battlefield. Has he been . . . defeated?

The Mage wasted no time, rolling away from Vultrel's outstretched sword and leaping to his feet. Flickering balls of fire rose from his now upturned palms as he laughed. "Fool, you had me beaten! After all of that impressive swordplay, you made the biggest blunder a soldier can make!"

Vultrel's eyes narrowed as he focused on the bony Mage. No mercy. He lunged forward with a wide slash, slicing both wrists down to the bone, then he brought his sword around with a flourish and drove it into the soldier's chest. The Mage fell to his knees with wide eyes, letting out only a choked gurgle before falling to the grass. "Checkmate." Vultrel sighed heavily; he'd always been anxious to rid the kingdom of as many Mages as he could, but killing another man was not something he enjoyed. Not likely that he ever would.

Around him, the battle was dying down where the bodies were piling higher, yet the violent clashes continued in other areas. Horses without riders roamed the fields, the occasional arrow soared through the air, and the groans of the dying were abundant. The fight was not going well.

Without warning, a horseman skidded to a halt behind him and grabbed his arm. He nearly reached for his sword in a panic until he saw the rider's face. "Get on, Vultrel," Eaisan commanded. His father pulled him into the saddle behind himself, and dug his heels into the horse's flanks. "To Cathymel!" he shouted. "Militiamen to Cathymel on the double! Move it, men! We cannot allow these dogs to surprise His Majesty! We have a duty to perform, and we shall succeed!"

A somewhat stifled cheer rose from the crowd as the few remaining militiamen still mounted kicked the horses into a gallop behind their captain. Vultrel estimated there couldn't be more than ten, though more remained struggling against the Mages on foot. "You're just going to leave them there?" he exclaimed, gesturing frantically. "They need our help!"

"They are doing their duty, Vultrel," Eaisan's voice was grave. "We must do ours. If they survive, they will follow. But for now, they are providing us enough cover to escape."

The boy couldn't take his eyes away from the battle. "But—"

"Vultrel," Eaisan began, glancing back at him. He stared at his son for a moment, his eyes looking almost as though he was weighing and considering. "You did well back there," he finally said, turning his attention back to the land.

The fear of being caught by his father suddenly crashed down on him. Boy, I'm in for it now. Is he going to send me home? What if I run into more of Truce's men on the way back? "Father, I . . . I'm sorry for deceiving you."

Eaisan was silent for a few moments, leaving nothing but the pounding of hooves to echo in his ears. When he spoke, he was barely audible. "Your mother would not approve."

That's it? No lecture? No tongue-lashing? Vultrel couldn't believe it. "I . . . I'm surprised you approve."

His father glared back at him. "I never said I do."

Another span of silence passed. Vultrel never wanted to disobey his father, but he wouldn't have been able to live with himself if he sat at home while Eaisan went off to fight the Mages. Arus was my brother. This is my fight, too.

"To tell you the truth, you did me a favor," Eaisan said.

That made Vultrel's eyebrows raise. "I did?"

"A part of me wanted to bring you along, but I knew your mother would never allow it. And since you snuck off without permission from either of us, she can't blame me for it." He was grinning in spite of himself. "So I got what I wanted, and you'll get all the flak for it."

Vultrel shook his head in disbelief. "You knew it was me all along, didn't you? You knew very well who was under that helmet!"

"Did you really think I wouldn't recognize my son's eyes? Your voice? That sword you have strapped to your back?"

Vultrel rolled his eyes and slumped in the saddle. "I'm in big trouble, aren't I?"

Eaisan muffled a chuckle with his hand. "The word 'big' doesn't even begin to describe it. Still, as long as you're here, I could use your help. Can I count on you, Mr. Cohen?"

Well, if he had to pay the price, he would. But for now . . . "Yes, Captain Eaisan, Sir!"

*******

The last body fell to the ground with little more than a grunt. Faces, many frozen in a state of disbelief, littered the grass across the Lamonde Plains. Some familiar, most not. But these men had been Keroko citizens, and that was enough to make them family. Ravens circled overhead, waiting for their chance to feast on the corpses of the men who'd fought so fearlessly to defend their captain, their village, and their kingdom from the selfish and heartless ambitions of Sartan Truce. Nearly eighty men had stepped foot on the Plains today. Less than a dozen escaped.

If Arus could've cried, he would have done so, hunched over the dead with his head in his hands as he pled for forgiveness. Instead, his cybernetic eye scanned the battlefield for any signs of life that had yet to be extinguished. He had used every ounce of willpower within his soul and then some extra in attempting free his mind from the implant's hold. But his body never so much as flinched; he slew soldier after soldier in a gruesome bloodbath that had sent many good men to the grave. If there had been any weakness in the implant for Anton to exploit, Truce had certainly remedied the problem with Arus' version.

He watched in horror and disgust as he leaned down and wiped the blood from his blade using one of the soldier's breeches. It almost seemed as though the implant had been programmed to go out of its way to be cruel, especially when he—rather, the bloody implant—had killed a man by crushing his throat with his mechanical hand. More than once he thought he would vomit—watching himself sever another man's head should've been more than enough to empty his stomach—but each time the urge arose, he felt his stomach suddenly calm, and cursed the implant when he realized why. The device had full control over every function of his body, and there was nothing he could do but scream silent screams and weep dry tears. The torture was enough to drive him to madness, yet even then, his body would've controlled itself despite the inner turmoil. Kitreena, have you abandoned me?

Beside him, Truce cupped his hands around his mouth. "All right, listen up! Eaisan and his boy escaped to the north along with several other men. Rather than pursuing them and risking discovery by the Cathymel patrols, we're going to proceed with our original plan."

The original plan made Arus' stomach churn again; it was certainly the kind of dirty scheme he'd expect from the Mages. The horses had not been the only thing they'd pilfered from Narleaha. Several chests of commoners' clothes, three wagons, and two coaches had been taken as well, along with two bottles of the finest Narleahan brandy. It was all designed to mimic a Narleahan caravan—at least, that's what the guards outside of Cathymel would think, anyway—and it would provide the perfect cover to get close enough to the castle.

Arus followed the others back to the woods as his sensors did periodic scans of the Plains to ensure that all enemy soldiers had been eliminated. F'Ledro was right where they'd left him, patting the nose of one of the horses hitched to the tan coach. The other coach was parked behind the first, maroon red with two windows on either side. Opposite the coaches, the wagons sat unhitched in the grass, one full of assorted tools, the other holding the chests of clothing. Two other Mages had been left guarding with F'Ledro, and while they remained alert and attentive, his eyes drooped over a stifled yawn. Arus noticed it at the same time that Sartan did. The coach's curtains had been drawn back, and the windows stood open. Someone had been resting on the job.

"I thought I told you to stand watch," Truce growled, dropping his sword and sheath on the ground beside them. "Do you take me for a fool?"

"I did watch, Boss!" F'Ledro whined. "Honest! I kept a sharp lookout!"

The rest of the soldiers fanned out across the caravan and began preparations for departure, hitching horses and donning commoner's clothing. If Arus hadn't come to know most by their faces, he'd honestly believe they were travelers or merchants coming to peddle their wares or seek work. Hopefully the guards of Cathymel wouldn't be deceived quite so easily.

"Do you think me a fool, F'Ledro?" Truce's voice held a dangerous chill.

The wiry man stammered, obviously rethinking his story. "Uh . . . That is, I . . . Uh . . ."

Truce waved a hand at him. "I don't have time for this," he said, shaking his head. "Just go clean up the horse manure."

"But, Boss—!"

"Now!"

Muttering a trail of incomprehensible babble, F'Ledro stomped toward the supply wagon. His fingers barely touched the shovel when Truce spoke again.

"With your hands, F'Ledro."

"What? You've got to be—"

"If you would prefer a more brief yet . . . harsher punishment, speak up." He was visibly trying not to grin.

Another string of babble poured through F'Ledro's lips, but he stomped toward the horses, wringing his hands the whole way. Truce laughed openly this time before turning his attention back to Arus. "Did you see your friend out there?"

"I do not have friends," Arus heard himself say. "My purpose is to serve the kyrosen and obey your commands." Friend? Was Vultrel there? Or is he talking about Master Eaisan?

The Mage put a hand to his beard and nodded. "Excellent," he said to no one in particular. "You've shown no signs of resistance to the implant's instructions. I've really outdone myself this time."

"Sir," Olock began, approaching from behind, "if I may . . . We should get moving."

"Of course," Truce agreed. He immediately started barking out commands, ordering everyone into a set of commoner's clothes and shouting for the horses to be hitched. Arus' feet moved—not that he wanted them to—and he started toward the second coach. He was the key to the Mages' victory, and with the iron grip of the implant controlling his every move, it was unlikely that he'd manage to foil those plans.

"Move it, soldiers! I want to reach the castle before nightfall!"

The stuffy coach was warmer than earlier. The rising sun heated the air more each day, though he'd heard stories about the extraordinary summers of the Lamonde Plains. How the grass stayed so green in such temperatures was beyond him, though it was also well-known that the Plains saw some of the nastiest thunderstorms during this time of year. Apparently the land got all the water it needed. Arus wished he could say the same for himself.

By the time they were on their way, sweat was pouring down his forehead. The windows of the coach only enhanced the warmth despite the breeze that occasionally filtered through the half-tilted glass. Seated across from him, Truce seemed no better. But years spent under the Mayahol Desert had to have improved his tolerance for heat. He was dressed in baggy brown pants and a loose white shirt, completely contrary to his usual black pants and vest. Despite the loose clothes and lighter colors, sweat dripped down his face just as much. Still, he kept his lively mood, obviously happy with the massacre his men had handed the Keroko Militia.

"I can't wait to see the look on Eaisan's face when he sees his boy here," he was saying into his communicator. "You know, there are some days you dream about for years, and I think today may be one of those days!"

"Agreed, but let's take one thing at a time," Olock's voice came back. He rode in the second coach alone; F'Ledro was supposed to accompany him, but the smell of his hands after cleaning the manure was too much for Olock to handle. Instead, he brought up the rear of the caravan, seated in the wooden wagon beside the tools. "Let's focus on getting through the Cathymel patrols first," Olock was saying.

"No problems there," Truce's eyes shifted to Arus. "If any of them decide to cause trouble, Arus can take them down before they make a sound."

"What of Eaisan? He's going to warn Sarathon about us, and we'll have the Royal Guard bearing down on us before we know it."

"If we play it cool, they won't know it's us until it's too late. They won't attack a civilian caravan without an abundance of evidence to rouse suspicion."

"Still, if Eaisan warns of our approach, and then this mysterious caravan shows up unannounced, I think they may figure it out."

They went back and forth for a while, discussing the possibilities and making contingency plans for each. Each plan essentially came down to the same response; Arus was to kill whoever stood in their way. It made the boy sick that these people killed so many without a care or regret, but it made him even sicker that he was the one who had to do it. The whole thing had helped him understand why Anton had reacted the way that he had. If Arus could've put his sword through his own heart at that moment, he would have done it fifty times over. Anything to keep Sartan from forcing him to kill more people. Master Eaisan, what would you do?

They rode in a long procession with a dozen mounted soldiers trotting ahead of the coaches, followed by the wagons and additional riders. By the time they reached the trail to Cathymel on the north end of the Lamonde Plains, the sun was dipping below the treetops. A few more hours of light, probably. Arus had no idea how far it was to the city gates, but Truce seemed encouraged by their progress. The deep maroon glow of the implant's scanners showed a tight ring of patrols a short ways off. If the Cathymel soldiers didn't let the caravan pass, the killing would soon resume.

"All right, Arus," Truce began, peering through the window. "Let's get that implant covered."

His "cover" was a hooded brown cloak, much like the one that Anton had worn when they met under the desert. It's probably the same one. The thought made Arus' skin crawl, though he couldn't force himself to scratch. The hood was deep and long, giving plenty of extra cloth to cover the implant. Truce pulled down on the left side, hiding most of Arus' face under the brown cowl. The cloak draped over his shoulders and wrapped around his arms, hiding the shining steel of his cybernetic arm. Up close, he looked suspicious enough to alarm even the laziest guards. But in the shadows of the coach, through the window and behind the curtains, he could've been just a servant traveling with his wealthy lord.

It didn't take long for a soldier to approach them. The caravan slowed to a stop—presumably forced to do so by the Cathymel patrols—and a hand rapped against the window. "Who goes there?" a gruff voice called from outside.

Arus' eyes remained fixed on the floor, regardless of how much he wanted to look. The cowl hid most of his view of the cabin; only the right window and wall were really visible. Truce had ordered him to stay still in order to keep the implant hidden, and it was about as easy to disobey his orders as it was to turn water into diamonds. He saw Truce shuffle to the left and out of his view. "Bavon Don Moinsen the Third." That was the false name that Sartan had taken. There was no need for Truce to be concerned with being recognized by his face. Most in Asteria had a good idea of what his father had looked like, but with Truce keeping himself hidden underground until only recently, people had little reason question his identity. "I come from Narleaha, seeking the shelter and protection of His Majesty."

Arus couldn't see the soldier from where he sat, but the request was apparently an odd one. "Protection? From what do you seek protection, Lord Bavon?"

"Why, those bloody Vermillion Mages, of course!" Truce sounded as though he was surprised that the soldier had to ask. "Hasn't anyone told you?"

"We have heard something about those animals causing trouble again, yes. A band of soldiers from Keroko Village passed through here hours ago, claiming they were being pursued by the Mages."

"Pursued?" Truce sounded legitimately shocked. "Do you mean to tell me that they are coming here, as well?"

There were a few laughs outside the window. The soldier must have had friends nearby. "Not to worry, Lord Bavon. The Royal Guard of Cathymel will keep the city safe from any intruders, I assure you. It will take more than a few rogue bandits to threaten the kingdom of Asteria."

"There are more than a few, I'm afraid," Truce went on. "They attacked Narleaha in droves, pouring in from the south like a plague of locusts. My estate was burned to the ground, and I barely managed to load up some things into my wagons and get out of there. Mayor Burnest insisted I take a detachment of his best soldiers and head toward the castle to request reinforcements."

"Seems like those rats are up to something," the soldier grumbled. "No matter. They won't break our defense, should they be foolish enough to come."

Another voice came from outside. "What's in the trunks, Lord Bavon?"

"Just clothes and food." For once, he was telling the truth. "I ordered my servants to only grab essential items during the escape."

There was a long silence, and Arus could almost feel the soldiers' eyes on him. Their next question confirmed it. "Is he all right? He seems a bit nervous."

Truce never missed a beat. "A good servant is an obedient one," he responded. "I've trained my servants not to move unless told to do so. They obey only my instructions, but this one here has had to learn the definition of 'loyalty' more than a few times. I have to keep a close eye on him, but he's learning."

What am I, some kind of pet?

Again, Arus overheard the voice of another soldier outside. "Yeah, don't go too close to that servant in the wagon back there. I'd almost swear he's been swimming in horse droppings."

Without looking, Arus knew Truce had that grin on his face. "Whatever works!"

The group shared a hearty laugh, and it became evident to Arus that the ploy had not only worked, but it could even see Truce find an audience with the king without the least bit of resistance. As the guards gave "Lord Bavon" their blessing, the coach bumped down the dirt path toward the stone walls of Cathymel. The only comfort came in knowing that a few of Eaisan's men had managed to make it to the city—and likely Castle Asteria—before the Mages had even reached the border. But if Eaisan was out there, then the possibility that Arus could be forced to fight his own master and mentor was still very real. And if Vultrel had also traveled with the militia . . . Was he the "friend" that Truce was talking about? Master Eaisan wouldn't let Vultrel come along on such a dangerous journey, would he?

"That wasn't so hard," Olock's voice came through Truce's communicator.

"We've got them in the palm of our hands, my friend," Sartan said softly. "We couldn't have asked for a better welcome."

"Do you think the gatekeepers will be as friendly?"

"Trust me, Olock. By midnight, Asteria will have a new king."

Chapter 1-9

The city of Cathymel was overwhelming in its beauty like something out of a storybook. Vultrel had often heard descriptions of the paved roads and whitewashed walls, but no amount of words could've prepared him for what met him past the border. Shining silver spires topped the skyline where manors of the more wealthy lords and ladies stood surrounding the beautiful Castle Asteria. The streets were paved with an alternating pattern of white and grey cobblestone, and none looked as though they'd ever been used. Seemingly every home had a lush garden somewhere on the property; even the pots held some of the most radiant and full flowers Vultrel had ever seen. Each house was free of imperfections, built from white stone bricks without a single crack or dent and topped by roofs shingled in varying shades of grey. Even the fences around each property where white, each looking as though they'd been freshly built and without a single blemish worth noting. It all created an atmosphere that made Vultrel feel extremely out-of-place, especially when he noticed the dirty prints left behind by their horse's hooves.

To the people, the remains of the Keroko Militia must've looked like a band of refugees from a poverty-stricken country. Bandaged and dirty, wearing dented armor and torn leather stained with blood, the surviving members of Eaisan's army sharply contrasted the beauty and nobility of Cathymel. The people stared as they trotted through the streets, many wearing their disgust openly on their faces. Others eyed the soldiers' weapons; clearly this was a city that was not used to defending itself. Even the lowliest peasant wore fine garments of blue and red and other colors that Vultrel found to be overly flashy.

Further in, the shops and inns began popping up where the commoners' homes were divided from the royal estates of the nobles. Merchants and peddlers hawked their wares even as the final rays of sunlight faded behind the trees. A city so large had room for multiple shops of the same trade, a concept that baffled Vultrel. They passed at least three tailors and four cobblers before they'd even reached the center of the marketplace, and several more of each stood interspersed with the blacksmiths, fletchers, and bakers. The cleanliness of the city reigned here as well. Vultrel saw two butchers along the way, and both wore aprons of spotless white.

But seeing the distance between the border walls and Castle Asteria gave him a bit of comfort. Surely the Mages would not be able to cover such ground before they were stopped. Even if they had fitted Arus with one of those implants, who among men could stand up against the might of five hundred Royal Guardsmen bearing down upon them? You underestimate the Mages. Vultrel could almost hear Truce gloating in his ears. The man's confidence was unshakeable—even Anton's death hadn't caused him to waver—and Vultrel was sure that, even if he was defeated, Truce would go down with a sword in his heart and that grin on his face. It made his stomach twist.

They exited the marketplace and veered onto a long street of gated manors, each built on hilltops at the end of cobblestone paths that led far from the gates themselves. Hand-carved wooden benches lined the road, each with a tree planted behind to provide shade. As the militia curved along the path toward the center of the city, a horseman in shining silver armor and helmet that covered all but his eyes reigned his mare in front of them. "Halt!" Eaisan raised his fist in a gesture that the rest of the Keroko men recognized as the signal to stop. The unknown soldier gave no time for introductions. "Captain Eaisan Lurei of the Keroko Militia, I presume?"

"I am," Eaisan responded, bowing in his saddle. "We bring terrible news from the south and seek an audience with His Majesty."

The Cathymel guard removed his helmet, revealing a young man with short reddish-gold hair and far too many freckles. He was young, but his demeanor matched that of any battle-hardened soldier. "I am Martine Del Mezzaro," he began with an enthusiastic, if stiff salute, "Retainer to the Throne of Asteria, Servant and Protector of His Majesty, Lord Edgard Sarathon, Bringer of Peace." It was quite an introduction.

"May I see the king?" Eaisan got right to the point. "It is terribly urgent."

"His Majesty is expecting you, Captain." Martine nodded. "Border patrol sent a messenger as fast as they could once you arrived at the gates. Lord Sarathon has already ordered the mobilization of the Royal Guard, and my men are spreading across the city as we speak to implement a curfew so that lives might be spared in the event of an attack. In addition, the gates of Cathymel will be locked at once. The city will be on lockdown until we can properly assess the threat and neutralize it."

That was fast. Vultrel couldn't imagine how hard that messenger must've pushed his horse to reach the king so quickly. Eaisan seemed equally impressed. "I am glad to hear it," his father said with a smile. "But there is a great deal more that I must share with His Majesty. If you please, there isn't a moment to lose."

"Of course, Captain." Martine nodded again before replacing his helmet. "Follow me."

They took off at a full gallop this time, the horses' hooves echoing like a roll of thunder across the street. Vultrel wrapped his arms around his father's waist—it was all he could do to keep from being thrown from the saddle—and watched over Eaisan's shoulder as the path curved through the nobles' estates and led toward Castle Asteria. Upon rounding a sharp curve and cresting a steep hill, the castle suddenly came into view in all of its glory and majesty. If he hadn't been holding on so tightly, Vultrel's jaw would've dropped wide open.

It was like everything from the stories and more. Even as twilight descended upon the land, the final beams of sunlight glinted off of the silver spires where the Red Bear banner flew. Smaller towers lined the castle wall where archers stood watch, and armored swordsmen paced back and forth between each. The royal crest of Asteria, the Red Bear's head against a starry backdrop, hung on another banner just above the castle gates. The entire structure was more majestic and beautiful than Vultrel ever thought it would be, and it eased his concerns that much more to see the structure so heavily guarded. Even if they did make it across the city, there's no way the Mages would be able to break through those defenses, right?

The horses slowed to a trot as they approached the gate, and Martine removed his helmet again. Two guards with long spears stood on either side of the lock, their blue armor shining as though freshly polished. They eyed Martine as he saluted. "I've returned with those His Majesty has expected. These men have requested an audience with Lord Sarathon, and it has been granted to them. Please allow them to pass."

The guards saluted immediately, and another on the opposite side of the gates unlocked and slid them open. Eaisan instructed any of his men still wearing helmets to remove them, and glanced at Vultrel. "Just follow my lead. His Majesty commands our utmost respect, and we shall give it to him. He deserves nothing less for the grace and kindness he's bestowed upon Asteria during his years as our king."

Vultrel nodded with a gulp. He'd never been in the presence of royalty before, and he didn't know the first thing about etiquette when it came to meeting a king or a queen. At least he had his father's example to draw from. Inside the castle walls, the soldiers dismounted and allowed the servants to lead their horses away before passing through the magnificent arch beneath the Red Bear banner.

If the outside of the castle had been beautiful, then the inside was paradise. Golden lanterns and candelabras adorned the walls between fantastic tapestries depicting everything from the peaceful beaches of South Sea to the serenity of the Lamonde Plains. A vivid red carpet lined with golden trim ran down the corridor to the Grand Hall. Two curving staircases rose on either side there, divided by a fountain of crystal clear water in the center. Soldiers guarded each doorway and staircase, armed with pikes or swords or axes. Servants scurried everywhere, carrying trays with silver goblets and armfuls of silk sheets. Martine led them up the staircase on the left and down a corridor behind the fountain toward two ornately-carved doors. A servant stood waiting at the door, a curly-haired young man with downcast eyes.

"Captain Eaisan and the Keroko Militia are here to see His Majesty," Martine told the man.

The little servant bowed deeply before opening the door and entering. Martine didn't follow, instead allowing the door to close. After a few moments, Vultrel tapped his father's shoulder. "Why can't we go in?"

"Our arrival must first be announced, so that we do not intrude on any matters currently taking place in the Throne Room," Eaisan told him in a whisper. "When the King is ready for us, the servant will return and grant us entry."

It didn't take long for the doors to open, and they filed into the Throne Room behind their announcer. The throne stood not fifty paces before them, and the regal smile of Lord Sarathon appeared when they entered. He was an old man, wiry and wrinkled beneath his billowing white beard, his warm eyes sparkling nearly as much as the crown on his head. He used the long scepter in his hand for support as he stood, smoothing his red robe with the other hand. Soldiers stood guard on either side of the throne, joined now by Martine and an elderly woman that Vultrel could only assume was Sarathon's maid. It was a well-known fact that Queen Mariale had died long ago from a sickness that had degenerated her brain, and without her, King Sarathon had needed an assistant to help him in his old age. But old or not, the man had done Asteria well during his time on the throne, and Vultrel wasn't sure any other man could've brought the kingdom together as well as Sarathon had during the Vermillion War.

The Throne Room was certainly fit for royalty. It was hard not to stare at the great stained-glass windows high above the king, one depicting a sunrise over the Lamonde Plains, the other showing the Red Bear looking to the moon. Red banners ran down the walls on either side between archways that presumably led to personal quarters of both Sarathon and his servants. The high-domed ceiling was supported by oak framework, from which elaborate golden lanterns hung. How the servants were able to light and extinguish them was a curiosity for Vultrel.

Eaisan immediately dropped to one knee and lowered his head. The rest of the militia followed suit, matching their captain's movement out of respect for their king. Vultrel quickly did the same, sneaking quick glances at his father to make sure he'd positioned himself correctly.

"Eaisan Lurei," the old man began, hobbling forward, "Master of Blades, Captain of Honor. It is good to see you again, old friend."

"You honor me with the use of my former titles, Your Majesty," Eaisan replied with a smile, "but I have long since passed my prime, and I am but a mere soldier of peace now."

"Your age does not erase your accomplishments in life, Eaisan," Sarathon said, stopping in front of the militia. "Rise, Captain."

Eaisan returned to his feet, and Vultrel began to stand as well, until he noticed that the rest of the militia remained on one knee, and he hastily dropped again.

"It has been far too long, Eaisan," Sarathon was saying, hugging his old friend.

"I only wish my return could have been under better circumstances," Eaisan told him as the king began hobbling back to his throne. "The situation is far more dangerous than I fear you've been told."

Sarathon groaned a bit as he lowered himself into the throne. His old bones seemed ready to give way at any moment. "Then speak, my friend. Tell me what has been happening in the Mayahol Desert that has you so concerned."

"Sartan Truce, son of Aratus, has taken command of the Vermillion Mages, and he is on his way to Cathymel to attempt to overthrow you," Eaisan began. He went on to describe, in brief, their experience in the underground lair of the Mages, along with Anton's untimely demise and Arus' battle with Truce. No mention of Damien or Kitreena was made. The less mentioned about those two, the better. "The army we met on the Lamonde Plains was no doubt headed here."

"Well, you need not concern yourself anymore," Sarathon waved his hand. "The Royal Guard will handle them, and the threat to Keroko, Narleaha, and the rest of Asteria will be over."

"I'm afraid it's not as easy as that," Eaisan said with a shake of his head. "Another implant has been constructed, and Master Dayne Sheeth's son Arus has been fitted with this newer model."

Vultrel's could not stop his eyes from shooting to his father. What!?

"Silence, soldier," Eaisan muttered softly. Vultrel hadn't realized that the exclamation had been vocal.

Sarathon pursed his lips in contemplation. "Are you certain of this, Captain?"

"Absolutely. I saw him on the battlefield during our run-in with the Mages on the Plains."

Why didn't he tell me? Vultrel ground his teeth. Learning his best friend was still alive was no good news given his apparent condition.

"I thought you said the boy's arm had been severed," the king was saying. "Do you mean to tell me that Truce tended his wound?"

"More than that," Eaisan bowed his head. "His arm has been replaced by a machine, a metal device designed to mimic a human arm. If anything, it makes him more dangerous. A machine would be impervious to the weaknesses of the human body, and presumably capable of abnormal strength and stamina."

I'll have Truce's head for this! Vultrel grew angrier with every word. That grinning face will be on a pike in front of our house before I'm through with him!

"A machine . . ." Sarathon trailed off as his eyes became distant. "You know what this means, don't you Captain?"

"Yes, Sire." Eaisan met the king's regretful expression. "And I do not like it any more than you. We cannot allow machines to be reintroduced into our society."

Sarathon rose from his throne. "Agreed. Regretfully, I must order that both Truce and Arus be executed at once."

"What?!" Vultrel couldn't stop himself from leaping to his feet. "But it's Arus! You can't do that to him!"

"Mind your place, Soldier!" Martine growled, pointing his blade at Vultrel. "You are but a servant of His Majesty, and you will not question his word!"

Vultrel looked at Eaisan expectantly. "But, Father! You can't just kill Arus because of this! He's a victim, not an enemy!"

"Vultrel, I told you to respect Lord Sarathon!" Eaisan snapped, his face hard as stone. "Now, kneel as a soldier or you'll find yourself arrested as a traitor!"

"Now, now, now," Sarathon began, shaking his head. "No need to be so hard on the boy, Eaisan." The old man stood and hobbled toward Vultrel, eying him up and down. "Your son, is he?"

Eaisan visibly grit his teeth. "Yes, Sire. I apologize for his behavior. I obviously haven't taught him—"

"Do not apologize, Captain. It can be hard for youth to understand the decisions of their elders, especially at his age." He looked Vultrel in the eye. "Are you friends with Arus? Do you know Dayne's boy?"

Vultrel was trying to fight back tears. I can't let them kill him. I'll defend him myself, if I have to. "He's like a brother to me, Sir . . . I mean, Your Highness."

"Well, you've seen this machine of Truce's in action before, haven't you? Do you believe there is a way Arus can be saved?"

Vultrel looked at his father, whose stern glare told him he was in for a fearsome tongue-lashing. "Anton broke free," he managed to say. "If Anton could do it, then so could Arus. Arus can do anything."

"But your father tells me that Arus has been killing Keroko soldiers," Sarathon reminded him. "It doesn't sound to me as though he can free himself."

Vultrel shook his head. "He just hasn't found a way yet. He will, though. I know he will. He won't let Truce continue to force him to murder. He won't!"

"How do you know, Vultrel?" Eaisan's voice shook him. "You can bet that Truce took steps to prevent what happened to Anton from happening to Arus."

"I know, but . . ." he felt a tear run down his cheek. "But . . . I mean . . . He's my best friend."

Sarathon looked at him for another moment before turning away. "Do you know of the war that nearly destroyed Terranias, young one?"

"Yes," Vultrel took the chance to wipe his eyes. "It is said that man used machines of immense power to wage war on one another, leveling great cities and killing most of the people."

Sarathon was hobbling back toward the throne. "Then you know the dangers that machines can bring. You see, technology can be a wonderful thing, but there are always those out there who will use it for the most unimaginable evil, killing the innocent and dragging regular peace-loving commoners down with them. There are stories of a device called a 'Tommic Bomb,' which had the strength to flatten any city or town caught within miles of its detonation. There were flying machines that carried more weapons, all mechanically operated and capable of killing hundreds just by pulling on a lever. And then there was the Vermillion War. Do you remember any of that, or were you too young back then?"

Vultrel had his eyes closed. "I remember," he said in a squeak. He hadn't exactly intended on putting himself in the position to listen to a lecture from Lord Sarathon.

"Good, then you remember the machines that the Vermillion Mages used to attack your village along with many others. They had weapons that would fire bursts of light so great that they'd incinerate whatever was in their sights. There were flying machines that carried more weapons, and portable mechanical weapons that their soldiers could carry. It was a dark time for Asteria, and many feared it was going to be the Great War all over again."

"I know that machines are dangerous, but if we could somehow free Arus' mind so that he could—"

"And if we can't?" Eaisan cut in. "Vultrel, I will not risk the lives of many to save the life of one. You know that Arus is just as important to me as he is to you, and when the time comes, I'm going to live the rest of my life regretting what I had to do. But my duty to our people must always come first. You wanted to be a soldier, right? The most important aspects of any soldier's life are duty and obligation. We put our lives on the line so that the people can live in safety, and to allow Arus to roam free in his condition would jeopardize the lives of not only Asterians, but people all over the world."

Vultrel couldn't let himself be convinced. Arus was his best friend. Arus is my best friend! He's alive, and as long as he is, I won't give up on him! "But Father, can't we at least try to—"

"Your Majesty!" a panicked voice called as the doors swung open. A soldier rushed into the room and hastily removed his helmet, revealing a black-haired man of considerable age. "A caravan has arrived from Narleaha. They say they bring news of an invasion into their village!"

"I thought the gates were ordered to be sealed," Eaisan asked the man.

"They are," the soldier confirmed. "This caravan was the last to enter before the patrolmen at the border received the orders."

"Ask them to appoint a representative from amongst them, and then show that person in when I have finished with the Keroko Militia," Sarathon told him. "You are dismissed."

"Yes, My Lord!" the soldier barely had the words out before the helmet was back on his head and he raced through the doors.

Vultrel glanced at his father. "I didn't see any caravan along the way."

Eaisan shrugged. "They may have been behind us."

"But the Mages were behind us," Vultrel shook his head. "If there were travelers coming from Narleaha, they would've arrived after the Mages, and we haven't heard anything from Truce yet."

The smile vanished from Eaisan's face as he looked up, obviously puzzling the rest out. "Unless they acquired Narleahan disguises!" His eyes bulged. "The horses! They had to have gotten them from Narleaha! That means—"

A panicked voice cut him off from the other side of the door. "I'm sorry, Sir, but as I told you before, His Majesty is currently entertaining guests from Keroko and—" The soldier's voice was silenced, and moments later the doors flew open.

A small figure in a brown cloak entered, a cloak Vultrel recognized all too well. A hand of shining metal protruded from one sleeve, clutching the red and white handle of Dayne Sheeth's sword. Only the right side of the boy's face was visible under the brown cowl, but what Vultrel could see was nearly enough to make him vomit. It was Arus, and he was wearing the same cloak that Anton had donned moments before his death. Sartan Truce marched in not far behind, dressed in commoner's clothing and wearing that infuriating grin plastered across his face. For a moment, he thought the two were alone—Truce would never make such a blunder—but he suddenly became aware of a myriad of sounds coming from the direction of the Great Hall. Screams and shouts mixed with the rumble of distant explosions and the clashing of swords. The Mages were creating a diversion while Truce and Arus simply waltzed into the Throne Room.

"Draw your weapons, men!" Eaisan ordered without hesitation. "They come for the king!"

The Keroko militia donned their helmets—those that still had them—and drew their swords in unison as they whirled to face the newcomers. Behind them, Martine had already replaced his helmet, and he took a firm hold on Sarathon's arm. "Highness, we must escort you to safety! Follow me!"

The king nodded reluctantly, shouting to Eaisan as he fled behind Martine's protection. "Good luck, Captain! No matter what happens, Asteria owes you its eternal gratitude!" The final words echoed from the archway beside the throne as Martine whisked him away. The old woman followed closely, sparing Eaisan only a look of regret before chasing after them.

"Well, well," Truce began, taking in the soldiers before him. "Look what we have here. We've come to visit our great and powerful leader and wind up stumbling upon our runaways. How convenient!"

"Arus!" Vultrel shouted, stepping forward. Eaisan's hand pulled him back by the shoulder.

"Careful," his father warned. "He's not Arus anymore. He'll kill you without blinking once."

A dangerous gleam flashed in Truce's eyes. "Prepare to join your partner in the grave, Eaisan."

Arus' free hand took hold of the cloak and threw it away, revealing the cybernetic implant and mechanical arm Truce had grafted to his body. Vultrel's heart nearly caved in upon itself at the sight of the thing. It was at least three times as large as Anton's had been, reaching up into Arus' scalp on his left side and covered with small bundles of twisted wires. His left eye had also been removed, replaced with a steel cylinder that glowed with a blood-red light. Well-polished steel plating dotted with screws and bolts surrounded it, crudely molded in a feeble attempt to match the structure of Arus' face. Beneath it, his entire left shoulder had been reconstructed with a series of steel joints and gears that allowed his mechanical arm to move as though it were human. It was like something out of one of Eaisan's campfire stories come to life, though if Eaisan were telling this one, Arus would suddenly burst free of Truce's hold and slay the Mage where he stood.

But this was no story.

The red glow of the mechanical eye grew, emitting a strange hum from the device. Arus turned his head toward the soldiers to his right and squinted with his human eye. A bar of white-red light shot from the implant and went straight through four soldiers before becoming a scorch mark on the far wall. Flesh and bone vaporized under the intense heat, and the men crashed to the floor with eyes frozen in terror. Before Vultrel or Eaisan could even step forward, three more flashes from that eye dropped the remaining Keroko soldiers.

That left Vultrel, Eaisan, and the two guardsmen of the Throne Room. Eaisan glanced at them, armored from head to two in polished steel. No doubt Arus' light weapon would burn right through it. "Men," his father began, "go and tell Lord Sarathon what you've just witnessed, and then take him as far from this castle as you can."

They were reluctant, of course. Still, the men hesitated only a moment before agreeing and rushing after the king.

Vultrel just gaped at Eaisan's ability to shrug off the deaths of his comrades. He knew that, as a captain, Eaisan had to be strong in even the toughest situations, but watching the remains of the Keroko Militia fall at the feet of one of his students had to wrench his heart. What are we going to do? If Arus turns that eye on us, we're toast!

"Arus," Truce's voice startled him. "Finish them."

Eaisan's sudden cry startled him even more as his father drew his sword and lunged forward. His blade met Arus' weapon just above the boy's red hair. "Vultrel, attack!" he urged through clenched teeth. "We cannot give him a chance to use that eye-beam weapon again!"

The moment Vultrel had dreaded had arrived. "B-But Father!"

"Now, Vultrel!" Eaisan exchanged a series of blows with Arus. "I cannot defeat him alone!"

Vultrel growled, realizing his sword was in his hand. I can't believe I'm doing this. "Forgive me, Arus!" he shouted, his feet barely touching the floor as he ran. Eyes squeezed shut, he brought his weapon down as hard as he could toward his best friend's back. It met steel with a deafening clang, and when Vultrel opened his eyes, Arus' blade was pushed hard against his own. Each movement happened in less than the blink of an eye as the implant guided Arus through dueling both his best friend and his teacher, using forms and techniques Vultrel knew Eaisan hadn't taught him. The three battled hard across the floor of the throne room, sparks flying with nearly every parry and strike. Sartan Truce watched with a beaming smile on his face, clearly certain that Arus would put an end to the last remaining resistance to his claim to the throne of Asteria.

"I don't recognize most of his techniques," Vultrel said in a grunt, blocking Arus' attack.

"Nor I," was Eaisan's reply. "Truce has been training him, it seems."

"Not quite," Sartan chimed in. "You see, the implant allows me to program functions for Arus to perform. I simply programmed him with every technique of every fighting style I know. The core processor of the unit is capable of calculating millions of possibilities based on your movements and chose the most appropriate counterattack in less than a second. You could say that it knows what you're going to do before you even do it."

Though the technical nonsense didn't make sense, the last sentence made the situation crystal clear. It was the last thing Vultrel wanted to hear, and it turned an already bad situation into a nightmare. How in the world were they going to defeat Arus with all of that information for the implant to draw on? May as well cut off their hands and caged them with a lion.

"You are not fighting to your full potential, Son!" Eaisan warned between attacks. "I know he is like your brother—he is as much my own son—but we cannot allow Asteria to fall to the Vermillion Mages!"

"Then let's kill Truce, not Arus!" Vultrel argued, deflecting two quick strikes. "He's the one responsible!"

"Killing Truce won't stop him! He is brainwashed with the desire to see King Sarathon dead, and whether Sartan Truce lives or dies, Arus will not stop until it has happened!"

Vultrel grit his teeth and struck again. The three fought back and forth in a blur of steel; Arus responded to each attack with two of his own. There has to be a way to save him!

*******

Arus watched in horror as his last hope for freedom seemingly slipped away, watched as Vultrel and Master Eaisan raised their swords against him, watched as they frantically tried to kill him. His life was flashing before his eyes—it had been doing so since arriving—yet his body only exuded confidence, meeting every strike with ease, and responding with several more. There was no way for him to convey his true feelings to Master Eaisan, no way to stop himself from attacking his best friend, and no way to kill the man responsible for all of it. And if things continued as they were, the boiling abundance of fear and panic within were going to drive his soul over the edge of madness.

Just kill me, Master Eaisan! Please, Vultrel, kill me!

As the duel raged on, a group of Mages joined from the Great Hall. Apparently the fighting there had subsided enough for them to come, though if word of the attack spread to the rest of Cathymel, it would likely bring the bulk of King Sarathon's Royal Guard running to defend His Majesty. Truce had sent men to comb the castle and ensure the silence of the warning bell atop the center tower, leaving only word of mouth to spread news of the Mages infiltration. If luck was on Truce's side—and Arus prayed it was not—then the king would be long dead before any of the guardsmen suspected something was wrong.

The audience of Mages grew at the entrance to the Throne Room as black-vested men gathered on either side of Sartan Truce to witness the culmination of his hard work and research. Cheers rose every time Arus parried a particularly complex attack from his opponents, though inside, each deflection made his heart sink further. When the tip of his weapon sliced a long gash down Vultrel's arm, it nearly plummeted to his feet. Please, someone, anyone, stop this! Kitreena, where are you? Stop me before I hurt anyone else!

In an unexpected move, Arus switched his sword to his right hand in mid-swing to block Eaisan's attack, and snatched the blade of Vultrel's sword with his mechanical hand. Vultrel, wide-eyed with surprise, yanked on the weapon several times before Arus twisted it from his grip and sent it clattering across the floor. Vultrel scrambled after it, and Arus drove Eaisan back with a sharp kick to the chest before leaping toward his best friend, sword raised, red sights set on his target. The implant's scanners showed Eaisan already chasing after him again, and his former master's sword swiped in from the right to block Arus' blade. He held his weapon firmly against Eaisan's, eyes locked, teeth bared.

"You will not have him until you've defeated me, Arus," Eaisan said. His face was hard, but his voice somber. "If it is a fight to the death that you want, it is yours. But I will do everything my power to prevent you from harming my son."

No! Master Eaisan, you can't defeat me on your own! You need Vultrel's help! Otherwise, you'll—

"Vultrel." Eaisan spared only a split-second glance at his son. "I want you to go look after the king. Make sure he is safe, and instruct Martine to get him as far away from Cathymel as he can."

"He'll do no such thing," Truce said as he approached the two. "I will not allow the boy to escape so easily; he is to follow in Arus' footsteps, and the sons of Dayne and Eaisan will serve and protect me until long after the kyrosen have returned to their former glory!"

Vultrel finally scrambled to his feet, this time focusing his anger on Truce. "You," he seethed through his teeth, "will pay for everything you've done!"

Olock was beside Sartan now, handing him an old sword with a tarnished yellow hand guard. "I'd love to see you try to make that happen, boy," Truce was saying. "I didn't exactly expect you to go willingly anyway."

Everything happened at once. Eaisan knocked Arus away with his sword and followed with a flowing sequence of thrusts and slices, following every form he'd ever taught Arus and then some. Several paces away, Vultrel raced to meet Truce, swinging his sword over his head in a grand flourish before bringing it down to meet his opponent's blade. The four of them dueled for what seemed like hours, back and forth across the Throne Room in a dance of styles and techniques only mastered by the most battle-hardened warriors. Arus knew Vultrel's abilities—he could defeat Truce if it were but a battle of swords—but Truce commanded powers that neither he nor Eaisan understood or possessed, and that would inevitably give him the edge in the end.

The rest of the Vermillion Mages watched, most with smiles on their faces, applauding every time Truce executed a smooth series of maneuvers, and cheering more when he defended against Vultrel's techniques. Those that watched Arus did so mostly in astonishment, their eyes glazed as though they were hypnotized by what they were seeing. Even Arus was amazed by Eaisan's ability to keep up with the implant's rapid succession of strikes. Every swipe of his sword, every stab of his blade, it was all turned away by Eaisan's stone wall of defense.

"Arus, listen to me," Eaisan said quietly between strokes. "Do not give up hope. Anton found an escape from that bloody thing. You can do it, too. Just dig deep inside yourself, and force yourself to remember who controls your body!"

As much as he tried, every ounce of Arus' own will and determination was easily shoved aside by the implant. It overrode everything and anything he tried to do, holding him prisoner to Truce's disgusting orders. I wish I could, Master Eaisan! I really wish—

A sound in the distance caught his attention, though his body continued the assault on Eaisan as though it didn't exist. It was quiet at first, but it grew louder with each repetition, erasing the smiles from the faces of Truce's men, and Sartan himself had to leap away from his duel with Vultrel to give himself a moment to listen.

The warning bell atop Castle Asteria was ringing.

Immediately, Truce started shouting out orders. "I thought I ordered Maoz and Nevin to make sure no one rang that bell! Get up there and silence that thing, or I'll have Arus make new vests out of your hides!"

The troops ran from the room with cheers of "For the kyrosen!" and "Warriors to battle!" They didn't get very far.

A brilliant streak of crimson shot over their heads and crashed into the ceiling of the Throne Room with a squeal, leaving a blackened scorch-mark behind. Several more followed, intertwined with cries of pain and shouts of warning. "Incoming enemies!"

Sartan glanced back for a moment, the grin finally gone from his face. "We're going to have to wrap this up, I'm afraid."

Arus could hear the duel resume to his right, but his vision was solidly focused on Eaisan. He was panting heavily with beads of sweat dripping down his forehead as he met Arus' weapon again and again, left and right, high and low, forward and back. Vaguely, an awareness of the tremors beneath his feet crept in, and when Arus sidestepped several of Eaisan's attacks, the open doors of the Throne Room came into view. And what a startling view it was.

The Mages had been pushed back into the room and were beginning to fan out, some brandishing swords while others conjured balls of fire and ice in their palms. The newcomers, dressed in odd uniforms of brown and black and red, held devices similar to the one F'Ledro kept strapped to his side. Each one appeared to be a less powerful version of the light-weapon Truce had incorporated into his cybernetic eye. Streak after streak of crimson energy flew from the barrels, downing Mages and dotting the walls with smoking black marks. Still, Truce's men held their own—those weapons provided little defense against swords—and they seemed to be taking down as many of the unidentified soldiers as they lost of their own. Bodies littered the floor, and Arus lost sight of Truce and Vultrel amidst the chaos. He and Eaisan continued to battle as though they were the only ones there, dancing and flowing across the floor in their seemingly endless struggle.

And the bell atop the castle continued to toll. Regardless of who these men in brown were—Did that one have a blue face!?—the Royal Guardsmen were certainly on their way by now.

"I see him! Damien, he's up here!"

The shout came from just outside the doorway, though if Arus' hearing hadn't been enhanced by the implant, he never would've heard it. It was a voice he'd prayed would come; if anyone could help free him from the implant's hold, it would be Kitreena.

The familiar crack of her whip followed, but his duel shifted him sideways again, blocking his view of the door. The implant's focus was only on Eaisan; Kitreena was nothing more than another dot on his scanners. He stepped forward, forcing Eaisan back, again and again, until they neared the throne itself. His master's strength was fading, his endurance waning, his knees buckling. Eaisan fought with every ounce of determination he had, not once letting his face show fear. But Arus knew—rather, the implant knew; telling the two apart was becoming harder and harder—that the man who'd once led the charge against the Vermillion Mages had finally met his match, and with not an ounce of fatigue to hinder his movements, there was little to stop Arus from claiming victory over his longtime mentor. Eaisan stumbled and fell to one knee, and Arus' sword rose for the kill.

"Arus, stop!!"

It was Kitreena's voice, followed by the crack of her whip. The impact of the weapon against his steel hand registered on the implant's sensors, but did nothing to loosen his grip on his sword. Eaisan's eyes were glazed over, and as the unreal strength of his cybernetic limb drove the blade through both armor and heart, Arus ears were filled with the sound of Vultrel's scream. No! NO!! This can't be happening! Master Eaisan! MASTER EAISAN!! NO!!

Eaisan's sword dropped from his hand as he fell to the floor, back against the throne. "Forgive me . . . Arus . . . I have . . ." His eyelids sank as a gurgling sound choked off his final words.

Master Eaisan! Forgive me, please! Vultrel, I'm so sorry!

The implant shifted Arus' attention to Vultrel, who continued his duel with Truce several paces to the left. Tears streamed down the boy's face; he'd obviously seen his father's defeat. And he would be Arus' next target. In the name of the Maker, why couldn't I have stopped it? Why couldn't someone else have stopped it? Vultrel, Kitreena, anyone! Just . . . kill me! It's the only way to stop this bloody thing!! Finish me off before it's too late!

*******

Vultrel, Kitreena, anyone! Just . . . kill me! It's the only way to stop this bloody thing!! Finish me off before it's too late!

It was a voice Kitreena was not sure she'd heard and yet knew she had. It was Arus' voice—his true voice—and he was pleading for death. Her hands clenched into fists. If only her whip had landed on anything other than that wretched steel hand, Eaisan might yet live. Curse you, Sartan Truce. Curse you and your bloody kyrosen!

Damien stood not too far behind, the mini-terminal dangling from his hand as he stared at the fallen warrior. "Kitreena!" he called, his voice barely reaching over the battle. "We have to do what we came here to do!"

A part of her heard him, but she was no longer interested in whatever it was they had planned. Her anger rose, bubbled, boiled until it was a burning cauldron of hate, overflowing with a fiery wrath meant for at Sartan Truce and his kyrosen. Too many had died for defending truth and honor. Too many had died for being caught in the crossfire of the kyrosen. Too many had died because they wouldn't give in to Sartan Truce.

Too many had died.

A scream came from within, from the depths of her soul and beyond, built on an anger and hatred that could've rivaled that of Kuldaan himself. They'd taken her parents, killed countless, and gotten away with it. They waged war on the humans, lived by destruction, and thrived on terror. Dayne, Eaisan, Anton, the lifeless bodies surrounding her, and the many more that had fallen in the past, all lost for the sake of Sartan Truce's selfish ambition. And Arus, one of the most innocent, kind-hearted, and brave young men she'd ever met, was now mutilated for the rest of his life, destined to be an outcast from his own people, forced to murder his own master, all for the sake of the kyrosen. Arus was begging for death, something Kitreena had done privately more than once in her life, but she wasn't going to let his wish be granted if there was anything she could do about it.

Smoke began to rise from her skin.

*******

There was so much going on in the Throne Room that it was difficult for Vultrel to keep track of it all. He wanted to run to his father's side, but Truce's relentless attacks held him prisoner to his own blade. Sartan's grin was infuriating, and comments he made between strikes heated Vultrel's blood so that the tears running down his cheeks seemed boiling hot. Truce would pay. If it was the only thing he ever accomplished for the rest of his life, Vultrel would make sure that each and every single one of the Vermillion Mages suffered for what happened to his father.

Arus, why couldn't you have resisted the control of that bloody implant like Anton did? I thought you were stronger than him!

His arms and legs ached from overuse. Eaisan had managed to keep each of Arus' strikes from penetrating his defense until the last, but Vultrel hadn't be quite so lucky with Truce. He'd received an assortment of fine cuts and slices in addition to the one Arus had given him, streaking his arms with blood. Every wound stung with each movement, but if he didn't keep up with Sartan's attacks, he would quickly find himself lying beside his father.

"Don't worry, boy," Truce was saying. "When I'm through with you, you won't even know who Eaisan Lurei was."

"I'm going to make sure you never forget who Vultrel Lurei is," he shot back, swinging his weapon with all of his might. "And you'll never—"

The rest of his sentence was drowned by a blood-curdling scream from the center of the room. Truce, startled, glanced away for a moment, and Vultrel made the most of the split-second distraction. In that heartbeat of an opportunity, his sword was raised, and he brought it down hard on the Mage's bare shoulder, stopping only when it found bone. Truce grimaced and knocked the sword away with his own and then pressed his free hand to Vultrel's chest. An explosion of fire burst his palm, sending Vultrel sprawling across the floor a short distance from Eaisan's lifeless body. Searing heat burned in his chest; he almost thought the jerkin itself was on fire. He rolled onto his knees and tore the armor off—it really was on fire!—and stopped dead when his eyes fell upon her.

Kitreena stood hunched over in the center of the Throne Room, fists clenched at her stomach, mouth open in an eternal scream of anger. Amethyst light glowed like magma in her eyes, and tendrils of smoke rose from every inch of body. A cold wind began to whirl around the room, growing in intensity until Vultrel was forced to shield his eyes just to keep them open. The air was icy despite the summer heat, and mist began to rise from the floor around her. Streaks of electricity snaked around her hands like lightning, occasionally slithering along the rest of her body. It was the same as had happened in the Mages' underground lair.

Behind her, Damien was shouting something Vultrel couldn't make out. Something about control, he thought. The towering blue-skinned man was on his knees, tapping his fingers on some kind of machine he'd set on the floor. His mouth moved, presumably with words meant for Kitreena, but the howling wind silenced his voice. Was this all part of some elaborate plan of theirs? Or had Kitreena lost control again? Either way, the expression on Damien's face spoke of shock, surprise, and most disturbing, fear. What in the world were they up to?

Her scream intensified further, if that was possible, and a brilliant glow of red light surrounded her. She rose, lifted, floated into the air as though it were quite normal for a person to do. Damien's eyes grew wider, and his lips formed words that almost looked like "I can't believe it." Higher and higher she rose, until her head nearly bumped the wooden beams supporting the ceiling. Her fists moved together as she curled into a ball, and all the mist, all the lightning, all the wind, all the smoke, everything was drawn into her center, until it erupted with a massive explosion that knocked every soldier to the ground with a thunderous blow. Vultrel felt his body sailing through the air until his back found the wall, and his head rattled off of the stone before he slumped to the floor.

For a moment, there was only silence. Vultrel half-wondered if he was dead, but he could still feel the cold stone floor beneath him. The world spun as he opened his eyes, and what he saw could've been nothing short of a hallucination.

The fighting had ceased. Every soldier was either out cold or staring up in wonder at a figure that could only be Kitreena floating high above them all. She had transformed into something, but those purple eyes looked down on them with an icy familiarity. Her body, no longer recognizable to those who hadn't witnessed her ascent, was made up of a pure white light surrounded by a glowing red aura. The only familiar features Vultrel could see were her hair—it was just as much made of light as the rest of her, but it was the same flowing mane that she'd had in her human form—and those eyes. Thick bolts of electricity streamed around her torso and limbs in a constant motion, never flickering, never fading. Her glowing hand still gripped her whip, the weapon now made of fire, and she unconsciously flicked it back and forth like the tail of an angry tiger.

When Vultrel looked down, the only two standing were Arus and Damien. Both had their eyes fixed on Kitreena, and Truce, clutching his bloody shoulder, stared in open terror at the young woman from where he sat. The red eye of Arus' implant blinked. He's going to use that light-weapon again!

Without warning, Kitreena screamed again, and as she threw her arms out to either side, a wave of fire and wind burst from her body in all directions, shattering the stained-glass windows above the throne and throwing everyone into the walls like weightless specks of dust. When Vultrel's head hit the stone wall again, darkness dominated, and consciousness faded away with Kitreena's endless wail.

#######

ALLIANCE OF SERPENTS

Chapter 2-1

Kindel wiped his fingerprints away with a soft cloth, leaving the golden amulet to shine with renewed beauty and luster. The three jewels embedded in each corner sparkled against the light of his eyes, though the absence of the lephadorite itself left a wide vacant notch in the center. _If anything happens to that stone, I'll have each and every one of their heads severed with a dull blade._ Releasing it to their possession had been quite a chore; it was not easy to let go of the thing. But what was done was done, and all he could do was wait for results. Scientists were never known for their speed, but Kindel had ordered that the lephadorite project take precedence over any and all other experiments and research that may have been underway.

He dropped the cloth on his desk and examined the amulet again, searching for any cracks or imperfections in the colored jewels. Any change in weight or molecular composure could affect the lephadorite's reaction. Everything had to be just so. It was a test of perfection for Kindel—luckily for him, he'd always been a perfectionist—and he did not want to imagine the consequences he'd face for abusing the power within that little rock. _If Barrine isn't careful with that thing, he may wind up killing us all._ What kind of experiments were they performing? Did they take him seriously when he told them the lephadorite was unstable and unpredictable?

The visitor alert toned from the door. "You may enter," he said, his eyes remaining fixed on the amulet.

The door slid open to admit Scimitar and Kalibur with their prisoner in tow. How they'd managed to nab this one was beyond Kindel, though the bloodstains on the man's vest likely had something to do with it. He was unshackled—Kalibur's report had stated he'd come willingly—but a crude bandage was taped around his shoulder, and he walked with the sort of lethargic exhaustion Thorus would expect from a man who'd just come from battle. Still, despite the glaze over his eyes and the slump of his shoulders, Sartan Truce wore an arrogant grin over his golden beard. Scimitar and Kalibur moved to Kindel's side of the desk, leaving him standing just inside the doorway. Thorus never took his eyes from the amulet.

Several moments passed before Truce spoke. "Aren't you even going to welcome me?"

"I have little time for nonsense, Sartan." Kindel made his voice as casual as he could. While it was true that he wanted to know what the kyrosen had been up to that had drawn Aldoric's attention away from the Armada, it was never a good idea to give a prisoner any idea of the importance of his knowledge. A man as crafty as Sartan Truce would use any leverage he could manage to find to his advantage.

"Oh, you'll find time, I assure you." Truce suddenly stood up straight. The man was full of pride, just like his father.

"The last time I found time for you, I drove the kyrosen to near extinction," Kindel responded, running his finger along the amulet's golden chain. "At least, that's what I remember."

Truce shrugged—he shrugged!—at the suggestion. "You didn't do us any favors, if that's what you're getting at."

"Regardless of who did what or how it was done, we find ourselves face to face today," Kindel tried not to grit his teeth. Showing anger would not prompt the man to reveal anything. "What is it that is so important for you to demand an audience with me tonight?"

Truce casually walked over to the various artifacts displayed on the cabinets along the wall. It was clear in his eyes that he was trying not to show the pain his body was in, but he wasn't fooling anyone, Kindel least of all. "Aratus Truce no longer leads the kyrosen. I do."

"Yes, I'm aware of that," Kindel said, lifting the cloth to polish the back of the amulet.

Sartan paused a moment before continuing. "I assumed as much. At any rate, as you may or may not know, my father and I never saw eye to eye on the direction of the kyrosen. We are, by nature, rogues; we wander the galaxy in search of a place to call home. When our battles with your Armada drove us near the brink of annihilation—I'm not ashamed to admit that's what you did—my father chose the technologically inept planet of Terranias as our new home. He thought that we could rebuild there and start fresh. None of us really felt—"

"Is there a point to this history lesson?" Kindel cut in, still avoiding eye contact.

Sartan picked up a small wooden statue of a man kneeling with a pike in his hands. It was an artifact Kindel had picked up on Merioun several years back. "My father was a fool, and I'll be the first to say it." Truce said, almost laughing as he did. "His barbarian ego got us into the mess we're in, but now that I am in control, I have employed a bit more intelligent and, dare I say, crafty approach."

"Good for you," Thorus made the remark sound condescending. He stood and moved toward the viewport, carrying the amulet with him. "What does that have to do with me?"

"Nice stuff you've got here." Kindel eyed him through the reflection in the glass. Truce's hand moved toward the long artifact that Thorus kept covered with a cloth. "What's under the rag—"

Snarling, Kindel whirled with an extended hand, and burst of wind threw Truce's body into the wall beside the door. The Mage's eyes bulged for a minute—the impact could not have felt good with his body in the shape it was in—before the arrogant smile returned. Kindel took one firm step forward. "Either tell me why you are here, or I'll instruct my assistants to make sure you eat every meal for the rest of your life through your—"

"I need your help," Truce said simply. He left a few moments of silence for the words to sink in, and when Kindel released the hold that kept him plastered to the wall, Sartan walked to the desk and slammed his hands down. "I have something you want, and you have something I want. I propose an exchange, one that will easily profit you more in the end."

Kindel stopped short, struggling to keep his face smooth. Had he let his emotions show, his jaw would have been on the floor. How could Truce have possibly learned about the lephadorite? What in the world could he possibly offer that would be _more_ profitable? The man had certainly grabbed his attention. Still, Kindel fought to keep himself composed. No leverage. "What . . . do you want?"

The answer was not what he'd expected, not even close. "Ships."

"Ships?"

Truce nodded. "That's right, ships. You have an entire army of ships at your disposal. I am trying to get the kyrosen off of Terranias and back into space where we belong."

Kindel nearly exploded into laughter right in Sartan's face. "The kyrosen were a thorn in my side for a good portion of two decades, and now you want me to _help_ you get them back on their feet?"

"I am prepared to make concessions," Sartan said, standing upright. "Even though we'll be using them, they will still be _your_ ships. You will retain ownership, and will even be able to track us if you wish. You'll know where we are and where we are headed at all times. And you can give us the ships with the weakest plating, if you wish, so that we can be easily destroyed if you feel we've betrayed you."

Kindel couldn't believe what he was hearing. There had to be a catch; only a great fool would take his enemy's word at face value. "Are you trying to tell me that the kyrosen wish to join with the Vezulian Armada?"

Now Sartan openly laughed. "No, don't be absurd. We simply want to make a trade."

"And what is it that you want to trade?"

The next words out of Truce's mouth nearly made Kindel roll his eyes. "The perfect warrior."

Thorus wasted no time in shaking his head. "Absolutely not. Out of the question." He returned his gaze to the viewport, eyes shifting toward the tiny spec of a ship floating near the far side of the planet. The _Refuge_.

"Wait a minute. Think about it. The Armada is on an endless quest to strengthen itself, correct? You seek ways to grow in power so that you can defeat any enemy that steps in your way, right? Well this, Thorus, would transform each and every one of your men's children into the ultimate fighting machines."

"I'm not interested in—" He glanced back in disgust. "Did you say _children?"_

"I realize it doesn't sound like there is much potential, but after seeing the thing work with my own eyes, I am truly convinced that this weapon will change the face of battle as we know it, and whoever possesses it will be the most feared and respected entity across the universe."

Kindel pursed his lips in a wry smile before returning his attention to the _Refuge._ "Then why would you want to hand such an item over to me? Why not use it on me and be rid of me?"

"As I said before," Truce began, his boots clopping across the floor as he moved to Thorus' side, "I am not interested in power. I am simply trying to pull my people back from the edge of extinction, and I'll do whatever it takes to give them the chance to rebuild."

"And how do I know you won't turn on me once you _have_ rebuilt?"

"It will be years before that happens." Sartan's voice sounded almost sad. "But if it will make you feel better, I'll sign whatever treaties or agreements you wish to prevent the kyrosen from waging war on the Armada."

It was a tempting deal, Kindel admitted to himself. But he was not foolish enough to trust the kyrosen any more than he trusted the Aeden Alliance. "Have you brought this weapon with you to prove your claims?"

Sartan opened his mouth . . . and closed it again. He raised a finger and directed Kindel's eyes to the _Refuge_. "It was stolen. They have it."

The idea of Aldoric possessing such a weapon sent a chill down Kindel's spine. Still, it could all be some sort of trap laid by Truce and Aldoric to draw Kindel into a winless battle. There were interesting possibilities on both sides of the argument, but Kindel refused to allow himself to trust Sartan Truce. "I assume that means you want my help to recover it. How am I to know I won't find a trap waiting for me over there? I know the planet has held Aldoric's attention for quite some time, and I'm not entirely convinced that you and he haven't been plotting against me."

"If I may, Master?" Scimitar's raspy voice broke in. "We tracked Aldoric to the fortress of one of the kingdoms of this planet. It was there that he battled the kyrosen, and it was there that Truce sustained the injuries he has. I can confirm that the two are not allied."

"Did either of you witness this weapon he speaks of?"

The two ninjas shook their heads. "Once we found Aldoric, we tracked him closely. But when they entered the fortress, we remained hidden outside. You instructed us not to engage in battle, and we followed those orders."

"I also ordered you not to take any prisoners," Kindel muttered. Not that it was a loss to have the leader of the kyrosen in custody. He looked back at Truce, then at the _Refuge._ There was a great deal of risk in trusting anything Truce said. He'd shown no proof for any of his claims, giving Kindel every reason to believe that it was all a bluff. But if, by some chance, this alleged weapon did exist, then leaving in anyone else's hands could prove to be disastrous. It couldn't hurt to look into the matter; it would give Kindel legitimate reason to put a close eye on Aldoric's activities and an even closer eye on Truce and the kyrosen. After all, if the weapon was truly in Aldoric's hands . . . "I shall consider your proposal, Sartan. For now, you will be confined to a prison cell until I can decide what to do with you." He glanced at Scimitar and Kalibur. "Escort him to a cell, and see that his injuries are properly treated."

They responded in unison. "As you wish, my Lord."

Truce kept his head turned and his eyes on Kindel until the door closed behind the three. Thorus looked back at the _Refuge_ and shook his head. "What are you up to, brother?"

*******

Sartan had to restrain his laughter as Scimitar and Kalibur led him to the lift. _The arrogance! To think for a moment that the kyrosen would even consider bowing to his will!_ It was enough to make him want to dance like a giddy young boy. If Kindel fell for this, then the two biggest threats to the kyrosen could eliminate themselves, Arus and the implant would be back in his hands, and the ships of the Armada would be there for the taking. _Only a fool trusts his enemy, Thorus. Treaties are but words, contracts simply paper. Neither can stop the sword, and all are inferior compared to the power of the kyrosen._ Despite himself, he chuckled softly.

*******

Arus could still hear Kitreena screaming when he awoke, a sound that turned into a dull ringing in his ears as consciousness swept over him. He felt odd, as though he wasn't fully alive and yet not at all dead. Words couldn't describe the sensation, but he was sure it had to do with the implant. _Is it broken?_ The seemingly endless chatter of incoherent thoughts that had streamed through his brain were now silent, leaving him alone in his own head with nothing to listen to but his rhythmic breaths and that bloody ringing. _Did Kitreena damage it somehow?_ The last he remembered, she had transformed into some sort of . . . _thing_ —that was the only word he could use to describe it—and those glowing eyes of purple had been fixed on him. Everything after that seemed like nothing more than random images from dreams, including one where Kitreena was unconscious, falling from the ceiling of the Throne Room. _Had that really happened? Was any of it real? Where am I? What's going on?_ He unconsciously rubbed his eye with his right hand before opening it, but when he did he blinked. And again. And again.

His body was responding to his own instructions.

He could feel the smile spreading across his face as he lifted his right hand above him and examined it, flexing and turning it with the will of his own mind. There was no maroon tint to his vision, no sensor readings or energy gauges. The world was in color, though it suddenly seemed a bit smaller, and he could move his body once more. _The implant is no longer in control! I'm free!_ He tried to move the mechanical arm, but there was no response. It didn't feel numb; it was as if the thing didn't even exist. Using his human hand, he began to push himself upright.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a soft, deep voice said. An unseen hand on his left side pushed him back down. Even the slightest movement made his head swim, and he complied with the command. "Not unless you want to fall under Truce's control again."

The cushioned bed beneath him _did_ feel good, he had to admit. A thin white sheet had been pulled to his waist, covering almost half of his artificial limb. The room was an infirmary of some kind, with assorted machines and terminals lining the walls beneath glass cabinets filled with various medications. Everything from the counters to the bedposts to the floor to the cabinets seemed to be made of steel, or a steel-like material. It was hard to see through his impaired vision, but he could make out enough of it to get a sense of his surroundings.

"Your vision will clear in time."

It took a moment for Arus to realize that the world hadn't gotten smaller. He was only seeing through his human eye. The implant had apparently been deactivated, along with his cybernetic arm. "Where am I?" Having his own voice speak the words _he_ was thinking almost startled him.

"Onboard the _Refuge_ ," the voice responded. Arus rolled his head to the left as far as he could, and a man of pale-blue skin came into view, seated in a cushioned chair just beside the bed. He was like no one Arus had ever seen, shrouded by a dark cloak with hair of pure white that spilled well below his shoulders. His face seemed gentle despite his dark eyes, and the smile on his face, though small, spoke only of kindness. "You are safe from the kyrosen for now, as is Asteria."

"The kyrosen?"

The man laughed softly. "You know them as the Vermillion Mages."

The words registered slowly, as though everything that was happening to him was being processed a half-second late. "The _Refuge_ , you said? What is that?"

For a moment, the stranger eyed him, as though weighing some unapparent danger in his mind. Finally, he said, "It is a starship."

"A _what_?" Arus' voice rose to nearly a shout.

"Relax," the man said, rising from his chair. His height alone was enough to make Arus tremble. "There will be time for explanations later. For now, I must go check on Kitreena. Don't mess with those connectors running into your implant. Doc Nori will be in to examine you shortly."

Arus tried to comprehend it all, but there was too much he didn't understand. He barely managed to shout out "Wait!" before the door had closed completely. "Who are you?"

The man looked halfway back. "I am Damien. There is no need to be afraid, I assure you. We are friends." With that, the door slid closed.

Friend or not, the man was a frightening sight. Arus ran his fingers along the implant until he came to a series of wires running from the device and into a machine beside the bed. _What if he wants to use the implant to make me his slave just like the Mages did?_ For a moment, he contemplated pulling the wires loose. _Then again . . . what if they_ are _somehow keeping the implant from controlling me? I don't know what to do._ In any other situation, he would've asked Master Eaisan for advice, but . . . "Master Eaisan," he murmured as the reality of his memories hit him. "I murdered Master Eaisan!"

The flood of tears that followed could've filled the ocean twice. "I didn't mean to do it!" he sobbed aloud. "I tried so hard to resist!" Though he only had one eye to shed tears, he more than made up for it with the number that fell, soaking his pillow for what seemed like hours. "Father, I'm so sorry! Master Eaisan, please forgive me!" Every memory he had of his former master flashed in his mind, from the most intense training sessions to each and every telling of _The Blade of Kaleo_. He'd been just as much of a father to Arus as Dayne had been, and he'd been slain by Dayne's own sword, the blade Arus' father had told him to use to defend the helpless and protect the innocent. And Arus knew, no matter what the future brought, no matter what he accomplished, no matter how many people he helped or how many battles he won, nothing would atone for the sins he'd committed or the damage he'd done. Nothing would bring Eaisan back, and nothing would change the fact that it had been Arus who'd killed him.

"Now, now," another voice began beside him, "you mustn't cry like that!" Arus wiped his eye and looked up to see an elderly man with a billowing white beard standing over him. "You should be happy, for today you shall have your life back!"

"Who are you?" Arus whimpered, trying to force back the endless flow of sobs.

The pudgy old man drew himself up in regal fashion, smoothing his white coat as he did. "Doctor Antigones Nori at your service!" He smiled like a proud grandfather. "I've specialized in many fields throughout the course of my career, from internal medicine to biomechanics, cybernetics and . . ."

The old man rambled on about his various certifications—most of which Arus had never even heard of—before heading to the terminals on the far wall. He was lively for his age, Arus thought, full of energy and clearly happy to serve anyone he could. It was certainly a refreshing change from the Vermillion Mages, but then, just about anything would be. "Where are we?" he asked when the doctor's babbling finally wound down. "The man who was here—someone named Damien—said we're on a starship, but I don't know what that means."

The doctor peered at him quizzically. "Ah, yes!" he said, snapping his fingers. "Damien told me that your people were unfamiliar with the ways of the universe. Let me see here . . ." He trailed off on another string of incoherent ramble as he dug through some of the drawers beneath the cabinets. "Ah, here we are!" A long, rolled up piece of paper came out and was promptly unfurled across Arus' bed. It was mostly black, dotted with thousands of tiny white specks across its entire span. After donning a pair of round eyeglasses, the doctor cleared his throat. "The universe. You've looked up at the stars at night before, I'm sure?" Arus nodded. "Well, this is a graph of those stars." He pointed to a tiny cluster of dots near the left side of the diagram. "Terranias is here. We are currently orbiting Terranias," he made a circular motion with his finger, "like this."

Arus' jaw dropped open. "You mean we're in outer space?"

"Precisely!" Nori nodded with a smile.

"You mean, you're not from my planet? You and Damien are aliens?" Another realization hit him. "And _Kitreena,_ too?"

The doctor bellowed with laughter. "My boy, I'm just as human as you are. My ancestors came from Terranias many years ago, fearing that the planet was about to be destroyed. I grew up," he pointed to a dot near the upper left corner of the map, "right here. Tynest, it was called. Oh, what a marvelous world it was. And still is, I suppose. Haven't been back there in a long time, oh no."

"And Damien and Kitreena?"

"Well now, Damien is as alien as they come! He was born on the planet Zo'rhan, a cold planet near the Lycosite Quasar," he said, pointing to a group of dots near the bottom of the graph. "Kitreena is from a planet called Lavinia. The people there were once human, you see, but an unknown element in the atmosphere of the planet changed their genetic structures over time. Now, they are what most people refer to as Morphers, but she is still basically human."

Images of her transformation—and those terrifying eyes—flashed in his mind again. "I don't know that I'd call her that."

"Nonsense!" Nori laughed again. "I understand you witnessed her first transformation, eh? Well, do not be afraid. If what Damien says is true, she may have the potential to be the strongest Morpher in centuries!" He rolled up the map and returned it to the cabinet drawer.

The thought brought Arus no comfort. She had little control over her anger, whether it be in human form or otherwise, and he wasn't sure he wanted to be around the next time she blew her top. Still, she _was_ beautiful. A part of him would be willing to take the risk just to be near her, but the rest of him knew that it was foolish. _She's not interested in you, you love-struck fool. She'll tear your throat out just as quickly as she'd tear out Truce's._ "Is she going to be all right?"

Doctor Nori was working at the terminal beside his bed. "Hmm?" He looked up. "Oh, yes, she'll be quite all right. Smitten with her, are ya?"

Arus' eye bulged. "What? No! Why would you think that?"

Another chuckle from the old man. "I do apologize, but it just came across the terminal screen here. You see, we're plugged into the implant at the moment, so any thoughts your mind processes are sent to this terminal. You were thinking she was beautiful but deadly. Can't say I disagree with you there!" He laughed again.

The idea of having someone read his mind was unsettling, at best. Moving his thoughts away from Kitreena, he decided it was time to ask the question he'd been avoiding for fear of the answer. "Can you remove the implant?"

For once, the doctor didn't laugh. His face became somber, which pretty much told Arus the answer without the words. "I'm sorry, but it is permanently embedded within your brain. The two have a symbiotic relationship; they need each other to survive. Removing one would effectively kill the other."

Arus sighed and wiped another tear away. "So I'm stuck like this forever?"

Nori held up his hand as he studied readings of the terminal. The fact that Arus even knew what he was looking at bothered him; his time as Truce's slave had introduced him to computer terminals and their many uses. "I wouldn't go that far," the doctor said. "I may not be able to remove it, but with a bit of study, I may be able to minimize it."

"That won't help me," Arus muttered. "We're taught that machines are evil, and they are forbidden where I come from. If I try to go home like this, I'll either be killed, cast out, or thrown into the dungeons of Castle Asteria."

"Now, now, don't be so negative." Nori's warm smile returned. "You don't know for sure that's how they'll react."

Arus shrugged it off and rested his head against the feather pillow. It was all so much for him to take in at once. He used to stare at the stars, wondering if humans were alone in the galaxy, and now he was being treated in a spaceship _amidst_ those stars! He'd met two alien beings, a human who's ancestors traced back to a time before the Great War, been enslaved to a machine, now apparently freed, and it had all turned his world—his _universe_ , rather—completely upside down. _Perhaps it's all just an elaborate dream._ It didn't seem likely, but anything was preferable to his current situation.

"Ah! Here we go!" Nori exclaimed. His fingers rattled across the terminal keys. "This should do it." A sharp tingle surged through his mechanical arm, though how he could feel sensations through steel the way he felt them through his flesh was still beyond his understanding. The implant emitted a momentary electric hum, and rolling warmth spread across the length of the cybernetic limb. "All right, Arus. Try to lift your arm." He pointed at the polished steel.

The thing moved and _felt_ like his natural arm, flexing and rotating with only Arus' thoughts guiding it. The doctor took him through a series of exercises to test its mobility and responsiveness, flexing each finger and bending each joint. "I can't exactly say I'm happy to see this thing in action again," Arus mumbled.

"Two hands are better than one, that's what I always say!" Nori laughed again. Did the man ever finish a sentence _without_ laughing? How could anyone be so . . . so . . . jolly?

Arus sighed and let the arm fall to the bed. "Just as long as I'm the one controlling them."

Nori continued his work for quite some time, disconnecting and removing several bundles of wires from the circuits embedded in his scalp. Here and there, a mutter of "Oh, would you look at that?" and "That's interesting, I never would've thought of that!" slipped through the old man's lips, which didn't sit so well with Arus, of course. Did this guy even know what he was doing? And how could Arus be sure that he wasn't trying to gain control of the implant to force him into submission again? The idea of jumping from the bed and running for his life tempted Arus more than once, but he wasn't so sure his body could handle it, and if Damien had told the truth, they were only trying to help. Besides, where would he run to?

"Very well, that should do it for now," the old man said after a time, clapping his hands together. "I've removed all of the cables that controlled your motor functions, and erased the lines of code that overrode your brain's instructions. I also deactivated any other functions that the implant was controlling, such as pupil dilation and balance, among others. In short, your brain is now in complete control of your body, and the implant is just along for the ride at the moment. I am going to have to analyze the programming of your mechanical eye for a bit to determine which functions I need to reactivate in order to restore your vision on your left side without activating the laser weapon or any of the other additional functions that Truce added. For now, I'll have some food sent up for you. After all you've been through, you must be hungry, and you need your strength to recover!"

Arus watched Nori as he walked around the bed and headed for the door, and his eye came to rest on an unannounced visitor leaning against the counter. "Vultrel!" He was holding Arus' sword, examining it as though it was some sort of archeological find, and handling it with the same care and precision. It took him a few moments to bring his gaze to meet Arus' own, and even then it seemed like a chore.

"You know, I always thought this sword would one day be used to purge the Mages from Asteria," he began, turning his attention back to the blade. "I never thought it would wind up where it did. It was supposed to be Truce's heart, Arus. Not my father's."

"I know, Vultrel," Arus said, trying to force down the lump in his throat. "I know. But you have to understand, I was under Truce's—"

"Save it, Arus," Vultrel held up his hand as he placed the weapon on the counter. "Anton resisted. _Anton._ He wasn't the most talented or even the most intelligent student my father had, but he showed in the end that he certainly had the heart of a warrior. I always thought you had that same heart, Arus. I once believed you'd be better than me, not only with the sword, but in every aspect of life. I saw—or _thought_ I saw—that potential in you from the day my father gave us our first lesson. But in the end, you showed your true self, just as Anton did. You're weak, Arus. And your weakness cost Eaisan Lurei his life."

"Vultrel, that's now how it was!" Arus shouted, sitting upright. "You have no idea what it was like being under the control of that thing!"

"But Anton did!" Vultrel shot back through a clenched jaw. "And he managed to break free before he did something he would've regretted."

Arus shook his head vigorously, which in turn made the room spin a bit. "Whatever flaw existed in Anton's implant did not exist in my own," he said, closing his eye to allow the world to settle around him. "I fought with every ounce of my being, Vultrel. It was maddening! You have to understand me!"

"I kept telling myself that," Vultrel nodded, his eyes growing thin. "Even when you were fighting against me and my father, I kept telling myself that you were going to snap out of it before you did anything rash. I just believed that you would do the right thing in the end, because I couldn't picture you hurting one of us. So you can probably imagine how I felt when I saw you standing over my father's fallen body."

Arus could no longer hold back the tears. "I tried to stop it, Vultrel. You have to believe me! I tried with everything—"

"I'm sure you did," his voice was almost mocking now. "But you failed. And do you know why? Because you're weak. Well, I'm not so sure I want someone like that watching my back, so if you don't mind, I'll be going solo from now on."

"Listen to me, if I could've—"

The door slid closed behind Vultrel with a quiet whisk, leaving Arus alone in the infirmary. Living with the memories of what he'd done to Eaisan and the countless other soldiers he'd killed was going to be more than enough punishment for his crimes, but having his best friend turn on him during his darkest hour was akin to a knife in the back. _How could he blame me for this? I didn't want to do it! I fought it as much as anyone could've. Was there something more I could've done? Am I . . . weak?_

He didn't realize he'd gotten out of bed until he found himself holding his sword, staring at the red leather sheath as he rotated it in his hands. He tried not to let the mechanical arm catch his eye, but the shining steel reflected his face, giving him a view of the implant for the first time. It was a dreadfully large thing, completely consuming his entire left eye socket and stretching back toward his ear. The eye itself was composed of a steel cylinder which matched his nose in depth, its end covered by a clear lens of some sort. The hair along the side of his head was shaved away from his temple to just above the ear, replaced by a crude mess of connectors and wires strung in coils like a twisted mess of vines. The steel plating wrapped behind his ear and ran down the left side of his neck, though those plates seemed to serve no purpose other than to protect the wires running from the implant to his mechanical arm. The sight was more than enough to bring on another river of tears.

Master Eaisan was gone, killed by Arus' own hand. Vultrel had turned on him. He was disfigured for life. His village would never accept him back with the implant attached to his body, yet he couldn't survive if the device were removed. The life Arus had known was long gone, and nothing he could do would bring it back. Fourteen years old, and he'd never see his mother again. Never see his village. His people. His home. His life.

It was gone. All of it.

Time passed; Arus wasn't sure how long. He didn't remember slumping into the chair beside his bed, nor did he notice the nurse come to leave him a tray of hot food. A woman came to see him at one point—Carsynia, he thought her name was—and she claimed to be a counselor of some kind, but Arus paid little attention to her. What would some woman who'd never known him or the people in his life have to say that could help? She babbled in his ear for a while about coping with loss and remembering the lessons of those who've passed from this life, but Arus ignored it all. He was in no mood to be told to look for the good in life. There was no good in anything that had happened. Before she left, she told him to consider how he could use his experiences to help others, which he thought about for a good thirty seconds before shrugging it out of his head. _Help others? What about me? I dedicated myself to helping others a long time ago, but who's going to help me?_

Don't worry, Arus. I won't stop until Truce and his men have paid for what they've done to us.

Arus whipped his head around, expecting to see Kitreena standing in the doorway, but it was closed, and he was alone in the room. He knew he'd heard her voice, but where . . .?

"I must be losing my mind," he muttered, rising from the chair with a groggy shake of the head. He grabbed a few slices of fruit from the tray of food—they were still surprisingly moist despite how long they'd been left to sit—and stuffed them into his mouth before poking at the strange meat beside them. It looked like pork, but the smell of beef and assorted spices filled his nose. After a timid taste, he stuffed that into his mouth, too. It had been a long time since he'd eaten anything, and the more his body adjusted to being freed from the implant's control, the more he began to realize the empty void in his stomach. The plate was clean before he knew it, and the glass of juice was bone dry. When he'd finally swallowed the last bite, he wiped his mouth and grabbed his sword from the counter. With it securely latched to his belt where it belonged, it was time to explore the _Refuge._

The door slid away as he approached, opening the way to a vast corridor bustling with men and women in brown uniforms. It was an elegant looking hall, constructed mostly of steel or some other sort of polished metal and illuminated by glowing white tubes of glass that ran along either side of the ceiling. Arus suspected they were powered by something called "electricity," which was a seldom mentioned word used on Terranias to describe how machines were operated. The walls were separated by panels of polished wood, sometimes decorated with ornate carvings or used to hang messages for the crewmembers to read. A narrow strip of blue carpet ran down the center of the corridor, not quite reaching the walls. The overall beauty of the ship's construction was something that even the best laborers in Narleaha likely couldn't match.

Arus recognized the uniformed crewmembers immediately; they had accompanied Damien and Kitreena into the Throne Room back at Castle Asteria. He tried to be casual as he walked along, sneaking brief glances inside open doors and listening to bits of conversations. Most of it seemed fairly ordinary; a doctor headed to an appointment, students going to class, a soldier late for his shift. From the outside, the other rooms seemed pretty common as well. He passed a variety of offices and storage rooms before Damien emerged from a doorway to the left a few short paces away.

"You should be in bed," he noted. "Your body needs time to recover and realign itself to your brain's commands."

"I'm hungry," Arus said, though he hadn't intended on starting with that. "And I'd like some information. Why am I being held here? What happened to Lord Sarathon and the Vermillion Mages? Are we—"

"I understand your confusion, Arus," Damien put a comforting hand on his steel shoulder. "Vultrel has been quite vocal about his paranoia concerning us. The truth is that we have to keep you here until we can properly assess the threat to Terranias. We have reason to believe that returning you to your kingdom may jeopardize the safety of your world, so we're keeping you here as a precaution."

"So I'm a prisoner here?"

Damien visibly suppressed a laugh. "Not at all. If you wish to be returned to the surface, all you need to do is say the word, and it will be done."

_I can't go home anyway._ "It's not that," Arus shook his head. "You've treated me very well, and I appreciate it. I just don't understand half of what you say. Why would my return to the surface bring danger to the planet? Are you afraid the implant may take control of me again?"

"I admit, that is part of it," Damien nodded slowly. "But it isn't our main concern. As of right now, I cannot tell you any more. You see, history has taught us that interference with a primitive culture by an outside influence can bring about drastic consequences. Entire societies have been corrupted in the past when outsiders intervened and tried to impose their own will. Suppose we were to bring you home and insist that you are to be left unharmed despite your people's feelings about machines? There would inevitably be people who support you—friends, family, and other sympathizers—and there would be others who would oppose. There would be individuals on both sides who would see their will done no matter what the cost, and pretty soon you've got fighting, bloodshed, and perhaps even war."

Arus looked at him sideways. "You think Terranias will go to war over me if I go back?"

Damien shrugged. "I don't know. But I've seen similar things happen. Humans are easily frightened and even more easily angered. I've had enough experience with your race to know that many humans would sooner destroy something that makes them uncomfortable rather than learn from it, accept it, and embrace it. They fear the unknown, and they fear change."

"So . . . what happens to me now?"

"That's part of what I've been discussing with my associates. We want to find the safest way to return you to your people, but we don't know how that's going to be possible. I'm going to call a meeting a little later on. You and Vultrel are both welcome to come."

"I'll pass the message on if I see him," Arus said absentmindedly. _If I can even get him to listen to me._

"Good. For now, feel free to explore, but don't leave this deck. Here," Damien handed him a small silver device similar to Kitreena's communicator. "Take this. That way we can contact each other if we need to."

Arus had no idea how to work the gadget, and Damien well on his way down the hall before he looked up to ask. "Thanks," he murmured.

The door to the left remained open, and Arus could see Kitreena inside, sitting on a chair in the far corner, lacing up her black boots. Her dark hair obscured her face as she leaned down, working each lace through with a stiff tug that spoke volumes about her frustration. Not that he needed any more examples of Kitreena's anger. She glared at him when he approached. "Do you always enter people's rooms without permission?"

Arus raised his eyebrow as he glanced around. There was a desk in front of a cushioned red chair to the left, and cabinets of polished brown wood lined the wall beside her chair. Other than that, there was no much to the room except for an assortment of documents hanging from the walls. It didn't seem like a personal residence. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize this was your room."

"It's not," she said, pulling the black leather leg of her pants down over her boot. "But then, this isn't your ship."

"I'm sorry," he said again. Was there nothing he could do right around her? "I just wanted to see how you were feeling."

"Well," she glanced up at him before pulling the other leg down, "better than you, I suppose." When she stood, she threw her hair behind her back and tied it with a red ribbon. "You hungry?"

The question caught him off-guard. Kitreena never seemed like the kind of person who would invite him to dinner. "Well . . . yes, as a matter of fact, I am."

Her face seemed as hard as ever, but her voice softened a bit. "Come on. Let's see if we can find something at the cafeteria."

The cafeteria turned out to be a lot like the Serving Hall for the elders in Keroko. Dozens of dark wooden tables were spread across the floor, each surrounded by chairs with blue cushions and armrests made from silver. A serving bar stretched along most of the right wall where people lined up with trays to assemble their meal. People filled the room sparsely, many wearing the same brown uniforms Arus had become familiar with, others in what appeared to be casual clothes of varying colors and design. But it was the windows lining the far wall that really grabbed his attention.

"By the Maker . . ." he muttered, staring in disbelief as his feet carried him across the room. The vast abyss of space, in all of its unimaginable glory and splendor, seemed to swallow him up as he stared into the endless sea of stars. Terranias floated silently before them, its calm blue aura enhancing the beauty of the sight. Several smaller ships circled the _Refuge_ , passing the window periodically in tight formation. Another cluster of larger ships sat a good distance away near the right side of the planet.

Kitreena looked back to the serving bar. "I'm going to get a tray before that line gets longer. You coming?" Arus heard her, but his attention was fixed on the planet. "We can get a seat by the window, if you like." Finally, he nodded, but it was hard to pull his attention away.

The serving bar certainly wasn't lacking in variety, though Arus couldn't recognize most of the offerings. He slid his tray along the counter beside Kitreena's, scooping up a little of every type of meat he could find and even more fruit. She gave him a startled glance more than once—apparently certain types of meat weren't well-mixed—but in the end she told him to get whatever he wanted. After filling a glass with something called "Rasmban Punch," he followed Kitreena to one of the smaller tables beside the window and sat across from her.

"Manue doesn't mix with rufen," she was saying, pointing at the green-glazed meat on his plate. "If you're going to try them both, I suggest rinsing your mouth between bites."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said through a nervous laugh. "What is manue? For that matter, what is rufen? What is _any_ of this stuff I've got here?"

It wasn't something he expected, but Kitreena grinned through a bite of food. "Well, you wouldn't be familiar with any of them. They're from assorted animals from the homeworlds of crew members. Every cycle, the kitchen accepts votes for a new meal from the crew. Everything offered is from the home planet of one of us. That red meat in the blue gravy there is from my homeworld. It's called Kraktouis. It's a bird that lives on the ocean, feeding on the fish near the surface."

Arus took a deep breath and bit down on a fork-full of Kraktouis. After rolling it around in his mouth for a moment, he nodded and smiled. "Good choice," he said after he swallowed. "Tastes a little like chicken with a sour sauce on it."

Kitreena nodded and took another bite of her food. "I think they have chicken up there. When your people migrated across the galaxy, they brought a lot of their livestock with them."

With every word, her attitude seemed to be cooling down. Was she finally beginning to let go of her angry demeanor? " _My_ people? The doctor said that you descended from humans, too."

The grin vanished. She stared at him for a moment before responding. "I'm not supposed to talk about that. There are dangers—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Arus groaned, shaking his head. "But let's be realistic for a second here. I'm here, in this ship, talking to you about food from the distant planets of the universe. I know that you're not from my planet, and looking around at these soldiers, many of them clearly aren't human. I mean, even Damien isn't human! I don't know what more you intend to protect me from; the damage has already been done."

Her lips formed a sympathetic pout, but her eyes were still filled with suspicion. "But if you return to your planet—"

He slammed his fist down on the table, a gesture he certainly would've avoided had he thought twice. "I _can't_ return! I don't know if you've noticed or not," he knuckled the implant with his cybernetic hand, "but I'm a mechanical freak now! I'm stuck here, or wherever you people decide to send me to, whether I like it or not!"

Her mouth didn't move, but he heard her voice. _I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Arus! I don't know how, but I'll make it up to you somehow!_

And this time, there was no mistaking it. It was no hallucination, no figment of his imagination. "And why do I keep hearing your bloody voice in my head?"

Her eyes grew with surprise. "You . . . what?"

Caution hit him; the wrong words here would make him seem like a madman. _Maybe I_ am _a madman._ "I keep thinking I'm hearing your voice," he said, lowering his voice. "Maybe I'm just hearing things because of this bloody implant, I don't know." He knew that wasn't what it was, but for the sake of appearing sane, it seemed like the best story to give.

Kitreena's gaze was distant now. "Maybe . . ." she said, almost whispering.

The next several minutes passed in silence. They ate quietly, carefully avoiding eye contact with one another. Arus searched for what to say to smooth the situation over; he'd never meant to explode like that. But he suddenly felt like a homeless orphan with no one who wanted him, and that made it difficult to stay calm.

"You're not an orphan," she said, her eyes on her food. "You'll find your place. Everyone does sooner or later."

Arus' human eye grew. "I didn't say anything," he told her. "How did you know that's how I felt?"

"Yes, you did," Kitreena nodded as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I heard you say it. You said you felt like a homeless orphan with no one who wants you."

"Kitreena," he said, waiting until she looked at him before continuing. "I don't understand it, but you somehow heard what I was thinking. And I get the feeling that I've been hearing what you're thinking."

Now her face went pale, and she nearly dropped her fork. Her mouth worked silently, trying to coming up with some kind of response. Finally, she jumped from her chair. "I'm sorry, I have to go."

Before he could protest, she was off, running for the door as fast as she could. Arus rose to follow, but thought better of it. _Don't intrude on her space. Whatever is going on with her, she'll figure it out. Better to leave her alone, for now._ With a sigh, he sat back down and went back to work on his food. The next bite left him sputtering and grabbing for his drink. "I should've listened to her," he groaned between gulps. "Manue and rufen certainly do _not_ mix."

Chapter 2-2

The little egg in the incubation chamber captivated Kindel. Not only had it been created from a single of the Lephadorite's cells, it had such an incredible growth rate that it had gone from a microscopic cell to the size of a pebble in only a few days. The death of Lady Almatha's second assistant was regrettable, but the price had been well worth it. The reproductive properties of the new _baharinda_ had fed on the lephadorite perfectly, allowing Barrine's team to create the egg. The researchers had given no real explanations for its incredible rate of growth, only stating that the stone was indeed a living organism and one of the most basic forms of matter they'd ever had the privilege to study. They theorized that, with the right tools, the lephadorite could be used to create anything from living tissue to titanium plating for a starship. How that could be possible, Kindel didn't understand, but science had never been his forte.

Behind him, Barrine was babbling on about the cellular makeup of the stone and how intriguing it had been to study such an unusual artifact. Kindel waved him away with a dismissive hand, and he was quickly replaced by Lieutenant Petreit. Scimitar and Kalibur had been ordered to keep all unauthorized personnel out of the Research Laboratory during his visit, so whatever Petreit had to say must've been important enough for them to go against orders. "What is it, Lieutenant?"

"Sir, I've searched every lead I could come up with in an attempt to hunt down the origin of the stone. So far, I've been unable to come up with a clear answer. However, a few comments made by some of my colleagues set my search in a different direction. Given what Dr. Barrine has found regarding the cellular structure of the lephadorite and the infinite possibilities it seems to possess, a few of my contacts at several biological research outposts suggested that I research something called Lifestone."

Kindel's ears perked at the name, and he faced Petreit with renewed interest. "Go on."

The soldier cleared his throat and flipped through several pages on his clipboard. "As I'm sure you know, of the thousands upon thousands of religions scattered throughout the universe, several have striking similarities in their mythology. The fall of a great city, the duel between an angel and the fallen one, the Maker's victory over evil, the taint of darkness that remained upon his Creation; all of it is described in similar fashion, different only in trivial ways. One of those stories deals with the initial forming of the universe itself, from the stars, planets, comets, and meteors, right down to the plants, animals, and people that inhabit them."

"The origin of matter itself," Thorus nodded. "The stories vary in how it was all done, but in the end, they each claim that the Maker began by creating an enormous stone, and it was from that stone that he formed every single planet, star, quasar, plant, animal, and everything else we see around us."

"That's right," Petreit said, smiling. Obviously, he was proud of himself, though he'd proven nothing thus far. "He took pieces of that stone, called Lifestone in the human's version of the story, and molded each piece into another planet or tree or rabbit or whatever he wanted to make. Everything is derived from it, or so the stories go."

"And I suppose you expect me to believe that the lephadorite is, in fact, Lifestone?"

The Lieutenant's smile vanished. "Well, Sir, you have to admit, it is certainly an odd find. I mean, you said yourself that many historical stories hold at least _some_ truth to them. Perhaps this is an example of that?"

Kindel purposely narrowed his eyes. It wasn't that he found Petreit's suggestion to be unbelievable—quite the opposite, considering the other artifact he kept covered on his cabinets—but if it was indeed true that the lephadorite was a fragment of unaltered Lifestone, then he could allow _no one_ to know about it. For now, Petreit had to be driven away from the possibility. "Or perhaps this is an example of a man with no answers grasping at straws?" Petreit took a step away from him, whether he'd realized it or not mattered little. "What I see, Lieutenant, is a soldier who has failed to complete the assignment I've given him, and instead has offered me a flimsy excuse of an answer that only a fool would believe." Regardless of whether the lephadorite was Lifestone or not, it still had to have come from _somewhere._ And Kindel was determined to find out where. "Now, you get back to your station, Lieutenant, and you are not to leave it until you have found the answers I'm looking for! Have I made myself perfectly clear?"

The blood had drained from Petreit's face, and his fingers quivered visibly around the clipboard. "Y-Y-Yes, Sir! Right away, Sir!" His exit was more than hasty.

When the door had slid closed once again, Kindel motioned for Barrine to return. "Doctor, how long until you can reproduce the stone in mass quantities?"

The lanky man looked up from his desk with lips pursed as though frustrated with the question. "As I said, I need to examine the test hatchling before I can determine whether or not the experiment was a success."

"How long, Doctor?"

Barrine sighed heavily, his unfocused eyes softening as he thought. "Even if this experiment goes well, it will still take months to produce the number you've requested."

Thorus ground his teeth and headed for the door. "That's not good enough, Doctor."

"Sir, due to the sensitive nature of the specimen and the complex analysis required to—" The door closed behind Kindel, cutting the doctor off in mid-sentence. His attention immediately shifted to his associates standing on either side of the door. "Why was Lieutenant Petreit allowed to enter? I ordered that no one be permitted access."

"The information he possessed seemed relevant, Master," Scimitar answered. "We thought you would want to hear it."

Kindel opened his mouth to admonish them, but thought better of it. The information _was_ important, if there were _any_ two members of the crew he'd share it with, it would be his assistants. "Keep whatever he told you to yourselves," he told them. "Come, we have one more stop to make."

The prison level was more quiet than usual, though the addition of the new guards likely had a good deal to do with that. Given the abilities of the most recent arrival to the ship, it was necessary to take considerable precautions when seeing to the security of his cell. Sartan Truce was a sorcerer; he could easily blast through the prison bars without the proper defenses in place. Placing two of his zo'rhan soldiers beside his cell to hold a magical energy barrier in place around the man was a necessity. It would contain his magical abilities, and keep the ship's prison level in one piece.

The two soldiers, both zo'rhan men uniformed in grey and well versed in the magical arts of their people, nodded slightly toward him as he and his assistants approached. They stood completely still, hands held palm-up at either side and eyes locked on Truce. The barrier would remain invisible unless attacked, but there was no doubt Sartan knew it was there. "No trust between allies, eh?" the bearded man laughed when he saw Kindel. "What, did you think I was gonna try and blow up the ship or something?"

"The thought had crossed my mind," Kindel responded flatly. "Tell me more about this weapon of yours."

Truce laughed again as he rose from the thin bed against the wall. "And give you all the leverage you need? I tell you everything, and then you don't need me anymore. Sorry, but I'm not the fool you think I am."

"You willingly walked into _my_ prison," Thorus shot back. "Some would consider that foolish."

"I call it a necessary risk," Sartan countered. "Perhaps, if you agree to a partnership, I might consider giving you limited schematics regarding the weapon. But for now, all I'm prepared to tell you is that your Aeden pals have it."

Kindel swallowed a growl and forced away a sneer. "I could easily kill you and then retrieve the weapon from Aldoric myself."

Truce's grin never faltered. "You could, but you wouldn't have a clue of how to work it. If anything, it would be _more_ dangerous to you."

"Why should I believe for a moment that an alliance with you would be any less so?"

Truce folded his arms and began pacing back and forth. "I admit that it does require at least a period of unconditional trust so that you can see that the kyrosen will obey your orders."

"And why should I believe that your people are as trustworthy as you yourself claim to be?"

"My people follow my orders," Truce said simply. "If I order them to swear oaths of allegiance to you, they will be on their knees before I've finished the order."

"So you say," Kindel said through a wry smile. "But oaths don't give me any insurance."

"What would _you_ have me offer, Thorus? What will it take to convince you of my honesty?"

Kindel thought for a moment. The kyrosen couldn't have much in the way of assets after living in a desert for so many years. What kind of collateral could he demand that would be significant enough to force Truce's loyalty? The man had already stated that he wasn't willing to give up the specifications of this weapon of his—a wise choice, considering it would pretty much eliminate any need for him or his people to be involved—and there was little else Sartan could offer. The kyrosen didn't possess much, and material things were easily replaced anyway. Their society's main strength—and weakness, in Kindel's mind—was their interdependence on each other. On their own, each kyrosen was nothing more than an average sorcerer. But together, they created a well-oiled machine capable of achieving just about any goal they set their sights on. However, if a key part of that machine were to be removed . . . "You shall be my collateral," Kindel finally said. "I will allow you to conduct a transmission—supervised, of course—to appoint a new leader to the kyrosen while I keep you in custody. You will remain in my prison cells until I possess this weapon of yours. If the kyrosen so much as fire one shot in my direction, or if the weapon turns out to be some kind of fairy tale invented to deceive me, you will die a slow, painful death, followed by the rest of your people. If all goes well, however, I will have you all on transports to wherever it is you want to go."

If there was any hesitation or unease about the plan, Truce never showed it. He slid his hand through the bar as soon as Kindel finished speaking. "You have a deal."

Thorus shook his hand, never breaking eye contact. "Don't think of betraying me, Sartan. You'll be pleading for mercy the instant you turn your back."

"You have nothing to worry about, Thorus," Sartan assured him. "From this moment on, the kyrosen are loyal allies of the Vezulian Armada."

*******

"But I don't want him listening in on my thoughts!"

Damien slunk down in his chair, though Kitreena thought she saw the beginnings of a smile in the way the corners of his mouth were turned. They were alone in the conference room—one of the few times Kitreena had been able to corner Damien since the incident on the planet—and now he seemed almost amused by what had been happening to her. Imagine, her personal thoughts and feelings on display for Arus to hear! It was frightening and mortifying all at the same time.

She dropped into the black cushioned chair perpendicular to where Damien sat and let her arms hang lazily over the sides. Usually, nearly thirty people sat around the long polished table giving reports of their assigned patrols throughout the universe. The meetings took place every two weeks when Damien's Covert Operations team convened with the latest information on enemy activity, whether it be the Deltorian Pirates, the Vezulian Armada, or any other criminal faction out there that liked to stir up trouble. The huge screen in the wall at the far end of the table was often used to display fleet positioning and intelligence recordings, though it stood blank now. There would be no Covert Ops meeting today. More important matters needed to be addressed.

"It's going to take time," Damien finally said. "You'll learn to control your abilities, but first and foremost you must develop patience. Without that, anything you learn will be rushed and incomplete, and you'll never be able to truly and fully utilize the power you have within you."

"How?" she groaned, throwing her hands up. "You said it yourself; no one else out there has the same abilities as I do. Who's going to teach me how to control them if no one knows firsthand what I'm going through?" With another agonized groan, she put her head in her hands. "If I could just keep Arus out of my head, I'd be fine with taking the time necessary to learn the rest of my skills."

"Well, I've sent requests out to several of my connections of Malziar and Por'Alless. If anyone can give us some tips on how to control a telepathic connection, it would be them. I know their race is quite different from humans in many ways, but I can't imagine the process of telepathy can be all that different."

Kitreena looked at him skeptically. "And what do I do in the meantime? For all I know, Arus could be hearing my thoughts halfway across the ship!"

"Well, you might try explaining it to them. Now that we've decided to—"

The whisk of the door behind her cut him off, and Arus took a slow step into the room. "You . . . wanted to see me?"

Damien stood as he entered, and bowed deeply when the door had closed. The zo'rhan were big on honor, something Kitreena had never fully understood. But she respected it anyway, for Damien's sake. "Welcome, Arus," he said once he was upright again. "Have a seat, make yourself comfortable. We have much to discuss."

Arus was visibly wary. He sat down with the appearance of a young man on his way to his own execution. "Have I done something wrong?"

"Not at all," Damien assured him. "I'll be happy to explain just as soon as Vultrel gets here. For the moment, however, let's get the awkward issue between you two out of the way."

Kitreena glanced at Arus, but consciously made an effort to avoid eye contact. Still, it was blatantly obvious that he was looking at her. _He's probably listening to my thoughts right now!_ "As you know by now, I'm a Morpher," she said, forcing herself to stare at the table. "As a child, a Morpher is just the same as any other human. However, throughout our teenage years, our abilities begin to manifest themselves through our emotions. The transformation you saw take place back at the castle was brought out of anger."

"And she's got _plenty_ of that," Damien muttered to no one in particular. A quick look from her erased his grin.

"As I was saying, my emotions bring out my talents. Many Morphers have different talents while many others possess the same. Unfortunately for you and I, it appears that I have the gift of telepathy, a talent which none of my people share. It is unique to me, for whatever reason, and I must learn to control it on my own. In the mean time, I ask that you ignore any of my stray thoughts that may wander into your head. I will try to learn to control it as best as I can, but it may take time."

Arus' surprise was mostly hidden behind the implant, though his hanging jaw gave it away. "Am I the only one who can hear you?"

Kitreena looked at Damien, but he only nodded. "It appears so," she answered after a sigh. "I don't know why. Maybe it's because you were closest to me both times I unconsciously tapped into my power. I can't tell you for sure, but I promise I'll do my best to overcome this problem and control it."

Arus held up his mechanical hand to wordlessly assure her he understood before he quickly switched to his human hand. "It's all right. Take your time. I'll ignore anything I hear, and I swear I'll repeat none of it to anyone, not even myself."

"There is much more about Morphers that we wish to share," Damien spoke up, sitting forward in his chair. "But I want to wait until Vultrel gets here to begin with all that. Have you seen him?

"I saw him once when I woke up," Arus replied. Kitreena flinched when she heard his voice in her head. _And he hates me now._ "I don't think he wants to see me right now."

Damien gave him a nod of understanding. "He is upset with you over what happened on the surface, I assume?" Arus' gaze turned downward as he nodded. "We can speak with him if you'd like."

"No! Please, don't press him. He's been dealt a great loss and I don't want to make things worse."

"As you wish. I'd never consider interfering against your wishes, of course."

The door slid open again to admit Vultrel. He seemed even more cautious than Arus had, hesitating to enter even after Damien invited him in. Once inside, he took a seat several chairs away from Arus. His made his disdain known with glares and pursed lips, but he did not say a word. Once comfortable, he turned his eyes to Damien and waited expectantly.

"Very well," Damien began, rising from his chair. "We've called you both here today because Kitreena and I have come to an important decision. Given that you already know so much, and because you, Arus, feel like you cannot return home, we've decided to let you in on everything. Who we are, who the kyrosen are, where we're from, what we do, and just about anything else you want to know."

"And what about me?" Vultrel spoke up. "I can go home, can't I?"

"If that's what you've decided you'd like to do," Damien responded.

"But it's all right for me to know all this stuff?"

"Again, you know so much already," Kitreena explained. "Regardless of what we tell you now, Terranias' society has already been irreversibly affected by our interference."

Damien cleared his throat and continued. "Myself, Kitreena, and the crew of the _Refuge_ are part of an intergalactic military known as the Aeden Alliance. I am the Captain of this ship, though I don't like formal titles, so that's why you'll always hear people refer to me as Damien. Kitreena is second in command. I know she's young, but she has proven time and time again that she is capable of handling her duties. Our purpose is to protect and defend any planet which either accepts or requests our assistance in any number of assorted matters. We've liberated oppressed societies, rescued hostages from pirates, recovered stolen goods, and even managed to diffuse a few wars along the way."

"We learned about Truce's plans for a cybernetic implant when he made a transmission from the Underworld to a research outpost in the Sarangoda system," Kitreena added. "We intercepted the message and tracked it, and that's how we ended up here."

"The Underworld?" Arus repeated.

"That's what Truce called his little underground lair beneath your Mayahol Desert," Damien clarified. "I'm sure you've pieced some of the truth together on your own by now, but here's the full story. The kyrosen, or Vermillion Mages as you know them, landed on your planet years ago in an attempt to escape extinction. Repeated battles with the Vezulian Armada—another military faction in space—had dwindled the kyrosen's numbers so drastically that they needed a place to regroup and recover."

Kitreena's eyes shifted between Vultrel and Arus as she spoke. "Aratus Truce was a ruthless killer. His vision was for Terranias to become the new homeworld of the kyrosen. He changed their name to the Vermillion Mages to try to conceal their true identity in case the Armada ever came looking for them. And then he proceeded to wage war on your people. He wanted to eliminate humanity, or at least enough of you to force the rest into submission."

"So that's what the Vermillion War was about?" Arus asked.

"That's right," Damien nodded. "Of course, your fathers spoiled his plans. When Aratus was killed, his son Sartan took over. His goal is quite different from his father's; he wants to get the kyrosen back into space where he believes they belong. His plan with you, Arus, was to use the implant to conquer Asteria as proof of how powerful and useful the device can be. Once he'd succeeded, he was going to use the interstellar communication devices from their wrecked starships to shop for buyers. He figured he'd be able to trade the schematics and you for a few transport ships to get the kyrosen back on their feet."

"You mean he never really wanted to conquer Terranias?" Vultrel asked.

"Aratus did," Kitreena told him. "But not Sartan. He simply wanted compelling evidence that his invention worked so that he could push buyers toward a higher price. And in the meantime, I'm sure he preferred the idea of living in a castle over living under a desert." While she was talking, she noticed Arus' head begin to hang. _I can't imagine how you must feel. I wish I could tear that thing out of your head and give you back your old life._

Me too.

Arus glanced at her momentarily; apparently she'd let her thoughts get away from her again. She was about to open her mouth when he spoke. "Are the Mages . . . I mean, the kyrosen . . . are they coming after me now?"

Damien didn't bother to soften the truth. "It is likely. However, with no ships to chase you, they won't be finding you here anytime soon. Besides, the Aeden Alliance is dedicated to defending those in need, and we will watch over you. Not only that, but if Truce were to get his hands on that implant again, it would be dangerous to many more people than just you. So we will do everything in our power to protect you, Arus."

Arus took a deep breath before nodding. "Thank you."

In contrast to his reaction, Vultrel snorted loudly. "You need someone to defend you now? What happened to you, Arus? What have you turned into? You and I were going to defend the world against people like Truce, and now you're cowering behind others for protection?"

"Hey, back off, Vultrel!" Kitreena growled at him. "You don't know what he's going through, all right? Unless you've had your mind controlled by a madman and been forced to murder your own friends and family, you have _no_ idea what he's dealing with right now!"

For a moment, Vultrel stared back with a sardonic smile. Then he looked at Arus again. "And now you need a little girl to defend you. What have you become, Arus?" He rose from his chair and turned to Damien. "I'd like to return home as soon as possible. My people deserve some warning of Truce's intentions."

Kitreena bit her lip to keep from screaming at him. How dare he call her a little girl? She could wrap him up in her whip twice before he'd even get his sword from its scabbard. But anything she said now would be out of emotion, and Damien was always admonishing her for speaking without thinking. _I hope Truce's goons grab him the moment he sets foot on the surface. We'll see what he has to say when the "little girl" has to come rescue him again._ She may have imagined it, but she thought she heard Arus stifle a quiet laugh.

"I'll have a transport prepared as soon as this meeting his complete," Damien said, motioning toward Vultrel's chair. "You're welcome to stay until we are through; we'll be happy to answer any other questions you have."

"Thanks, but no thanks." Vultrel gave him a slight nod. "I'd prefer to just get home and try to get my life back on track."

"As you wish," Damien finally conceded. Vultrel gave no more room for talk, leaving the room without so much as a word of thanks. Kitreena shook her head when the door closed behind him, but Damien spoke before she could. "He's suffered a great loss, and though he doesn't understand the truth behind what happened, he obviously holds Arus responsible. In time, he'll see the reality of things, I'm sure. He just needs to grieve for his father."

This time, it was Arus' voice that spoke in Kitreena's mind first. _He thinks I'm a coward. My best friend thinks I'm a coward._

Kitreena looked back at him, hopeful her telepathy continued its sporadic connection. _You're not a coward. Please don't ever think that._ He did look at her then, giving her a slight nod of thanks.

Damien never noticed the silent exchange. "At any rate, Arus, Doc Nori is very excited about you. He wants to help you out as much as he can, and he's prepared to spend as much time studying and tinkering with the implant as you're willing to give him. He's studied the schematics extensively, and he believes he can restore your vision in that cybernetic eye, along with some of the programming Truce put in to enhance your abilities."

"No." Arus' voice was quiet, but firm. "No programming. Just me, and that's all."

"I understand your feelings," Damien said, "and Doc Nori will not do anything without your consent. But I think you should at least consider the possibilities. If we could reactivate your scanners, you'd be able to know exactly where every enemy stands around you on the battlefield. If we enabled the various battle programming, you'd have a ton of skills at your disposal that normally would require years of training to perfect—"

"No!" Arus shouted, slamming his fists on the table. "I will _not_ allow this bloody thing to control me any more than I have to in order to survive. I'll allow the doctor to reactivate my vision if he can, but I won't be _programmed_ for anything!"

Kitreena held up an open hand. "It's all right, Arus. We aren't going to force you into anything you're uncomfortable with. I promise that."

Damien shifted to his other side. "My apologies. Please, do not think that we would ever consider trying to make you do anything that makes you uncomfortable. We're here to help, and whatever you'd like us to do for you, we'll make our best effort."

Arus wiped a tear from his human eye. "Thank you," he said. "I don't mean to be touchy about it; I just don't want to give the implant any more control over me than I have to."

"I completely understand." Damien patted his shoulder. "I'm sure Doc Nori will not argue, either. But his research will completely revolve around your—"

The overhead speaker crackled a moment before the voice of Sergeant Lueille spoke. She monitored the communications systems, and her recent breakthroughs over the past several months had most certainly secured her a promotion at the next round of soldier reviews. "Damien, we have something down here you're going to want to hear." Kitreena knew what that meant. Another intercepted transmission, and likely another bonus in the Sergeant's pocket. "I recommend you bring Kitreena and Commander Naelas."

"Understood," Damien nodded. "Should I be excited?"

"Not this time. Transmission is forthcoming, but regardless of what it says, we've got trouble on our hands."

"Understood." He looked at Kitreena and rolled his eyes. "I suppose Truce had no reason to alter his security encryptions since our plan for the castle failed."

Kitreena gave Arus one last pat on the shoulder and stood. "We're probably better off that way, if this transmission is bringing us more trouble. At least we'll have some warning."

Arus looked up at the two of them as Damien's statement apparently registered. "Failed? Your plan failed? Wait, what was your plan then? You rescued me and Vultrel and stopped Truce—You _did_ stop Truce, didn't you?—so what part of it failed?"

"Well, our original plan did not include Kitreena's transformation," Damien laughed as he spoke. "Using the schematics of the implant that Sergeant Lueille intercepted, we came up with a plan to use a portable terminal to emit a combination of electronic pulses which, in theory, would've disabled the implant's balance-control mechanism."

Arus looked at Kitreena. "You . . . what?"

She smiled back at him. "We had planned to make you so dizzy that the only thing you'd have been able to do was fall down and possibly vomit a few times."

"At which point we would've dealt with Truce ourselves," Damien added. "But when Kitreena transformed, the resulting explosion she unleashed knocked nearly everyone out cold. I was one of the few to stay conscious, along with Truce and a few of his men. He immediately fled the castle once he saw you were down."

"I'm lucky he was conscious enough to catch me," Kitreena motioned toward Damien, "or else I would've landed right on my head and split my skull."

"And what happened to Truce?" Arus asked.

"He disappeared into the forest," Damien replied. "We would've pursued him, but our priority was to capture you and disable the implant. So in that regard, our mission was a success. It just didn't work out the way we'd intended. No great loss in that, though." He looked at Kitreena once again. "But now, we've got to get downstairs. If you need us, you can contact us through the communicator we gave you."

"Is there a place where I can practice my sword technique?"

"There's a gym on the far side of the deck," Kitreena told him. "I'm sure the crew will be more than happy to spar with you, if you'd like. However, you're free to train solo if that would make you more comfortable."

"Thank you," Arus said again. "I don't know how to truly show my appreciation for everything you've done for us."

The door slid open as Damien approached it. "We're happy to be of service, Arus. Our job is to help people like you and your friends. It's the reason the Aeden Alliance exists."

If he didn't know Kitreena better, he'd say her smile was almost _shy._ "Don't worry," she said as she followed Damien through the door. "Everything is going to be just fine. We'll take care of Truce and his lackeys, and your people will be safe again."

The door slid closed, leaving Arus alone in the conference room. "Thanks," he muttered, "but that won't change the fact that I can't return home."

*******

The largest den in the Underworld was packed to its limit with every single man, woman, and child that could be gathered on such short notice. Olock estimated there were roughly two thousand of them, which accounted for more than two-thirds of the remaining kyrosen. The number would have to do; they would surely spread word of what transpired today to those that hadn't attended. Besides, it was a good wager that no more would've fit into the cavern anyway. There was scarcely room to breathe.

Olock climbed onto the makeshift stage and began inspecting the connections on the communications array. Lugging all that equipment down from the Control Room had been more than a hassle, but when Truce made his first contact with the kyrosen after having vanished at Castle Asteria nearly five days ago, he'd requested that Olock move the equipment to the arena and assemble the kyrosen for a future message he planned to send. He'd been uncharacteristically vague about the purpose or content of this message—Truce had never held details of his plans from Olock before—but if the nature of his plans were that sensitive, then there was little reason to pry. Regardless, it was good to hear that Truce was all right after losing Arus. There were some fears that the failure at the castle would send Sartan into a psychological meltdown that would force Olock into taking the reigns of the kyrosen.

"It's nearly midday," F'Ledro said as he climbed onto the stage. It was little more than a glorified mound of packed dirt, but it was enough to lift the array above the rest of the people so that everyone had a chance to hear what the boss had to say. "Is it ready?"

"Everything looks to be connected properly," Olock responded, rising from the side panel where the majority of the wiring was fixed. "All we can do now is wait."

"In the meantime, it would probably be a good idea to address the people," F'Ledro suggested. "They look a bit restless."

Olock glanced at the crowd uneasily. None of them shouted, yet their dull conversations echoed in the cavern to produce a small roar. Getting them to pay attention to him was going to be enough of a challenge, let alone any transmission that came from the feeble speaker on the array. "May I have your attention?" he tried to shout. Few people actually heard him. "Please, may I have your attention?"

"Quiet!" F'Ledro shouted, drawing his pistol from its holster. He fired a single blast into the ceiling, dislodging dust and small rocks over the people. The act certainly got their attention but for all the wrong reasons. Olock grabbed him by the vest and snarled in his face.

"What do you think you're doing, you bloody fool?" he growled. "Don't you ever pull a stunt like that again or I'll make sure it costs you your hide! How many times must you be punished before you'll learn to—"

The communications array came to life with a series of crackling sounds. Olock shoved F'Ledro away, nearly tossing him on top of the crowd, and immediately cranked the volume knob to its maximum. "Quiet, everyone!" he yelled. "Listen up!"

It was several more moments before Truce's voice came from the communications array. "This is Sartan Truce, do you read me?"

"Yes, Boss!" Olock responded. "I've gathered everyone according to your orders. We await your instructions."

"Well done, Olock. As always, you've performed above and beyond my expectations. That having been said, I ask that you and everyone else trust my judgment as you have so many times in the past, because what I am about to say may shock many of you. A decades-old conflict has finally come an end, and the agreement that has been reached will set into motion a sequence of events that will—and I stress that word—it _will_ return the kyrosen to space where we belong!"

That sent a murmur rolling through the crowd. Olock held his hand up to silence the people as Truce continued. "First off, I want to apologize for my failure at the castle. I was in charge of the mission, and I alone accept the responsibility for what happened there. I wanted to provide proof of the implant's power, and in the process, I wound up losing it to the Aeden Alliance. Rest assured, it _will_ be recovered, and it will be recovered soon." There was some applause in response, but Truce went on. "Following the incident at the castle, I followed the rest of you who managed to escape into the streets of Cathymel. We scattered according to the contingency plans we had set, but along my escape route I was apprehended by assistants of Kindel Thorus and the Vezulian Armada."

An even louder rumbling of voices came from the kyrosen. Beads of sweat formed on Olock's forehead at the mention of Kindel Thorus. "I was taken to his ship and brought to Kindel himself, where I managed to work out a deal. However, no deal comes without compromise on both ends. That having been said, for an unspecified amount of time, I must step down from my position as leader of the kyrosen. Olock will be taking over, effective at the termination of this transmission. I expect you to answer to him as you would answer to me, because I fully intend to deal with any dissenters when I resume command. Olock, be firm but fair in your decisions. I have full confidence in your abilities. I wouldn't have chosen you if I didn't."

"Thank you, Boss," Olock acknowledged. "But what are we to gain from this deal? The Armada has never been friendly with the kyrosen before. Why start now?"

Truce chuckled openly. "I wouldn't exactly call them friendly, Olock. But we've reached a professional agreement over a common enemy. As we know, Arus and the implant were taken by the Aeden Alliance. Thorus is going to help us retrieve the implant from them, at which point he will keep it. In exchange, he will provide transport ships for all remaining kyrosen on Terranias."

A mixed reaction came from the crowd. Some were excited and joyful about the prospect of returning to space, while others were understandably concerned about trusting the Armada. Despite the risks, Olock felt a bit of excitement of his own. If everything worked out—and that was a _big_ 'if'—the kyrosen would be back among the stars where they belonged. No more caves, no more heat, no more dirt and filth and sand snakes and wretched humans interfering with their society. Finally, they'd be free again. "That's good news, Sir. We've been away from space for far too long. How did you get Thorus to agree to that?"

"As I said, no deal comes without compromise. He ordered some restrictions that I must tell you about," Sartan responded. "But I feel they are necessary sacrifices to attain our own goals. First off, we _must_ help him retrieve the implant, or any ships carrying kyrosen will be destroyed by the Armada. Second, once we have presented Arus to Kindel, we will be allowed to go our own way under the condition that we remain loyal allies of the Armada. Thorus retains ownership over his ships, and he will be free to track us at anytime, anywhere."

The smile quickly faded from Olock's face, and F'Ledro was muttering something under his breath. How could Truce agree to give such power over to one of their most bitter enemies? "Sir, how can you be sure that we can trust him?"

"Do you remember the deal my father struck with the Military of Senluthia twenty years ago?"

Olock recalled the incident well. The kyrosen had landed on the planet to refuel and restock their supplies when a rebel group calling themselves the Military of Senluthia hijacked two of their transports and one assault ship and proceeded to use them in their personal battle against their country's elected government. Aratus worked out an agreement to recover his ships on the condition that the kyrosen would help the rebels eliminate their enemies. In the end, the kyrosen turned on the Military of Senluthia as soon as the ships were back in their possession. The rebels were quickly annihilated, and the kyrosen absorbed their weapons and supplies into their own before leaving the planet. At first the deal had seemed like a catastrophic blunder. But in the end, it turned out to benefit the kyrosen in more ways than one. No doubt Truce expected the same from this situation. "I remember, Boss. We were barely twenty years old, then."

"We were all nervous, but it all worked out in the end, right? I realize that many of you may be uneasy about being allied with the Armada, but I ask that you trust me on this. Once we capture Arus and the implant, freedom amongst the stars will once again be ours. And if anyone even considers turning their backs on the Armada, I will take it as an act of treason against the kyrosen as well. Kindel doesn't trust as, which I'm sure comes as no surprise to any of you, and he has taken me prisoner as his collateral. Should any of you betray him, I will be killed. That, Olock, is why I've put you in charge. I cannot oversee everything myself, but I know that you are capable of filling in while I'm gone. Once Kindel has the implant and we go our separate ways, I'll return to my place at the head of the kyrosen. Until then, Olock, treat any traitors to the Armada the same as you would treat traitors to the kyrosen. My life, this partnership, and the future of the kyrosen depend on it."

"Understood, Boss," Olock answered. "I'll keep them in line. When should we expect these transports?"

"I requested time for our people to gather their belongings and prepare to vacate the Underworld, but Thorus wouldn't have it. The transports will touch down on the Mayahol tomorrow at midday. That gives you one day to prepare to leave. Take only what you need; food and supplies will be provided for you. Again, and I cannot stress this enough, treat the Armada soldiers as you would treat your kyrosen brothers and sisters. They are our allies now, and anyone who disrupts that relationship will be punished harshly."

"You needn't worry, Boss," Olock assured him. "Our loyalty is to you, and if you give an order, we follow it without question."

"Well, _you_ give the orders now, Olock. Be firm and steadfast, and don't let F'Ledro get out of line." He laughed with a joy that Olock had not heard from Truce in years. "I must go now. Be ready for the transports tomorrow. Kindel's ships will not return for anyone who gets left behind. Remember, I guaranteed long ago that the kyrosen would return to their former glory, and I never go back on my word. Truce out."

The transmission crackled for a moment before going silent. Mutters arose amongst the kyrosen, most seemingly skeptical about a partnership with Kindel Thorus. Helping him retrieve the implant was one thing, but borrowing ships from the Armada and being tracked was entirely another. Still, Truce's mention of the Military of Senluthia hinted that he had no intention of continuing a relationship with the Armada once he had what he wanted. It seemed like a gamble, but with Arus in the hands of the Aeden Alliance, their options for recovering the implant were limited. Truce made the most of the situation he was in, because truthfully, without the Vezulian Armada, Arus would be completely out of reach. At least this way, victory still seemed possible.

"All right, you heard him!" Olock shouted, rising to his feet. "Let's get moving! We have a lot of work to do!"

"Olock—I mean, Boss?" F'Ledro spoke beside him. For once, he wore his nervousness openly on his face. "Do you think we can trust Thorus?"

_A leader must be firm and confident,_ Olock thought to himself. "I do. Kindel's got an unquenchable thirst for power, and if Truce has told him about Arus, then he's certainly going to want to get his hands on that kid. Besides, I don't think Truce would ever honestly agree to a lasting relationship with the Vezulian Armada. We are to pledge our loyalty now, but I'm confident that Truce has no intentions of remaining under Thorus' command for long."

"And you don't think Kindel has considered that possibility?"

Olock grinned. F'Ledro may be a nitwit at times, but now he was thinking like a kyrosen. "I'm sure he has. But then, I'm sure Truce has realized that as well. It's all a big game of chess, really. Truce and Thorus are moving their pieces into strategic positions, but only the most sound strategy will prevail. Thorus has always craved any kind of power he could get his hands on, but he'll soon learn that power means nothing if the strategy is flawed. Don't worry, F'Ledro. War isn't always about might. We will succeed because we are smarter than the Armada, and I'm sure that's exactly what Truce is counting on."

F'Ledro nervously twirled his pistol around his finger. "If that was the case, why didn't Truce tell us that?"

"He was likely being monitored," Olock told him. "I doubt he would've referenced the Military of Senluthia so vaguely if he could've said outright what he was getting at. Besides, if I was in Thorus' boots, I never would allow a prisoner like Sartan Truce to make an unsupervised transmission to his own people."

The wiry man nodded thoughtfully before holstering his weapon and hopping down from the stage. "So what now?"

"Now we prepare to meet our new allies," Olock said simply. "And we follow Kindel's orders to the letter. With luck, Arus will be in his hands in a few days, and Truce's intentions will become more clear. Until then, however, we must be loyal and humble servants to the Armada. I don't know about you, but I certainly don't want to be the one to throw a wrench in Truce's plans."

*******

"Here is that information you requested, Admiral."

Kindel dropped the schematics of Truce's invention on the side of his desk and took the small packet of papers from the soldier. She was a young girl from the science team's historical reference department, trained in the histories of hundreds of cultures and learning more every day. A smart girl, if only a bit timid, with bright red hair that curled below her chin. Telash was her name. "Thank you, Private. That will be all."

Without a word, she turned and strolled through the door. Kindel began flipping through the pages of the report as soon as she was gone. It didn't take long to find what he was looking for.

The Military of Senluthia was formed in the planetary year of three hundred and fifty-two, on the astral calendar date of D forty-seven. Convinced that government corruption had reached irreversible levels, rebels calling themselves the Military of Senluthia began a brief assault on the Senluthia capital of Tekumsus. They met with little success until the arrival of a foreign race known as the kyrosen. The rebels managed to hijack several kyrosen ships, and they proceeded to use their firepower to obliterate the capital building and the Temple of Ught Tahm. Outraged, the kyrosen penned an artificial deal to ally themselves with the rebels in exchange for control of the ships they had lost. However, once they had recovered their stolen property, the kyrosen unleashed their powerful spells of sorcery upon the Military of Senluthia, obliterating the rebels and securing the government's safety. Shortly thereafter, the kyrosen departed, leaving the citizens of Senluthia to fend for themselves against the tyrannical reign of President Menduin Ratuhs the Third.

The History of Senluthia

Volume VII
Chapter XII

Kindel dropped the paperwork on his desk and leaned back in his chair. _So that's what Truce was referring to._ The kyrosen had seemingly struck a deal in that case, yet they'd quickly turned their backs on their would-be allies. And now, Truce was comparing his alliance with the Vezulian Armada to that incident. He may as well have come right out and told Thorus he'd intended to betray. Proper precautions would have to be taken, of course, but knowing this gave Thorus and the Armada the upper hand.

The schematics of the implant were indeed interesting, however incomplete. If he didn't need Truce's knowledge of how to construct the thing, he could make his own, but the man's technological expertise was unmatched, and Kindel would need help in order to make proper use of it. He _hated_ asking for help. Still, the assistance of the kyrosen army would prove useful; why send Vezulian troops to do the dirty work when an expendable group of fighters were willing to go? He would just have to watch his back for betrayers. There would be some for sure, especially amongst _that_ lot.

The implant's only design flaw was that it had to be attached to a youth so that the two could mature and grow together, but even a youth would make an impressive warrior if he performed even half as well as Truce claimed. Getting it back would be tricky, no doubt, but Thorus was more concerned about the mutiny that would surely follow. Still, the risk could prove to be worth the reward. Regardless of what Truce planned, if Kindel managed to get his hands on the boy called Arus and gave him the lephadorite in conjunction with the implant, he'd have a soldier of unlimited power and potential.

"Your scheming may have worked in the past, Truce," Kindel laughed out loud, "but with a little guidance, this boy might just be the key to making the Armada the most dominant force in the universe."

Chapter 2-3

The shining blade darted through the air over Arus' head as he practiced his forms and techniques. It was much easier to coordinate his movements now that his vision had been fully restored. The procedure had actually been relatively simple once he'd given Doc Nori the time to study the cybernetic eye up close. Being able to see through both eyes without that maroon tint or the constant scroll of the scanner's diagnostics was a refreshing change; he was almost beginning to feel like his old self again. Still, it wasn't the same working his blade without Vultrel standing across from him. He'd lost the best sparring partner and friend he could've asked for, and topping it all off was the absence of Master Eaisan. Life had changed so drastically in such a short period of time, and there was nothing for Arus to do but press on in hopes of a better future.

Damien and Kitreena had been trying to make the transition as easy as possible for him. They knew he faced a difficult reality in not being able to return home, and they tried their best to encourage him despite the seemingly blank canvas that lay before him. Any prior dreams or aspirations he may have had about protecting Keroko and following in his father's footsteps and fathering his own children and caring for his mother—how he missed his mother!—it all meant nothing now. Keroko would never allow him to serve them as a combination of man and machine, especially after he had slain so many of the fathers, husbands, brothers, and sons of the Militia. If he stepped foot back onto Asterian soil, he would be tried and convicted as a war criminal. And even if they _did_ understand that he'd only been acting under the influence of the implant, their paranoia and distrust of machines would inevitably lead them to the same decision. He was a threat, whether he was under the implant's control or not, and any threat to the safety of humanity would have to be eliminated.

The gym was a large room—Arus would've estimated it was about half as large as Trader's Square—complete with an assortment of odd machines designed to strengthen the body's muscles through a variety of weight-based exercises. Most such machines were located at the far end of the gym, while the opposite side remained open for weapons training and several other forms of exercise taught by class. Arus especially liked the floor; it was composed of some sort of blue padding which bounced slightly with each step. An assortment of swords, pistols, knives, and staves hung from the walls between viewports for training purposes, though the few other soldiers sharing the gym with him seemed focused on the weight machines.

_How did I get myself into this mess?_ Arus wondered, shifting to a defensive stance. He was no longer using forms and maneuvers that were unfamiliar to him; that information had been lost along with Truce's control over him. To that end, Arus had no regrets. He would rather be a mediocre swordsman on his own than a great warrior under someone else's control. If individuality meant mediocrity, then mediocrity suited him just fine. _But if Truce can't have me, he'll just find another host for this cursed thing. He has to be stopped before anyone else ends up like this._

As he rotated on his heel and brought his weapon around, he caught a glimpse of the other young men on the far side of the gym. They couldn't have been much older than he; perhaps they were new recruits or sons of other crew members. There weren't many of them, but more than half were staring at him. Their expressions weren't exactly approving, yet no one wore their discomfort openly on their faces. _Did I do something wrong?_ He slowed his movements unconsciously, returning their looks with his own expression of confusion. Finally, he stopped completely. "Is . . . something wrong?"

"Does that thing hurt?" someone asked.

Arus shook his head. According to Doc Nori, while there were millions across the universe with cybernetic limbs, there had been no successful cybernetic brain augmentations on record. The thought that someone's mind could be programmed like a machine was frightening, to say the least, so it was understandable that others would be curious of him. "No. It feels like a part of my body just like my legs or my feet."

"You're pretty good with that sword," a brown-haired young man said. The group of them began to approach him together. "How long have you been training?"

Before he knew it, they were huddled around him the way children surrounded the candy carts at the Festival of Souls. He was bombarded with questions about Terranias, his training, and of course, the implant. They varied in race; two were human, one looked to be a native of Damien's Zo'rhan, and the other four had pinkish-red skin and drooping ears like those of rabbits. It had been difficult to get used to, but Arus had been around so many foreign races since being brought to the _Refuge_ that he was managing to adjust to it. More surprising was how quickly these young men—at least, the aliens _looked_ like men—how quickly they'd accepted him despite what he'd done on the surface.

"You lost your arm fighting Aratus Truce's son?" one of the pink men asked. He had a little nose with one central nostril that flared every time he spoke. "I heard stories about them growing up, but I thought they were just campfire tales!"

By the time Arus stepped back into the hall outside the gym, he'd made seven new friends, each wanting him to set aside time to either train or share lunch at the cafeteria. It was strange for Arus, considering that Vultrel had always been the popular one, but that wasn't to say that the experience was unwelcome. Friends would certainly help him feel more comfortable onboard the _Refuge_ , especially if he was going to be staying for a while. Though they'd admittedly been a bit wary of him at first, these young men hadn't judged or ridiculed him for what he'd done under Truce's influence, and instead accepted him as a fellow soldier with open arms.

He was still in such a state of shock when he left that he didn't even notice Kitreena leaning against the wall beside the door. "Hey," she said softly.

The greeting startled him so that he nearly jumped. "Oh, hello," he responded with a smile. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you there."

"I came to find you because I feel there are a few things you should know," she said. Arus didn't like the sound of her voice. "First off, Vultrel will be boarding a transport to return to your planet later tonight. I know you don't believe your people would receive you well, but I felt you should have the opportunity to join him. Please understand that we don't want you to put yourself in any situation where you wouldn't feel comfortable. We will send you home if you wish, but you are more than welcome to stay if that's what you'd rather do." _Can't say I'd blame you._

Arus ignored the thought she attached to the end of the sentence. More than likely she hadn't meant to. "I appreciate the offer, but I cannot go home like this. If anything, it could possibly be more dangerous for me _there_ than it would be here." He almost thought he saw her wince at the statement, though her face was smooth again in an instant.

"Well, that's the second thing I wanted to talk to you about," she began as they headed down the corridor. "We've just finished listening to a transmission between Sartan Truce and Olock. It seems that Truce has worked out a deal with the Vezulian Armada to form an alliance of sorts. They plan to come after you."

Arus did grimace then. He knew Truce would want to recapture his prized invention, but he hadn't expected it to be so soon. "What is the Vezulian Armada?"

"There you are!" Damien's voice called down the hall. He sped his walk to a brisk jog as he approached and smiled at Arus. "I apologize; I had to go over a few things with some of my men." He looked at Kitreena. "Have you informed him of everything?"

"I was about to explain what the Armada is," she said. "Or should I let you do it?"

A silent exchange occurred between the two; only a fool could've missed it. Kitreena widened her eyes at Damien, who barely shook his head in response before turning his attention back to Arus. For once, Kitreena's thoughts were silent on the matter. "We should discuss this privately. Come, I have to go to the library to pick up a few things."

They led him to a sliding door that appeared to lead into a closet. Damien and Kitreena stepped inside without a second thought, and Arus had no choice but to follow. A series of buttons lined the wall beside Damien, and once the doors were closed, he pushed one marked "Sixteen." Arus felt a slight vibration beneath his feet, and then the floor seemed to fall away beneath him, though not fast enough for his feet to leave the ground. His stomach sailed into his throat, and he looked at Kitreena with wide eyes. Somehow, though he couldn't fathom how, the room was going _down._

Kitreena found his reaction humorous, of course. She giggled so softly to herself that, even amidst his terror, he couldn't help but gaze at her beauty. _She's so pretty when she's not angry. I wish she'd show that side of herself more often._ Her smile was replaced by a brief glare as soon as the thought rolled through his mind, and he quickly spoke up. "What is this room? Are we moving?"

Apparently, Damien hadn't even noticed Arus' response. He burst into open laughter as though Arus had missed the greatest joke ever told. "No, no," he said between gasps of air, "it's called a transportation lift. Some cultures call it an elevator. It's just an easier way of traveling from floor to floor than taking the stairs. I apologize, I meant no insult by my reaction, I just sometimes forget that your people do not use machines."

"No offense taken," Arus told him.

_Here either,_ Kitreena's voice spoke in his mind. He looked at her briefly, but her hair was blocking most of her face from that angle. Was she _grinning_ at him? Girls were so confusing.

When the doors opened again, they were on a completely different level of the ship. The hallways were constructed of the same silver polished metal and wood as the previous deck, though the uniformed men and women here sometimes wore coats of white and grey and blue, and many carried either books or clipboards or packets of paper that they studied as they walked. Clearly this deck of the ship was dedicated to research in some way, especially if the library was located here. Arus followed Damien and Kitreena down the corridor to an intersection where they turned left. They led him into the first door they came to on their right, and he gaped in awe at what lay before him.

The library was larger and grander than anything he could've expected. There had to be at least a hundred aisles of shelves packed with books on either side, and lines of tables, chairs, and computer terminals separated them by threes. A wooden railing circled off an area in the center of the library where the floor was dropped down by several steps. Several red cushioned chairs meant for lounging and three long couches with curved backs and covered with an assortment of tasseled pillows sat within the circle to provide a secluded area for relaxation where one could read or study. Not too far beyond the circle, several elderly men and women stood behind a long counter; no doubt they were the librarians. The carpets were brown and grey where pictures of various planets mingled with beautiful landscapes formed by the different colored fibers. The sight was like something out of Master Eaisan's fables about royal lords and ladies in their luxurious mansions. Certainly not a place Arus had ever expected to find himself in one day.

"How big _is_ this ship?" was all Arus could get out.

Damien led them toward the bookshelves on the left. "I don't know how people on Terranias measure things, but to try to put it into perspective, I'd guess you could fit your entire village on the _Refuge_ at least twice. Perhaps more." That made Arus' jaw drop further.

"Watch out for that guy," Kitreena whispered, pointing to one of the grey-haired men behind the counter. "He watches everyone like a hawk, and he always accuses me of wrinkling pages even when I don't touch anything."

"Knock it off, Kitreena," Damien smiled as he rolled his eyes. "Devlin's just trying to keep everything in good condition. Give the old man a break."

At the end of the first aisle, Damien turned to the wall and started thumbing through titles. "I don't know how much, if anything, you've heard during your time on the _Refuge_ , Arus, but do you know anything about the Vezulian Armada?"

"I remember you two mentioning them a couple times, but that's all I know," he admitted. He kept his voice soft; anything less in a library would be improper. "Are they enemies?" he nearly bit his tongue at the end of the question. Of course they were enemies if they were allied with Sartan Truce.

"Most of the time," Damien said, flipping through the pages of an old brown book. Beside him, Kitreena was looking a book with some kind of incoherent scribbling on the front. Some kind of foreign language, Arus assumed. "They claim to be an intergalactic military like us, spreading peace and protecting the innocent. Unfortunately, the truth is that they are more like conquerors."

Kitreena snorted without looking up from her book. "That's putting it mildly."

Damien ignored her comment and went on. "The Armada was formed by a man from my planet named Kindel Thorus. At first, they were nothing more than a gang of young zo'rhan men who called themselves the Vezulian Brotherhood. The name 'Vezulian' is derived from the zo'rhan word for 'victory' or 'success,' roughly translated as 'Vezul'ahn.' The gang was formed in response to an invasion that took place on our planet many years ago. They were called the Ma'tuul, and they were some of the most savage creatures I've ever had the displeasure of facing in combat. We may have been warriors, but these beasts were fearsome, many of them nearly twice my own height. Kindel would tell you they were four times larger than that and that they breathed fire and whatever other exaggerations he has to make in order to make them seem more ruthless and deadly than they already were. That's his nature, you see. It's his way of justifying his own bloodthirsty quest for as much power as he can get his hands on."

"The war was very traumatic for Kindel," Kitreena added. "The devastation of his own people was too much for him to handle. He's full of pride, and watching the zo'rhan flee in terror from _any_ enemy made him furious."

"When the Ma'tuul reached our city, Kindel urged us to make a stand there," Damien continued. "Some of us did, but most fled into the mountains. Kindel's parents died that day," his voice became somber, "when two Ma'tuul broke their necks and . . . ate them."

Arus couldn't believe his ears. "They _ate_ them? That's horrible!"

Damien nodded as he slipped the book back onto the shelf and took another, a small one with a blue leather cover. "The incident drove Kindel over the edge. He and the others that had stayed behind formed the Vezulian Brotherhood, and they began gathering any other zo'rhan together that would support them. They stole a transport ship from an abandoned construction factory and left the planet to rally more support from other races. In the meantime, the zo'rhan organized one final plan to wipe the Ma'tuul from the face of the planet. The strategy involved countless battles and lasted nearly seven years, but finally we had the Ma'tuul on the brink of collapse. It was then that Kindel returned, now commanding a small army, and began attacking the remaining Ma'tuul to help us win the war and secure peace for our homeworld."

Kitreena smiled wryly as she snorted. "Kindel takes full credit for having defeated the Ma'tuul, but the truth of it is that he wasn't involved for the majority of the effort. The zo'rhan were nearing victory anyway, and the number of Ma'tuul that Kindel's Vezulian Armada eliminated equaled less than five percent of those that had landed on the planet in the first place. The zo'rhan did all the rest."

"And to this day, Kindel and his thugs travel from planet to planet claiming to be peacemakers while waging heartless war against those he considers to be too dangerous for the rest of the galaxy." This time it was Damien who snorted. "As if he has _any_ right to decide who should or should not be allowed to live!"

"And now he's coming after me?" Arus nearly groaned. "Does he think I'm some sort of threat or something?"

"On the contrary, the transmission we intercepted seems to indicate that he wants to integrate the implant into his army to increase his power and solidify the Armada as the most dominant force in the universe."

Kitreena flipped the pages of her book absent-mindedly. "For Kindel, _everything_ is about power. The more power he can gain, no matter how small or great, the happier he is."

Damien seemed to have found what he was looking for; he put the blue book under his arm and led them to another aisle a few rows away. "There's something else that has been troubling us. Our spies indicate that Kindel has been occupied with some sort of secret project for weeks now. It has been very difficult for our intelligence network to gather any more information than that, but our sources suggest it has to do with something he found on Terranias' surface not too long ago."

"Kindel was on Terranias?" Arus asked in surprise. "When?"

"We haven't been able to pinpoint the date," Damien responded as he flipped through a wide book with colorful pages. It looked like an atlas of some sort. "But we estimate it was anywhere from two weeks to a month ago. What's troubling is how secretive he's been about the project, and how much time he has dedicated to it. Anything that important to Kindel must have the potential to increase his power a great deal."

It was surprising enough to Arus that they had managed to sneak spies into Kindel's army. What worried him was that Kindel had done the same. "If you have people undercover on Kindel's ships, who's to say he doesn't have people of his own over here?"

Kitreena immediately shook her head, but Damien stopped her with a wave of his hand. "He's a smart kid. He'll figure it out," he told her. Turning his eyes to Arus, he smiled. "You are correct, and although we take every precaution to ensure that our recruits are honest people, it is entirely possible that Kindel has somehow managed to sneak a few of his own people amongst ours. I'm sure Kitreena didn't want to give you any reason to feel unsafe, but I assure you, if any members of the Vezulian Armada _have_ indeed infiltrated the _Refuge,_ it is highly unlikely that they have gained any access to our plans, nor have they had any opportunity to relay information to the Armada. Kitreena, myself, and a few Commanders that we've known since before the _Refuge_ was even commissioned are the only people who are given access to any sensitive information, and no transmissions are allowed to be made from the ship without one of us being present. We like to watch our backs around here."

Arus breathed a sigh of relief. "Master Eaisan always taught me to consider any enemy I may face to be the most cunning man that ever existed. If I come up with an idea, I must act on the assumption that my enemy has already thought of it and has taken that idea five steps further. Don't be quick to abandon the idea, he said, but make sure the idea doesn't abandon you to the enemy, so to speak."

"Sound advice," Damien nodded, sticking his nose back into the book. "An underestimated opponent is a victorious one, that's what my father taught me."

It was all so much to take in at once. Life itself suddenly seemed a lot bigger to Arus. Problems like wolves attacking Keroko and petty thieves stealing fruit from the market were no longer important. Whether ready or not, Arus had been thrust into the adult world, a world of sorcery and aliens and war and bloodshed. He was no longer a child, and he could no longer afford to behave as one. Saying goodbye to those days was going to be difficult, but clinging to the past while being trampled by the future would be even harder. The future was going to come to him whether he wanted it to or not. Both his father and Master Eaisan would expect him to be prepared. And he was not going to allow the mistakes of days gone by to control the days ahead. There was no denying his anger over Master Eaisan's fate, no denying the rage he felt whenever his gaze fell upon his artificial limb. But those same emotions had nearly gotten him killed and left him permanently deformed. It was time to leave feelings about the past in the past. Eaisan had once said that life was little more than a series of paths through unfamiliar territory. And for Arus, the time had come to begin again on a new path and put the past behind him where it belonged. "So," he began, looking first at Kitreena and then at Damien, "how am I going to keep Kindel and Truce from getting their hands on me?"

Damien grinned and looked at Kitreena. Another silent exchange took place, Arus was sure of it, though there were no outward signs other than their seemingly excited expressions. Finally, Damien spoke. "I don't think you need to worry about any imminent danger. The kyrosen still have to group up with the Armada before they can do anything according to the agreement set between Truce and Kindel. However, once Vultrel is returned to the surface, the _Refuge_ is scheduled to leave the system. We'll rendezvous with a few members of the Aeden Alliance fleet and head for more friendly territory. Kindel will have to jump through a few hoops in order to chase us through systems where the Vezulian Armada is not welcome, and that will buy us more time to come up with a plan."

"Why doesn't he just attack us right now?"

"Kindel's secret project, whatever it may be, has kept his attention diverted," Kitreena told him. "While we have little information about the project itself, what we do know is that Kindel has expressed repeatedly that he has little interest in open conflict right now. It is very possible that his deal with Truce is all a ruse set up so that he can keep the kyrosen under his watchful eye—they've been sworn enemies for decades—but we have nothing to prove that for sure."

Damien closed the atlas and slid it under his arm beside the blue book. "Regardless of his reasons, Kindel doesn't seem interested in a fight at the moment, and we're not going to stick around until he changes his mind."

"Where will we go?"

"We're not sure yet," Kitreena said, looking at Damien. "There are a lot of planets that need some form of help right now, but we don't want to bring the Armada down on them simply by being there when Thorus comes after us. We've got to plan something to catch him off-guard, and to that end, we have a few ideas."

"For now, you're free to move about deck twenty-three freely," Damien said as he led them out of the aisle and back toward the door. The elderly man named Devlin was eying them closely, Arus noticed. "That's the recreation deck. You can use the gym whenever you'd like, and you have the cafeteria, the swimming lounge, and the flight simulator at your disposal. Kitreena and I frequent the level—our personal rooms are located on that deck as well—so we'll be around should you need anything. You also have the communicator we gave you, right? You can use that in case of some sort of emergency."

Arus nodded in acknowledgment, and his gaze wandered back to Kitreena. He didn't have to speak the words for her to hear his gratitude. _Thank you._

She smiled at him with a slight nod. _Don't worry. I won't let anything happen to you._

*******

The giant box-like transport ship was surrounded by soldiers in brown jumpsuits, most carrying clipboards and checking off notes as they inspected the craft. A group of men dragged a long yellow hose across the floor and twisted it into a round opening near the rear of the ship before signaling to another pair of crewmen on the far side of the room. The transport was nearly as big as a house, long enough to fit at least thirty men and as tall as it was wide. Polished circular windows lined the rear half, revealing dozens of rows of blue-cushioned chairs illuminated by more of those glowing glass tubes that Damien had said were simply called "lights." The front of the ship was rounded off, lined with three wide panels of glass to allow the operators—Damien called them "pilots"—to see where they were going. A long, relatively flat fixture ran along the base of the ship's rear, filled with a line of steel cylinders that supposedly used a mixture of various chemicals to produce a fire so forceful that it propelled the craft along. A few weeks ago, such a concept would've been unfathomable. A few weeks ago, merely theorizing over such ideas would've sent any man to prison for violation of humanity's anti-machine stance.

A few weeks ago, Vultrel's life had been simple. Easy. Perfect.

The hangar bay was lined with an assortment of starships, thick and thin, large and small. Some seemed heavily armed, though Vultrel hadn't learned to identify _every_ weapon by sight, he could see multiple turrets that shot something called "lasers" and larger, rounded objects called "missiles." Some ships were being serviced by robotic iron arms that hung from the ceiling and performed maintenance according to a pre-set schedule of commands. Metal clashed with metal as the arms worked, grinding and polishing damaged ships and removing old parts in favor of new ones. Men's voices echoed over the commotion as orders were shouted and acknowledged. What Vultrel found to be most confusing, however, was the floor. Splits in the steel ran through the floor and around the perimeter of every craft. It was as though someone had cut square-shaped holes under the ships, yet the floor never gave way. An odd thing, that.

He shook his head and dismissed it from his mind. None of it was important, now. He was going home, and that was that. All of it would soon be left behind, and he planned to do his best to forget everything that had happened as though it were nothing more than a bad dream. His father had died honorably in combat; he could accept that. And the end result of that battle had seen Lord Sarathon remain safely on the throne. But the rest of it, including Arus' submission to Truce's implant and the carnage he caused thereafter, would all be reduced to nothing more than a fairy tale in his own mind. He'd recall only what was necessary about his father's death to explain to his mother, and come up with some sort of reasoning as to why he'd been gone so long since. Lying was not something he did proudly, but when the truth was more dangerous than anything else, few options remained.

_Curse you, Arus. If only you had been strong enough to fight it. I believed in you._ That was the truth. Up until the moment Arus' blade pierced Eaisan's heart, Vultrel had had all the confidence in the world that Arus would snap out of it, break free of Truce's hold, and send the bloody Mage to his bloody grave. But his estimation of the young man had been further from reality than Vultrel could've imagined. Anton had given his own life to save Arus— _Anton!_ —and Arus couldn't find it within himself to do the same for his own mentor and teacher. Instead, he spewed excuse after excuse about his implant being more sophisticated than Anton's, and how he'd tried to fight it and all that. Vultrel refused to buy it. Anyone could make excuses, especially about something no one else had any experience with. But he knew what he saw, and he knew Anton had broken the implant's hold. The fact that Arus could not or would not do the same proved that he was weak, and Vultrel had allowed that weakness to affect his life more than enough. With his father dead, it was time for Vultrel to step up and be the strong male presence in the Lurei family. And he wasn't going to allow Arus' weakness to crack his own strength.

"We will be ready to depart shortly, Sir," one of the crewmen told him as they passed.

"Thank you," Vultrel said with a nod. It was going to be good to be home, good to get out of his dirty clothes and ragged jerkin. Good to be back with his mother and his people, good to be able to protect his home from the menace of the Mages. Good, yet difficult. Without his father guiding him, he'd have to continue his training on his own, though years of Eaisan's constant fatherly admonishment had left his voice permanently ingrained in Vultrel's mind. He'd be hearing his father's advice even when he didn't want to, he was sure of it.

"Hey."

Vultrel closed his eyes and swore silently. He had hoped the boy would allow him to leave quietly. "What is it, Arus?"

Arus leaned against the wall to his left and crossed his arms. "Are you sure you want to leave? Damien and Kitreena could use your help, and so could I."

"I can't hold your hand anymore, Arus," Vultrel said softly. "If you can't stand on your own two feet by now, there's nothing I can say or do that will change—"

"I can stand on my own feet just fine, Vultrel," Arus shot back. "And I can't believe that after all our years together that you truly think I'm some weak little boy that needs to be spoon-fed by others just to get by. We were like _brothers_ , Vultrel. At least, that's how I saw us."

"So did I," Vultrel admitted. "But a brother, by blood or otherwise, would commit the vile acts that you did no matter what the conditions. Anton killed himself to keep from hurting you, and he didn't even _like_ you all that much. But you couldn't even control yourself long enough to—"

"By the Maker, Vultrel, I told you that my implant is much different from his!" Arus shouted, turning so that the two were face to face.

"A machine is a machine, Arus," Vultrel said, forcing himself to meet the stare coming from the boy's cybernetic eye. "Either it works or it doesn't. Anton's did, and so did yours. Anton overcame his, and you failed to overcome yours."

Arus was shaking his head. "Machines aren't that simple. They aren't all the same!"

"Steel is steel."

"No, it's not! You don't understand how these things work," Arus argued. "It's not like—"

Vultrel held up his hand as he shook his head. "You know, I really don't care, Arus. I just want to go home and get on with my life. I miss my mother, I miss Keroko, and I miss Terranias. I'm done with all of these machines and starships and magic! All of it!"

Arus breathed a sigh of resignation. "After all these years, I figured if there was _anyone_ I could count on for support in a time like this, it would be you."

"And I thought if there was anyone I could depend on to _defend_ my father, it would be you."

He opened his mouth to argue, then sighed again as he drew a folded piece of paper from behind his belt. "Would you at least do me the favor of giving this to my mother? She's got to be working herself toward a nervous breakdown."

Vultrel stared at the paper for a moment before he took it. "Are you sure you want her to know what's happened?"

"I just wanted to let her know that I'm all right," Arus told him with a shake of his head. "And to say goodbye."

It all sounded so final. Was he really saying goodbye to his best friend for the last time? "You're never coming back?"

Arus focused the steel cylinder of his cybernetic eye on him. "How can I?"

This time it was Vultrel who sighed. "I understand. Good luck in whatever you decide to do, then. Keroko will miss you." He made a conscious effort not to say that _he_ would miss Arus. To Vultrel, his best friend and lifelong training partner was dead, and the responsibility for his fate rested solely in the hands of Sartan Truce. He felt the lump in his throat and the tears welling up, but he beat them down with the anger and rage he harbored for the Vermillion Mages. _You may not have been strong enough, Arus, but may I be cursed by the Maker if ever allow myself to be defeated by a man like Sartan Truce._

"Take care of them down there, Vultrel," Arus said, patting him on the shoulder. "I'm sure you'll do Master Eaisan proud."

Vultrel glared at him for the mention of his father's name, but he let it go just as quickly. A crewman in a brown uniform and short-brimmed hat approached and bowed politely. "The preparations are complete," his deep voice announced. "We are ready to depart."

"Thank you." Vultrel wasted no time in heading into the transport, boarding without looking back. The fewer memories he had of this weakened boy who claimed to be Arus, the better. He still had the utmost respect for the friend he once had, but that young man was gone forever. It was going to be hard to live and train in Keroko without the old Arus to accompany him, but the situation was what it was, and time only marched forward. _With my father dead and the militia wiped out, it is now my sole responsibility to build a new army for Keroko. I will not let you down, Father. The Mages will_ not _win._

The air inside the transport was cool. Vultrel dropped into a cushioned chair by the windows on the opposite side so that he wouldn't have to look at Arus. The pilots filed in behind him and moved through an archway into the front of the ship. There they took their seats and immediately began running their fingers across a series of glowing buttons and switches. The hangar deck rumbled, shook for a moment, and then began to descend, sinking to a lower level of the _Refuge_. The new room was little more than a bland steel box, like a hidden pit beneath the hangar bay. Through the window, Vultrel watched as the ceiling closed in from both sides above them, and when the panels had firmly locked together, the wall in front of the ship began to separate, revealing the vastness of space where the glowing blue crescent of Terranias floated silently. It was nighttime on this side of the planet, leaving only the azure rim of the far side of Terranias in plain view. A dull hum grew behind him, and the ship lifted from the floor and soared through the open doors into space.

"Liftoff successful," one of the pilots said amidst their technological babble of instructions to each other. "Estimated flight time will be thirty minutes."

Vultrel took the opportunity to take his first good look at the _Refuge_ itself as the transport veered slightly to the left. Enormous was the only word that came close to describing its size. The bulk of the ship looked like two narrow steel tubes lying side by side, joined smoothly in the middle and polished to a beautiful shine. The head of the craft came to a flattened point, topped with glass viewports along the upper curve where the pilots and navigators of the _Refuge_ operated the ship. A black spider-like logo gleamed just below those windows, its surface shining with pinprick reflections of countless stars. An assortment of lights dotted the side of the hull where faces and figures in windows faded from view the further away the transport flew.

The darkened side of the planet began to appear as Vultrel's eyes adjusted to the night sky. Surely no one in Asteria, or the rest of the world for that matter, had ever had the chance to view the Terranias from such awesome heights. Clouds looked like enormous clumps of cotton that parted as the ship broke through, opening a path to the distant surface. For a time, all Vultrel could see were miles of unidentifiable ocean, but eventually the Lighthouse of Asteria, built of the finest marble and engraved with the Red Bear emblem of His Majesty, appeared in the distance where the land parted to allow the Narleahan River to join with the South Sea. So far below, the lighthouse looked like little more than a whirling glimmer atop a stick in the sand. But the lay of the land was unmistakable; the port town of Hemanal was not far off, and beyond that was the coast of Beremain, Asteria's neighboring kingdom.

The lights winked out, and the hum coming from the rear of the craft gradually faded, leaving the transport gliding through the air in near silence. Vultrel shifted nervously in his chair. Had they somehow lost power?

As if sensing his unease, one of the pilots, a skinny man with a large gap between his front teeth, turned halfway toward him. "No cause for alarm. We have shut down the lights and engines to reduce our chances of being detected. We want to keep our societies as contained as possible, so it is important that we do everything in our power to keep the transport from being seen."

Much of what he'd been told about starship technology had been unintelligible, but Vultrel remembered the word "engine" being used to describe the transport's propulsion systems. "If the engines have been shut down, then how are we—" He stopped himself as the ship veered smoothly to the left. The Keroko Forest was not too far ahead. Somehow, they were still in control of the craft.

"The main engines have been taken offline, but smaller ones, called stabilizers, keep the ship safely under our control. They are positioned beneath the hull and keep us level using a combination of heat and air to propel . . ."

The pilot's technobabble droned on as Vultrel returned his eyes on the trees below. They'd be passing over Dugan's Grove soon, the halfway point between Keroko and the South Sea. He was almost home. Soon he'd be able to leave this mechanized world of starships and laser pistols behind and return to the life he'd once known. Soon Keroko would have a new militia with a new leader, and they'd usher in a new era of peace for Asteria. Soon things could get back normal.

_Almost_ normal.

The transport dipped lower and lower until they were skimming the treetops. The rooftops of his hometown appeared in the distance, separated by the dull glow of the street lanterns. The ship shifted to the right, and the dirt trail to Keroko appeared beneath them. Again they lowered, dropping below the trees and following the trail through the forest. The pilots were certainly taking no chances with their approach; it was unlikely anyone had caught sight of the ship. _Almost home. I'm almost home._

They finally slowed to a stop just before a sharp curve in the trail. Only a slight tremor signaled that the ship had touched the ground, and the door slid open with a soft whisk. "Should be about a ten minute walk from here," the brown-haired pilot told him. "We'd take you further, but once we round this curve, we risk being spotted by your town's watchmen. I assume you know the way from here?"

Vultrel nodded as he rose from his chair and stuck his head through the door. The familiar scent of countless summer nights gone by filled his nostrils, flooding him with memories and feelings that nearly brought tears to his eyes. As much as it smelled and looked like the same old home he knew, it would never be the same again. Not without his father. And not without Arus. And as much as he wanted to get back to his daily routine of gathering fruit for breakfast and tending the farm and honing his skills, doing so without the two most influential figures in his life was going to be anything _but_ normal. "Thank you," he said, peeking back through the door. "For everything."

"Good luck, Sir."

The ship was off the ground and pivoting in place before Vultrel had taken ten steps. It had vanished down the dark trail before he'd taken twenty. Rather than look back, he focused on the trials and tests that lay before him. When he'd left Keroko, he'd been a nervous boy content to hide in the shadows of his father's protection. He couldn't be that boy anymore; he had died with Arus and his father at Castle Asteria. It was time to take responsibility, time to be an adult, time to grow up.

It was time to be a man.

By the time the flickering torches on either side of the Keroko gates came into view, he'd already decided how he was going to begin the recruiting process and had even selected a few men he thought would make excellent trainers for the new soldiers. With his head down, eyes narrowed, and face solemn, he marched toward the gates like a captain leading his troops to victory.

The guardsmen on either side crossed their pikes firmly in front of him, tearing him from his thoughts. "Halt!" they ordered in unison.

Vultrel did look up then, though he kept his expression hard as stone. He chose his words carefully; gone were the days of casual greetings and childish informalities. If he wanted anyone to take him seriously as a leader, was going to have to do more than _act_ like one. He was going to have to _be_ one. "Good evening, Gentlemen." The faces looking back at him were unfamiliar, though he was not surprised considering the number of militiamen that had been lost at Cathymel. "My name is Vultrel Lurei. I am a citizen of Keroko and son of Eaisan Lurei. Allow me to pass." He had not intended it to come out as a command, but he let it go. _Strength, Vultrel,_ he told himself over and over. _Believe in yourself, and others will believe in you._

The man on the left pulled a small booklet from behind his belt and began flipping through the pages. "Lurei, Lurei," he muttered. "Ah, here it is. It says—Well, that's interesting. Vultrel Lurei is listed in the deceased column."

Vultrel raised an eyebrow. When did the mayor decide to start screening people before allowing them to enter the village? "I can understand why you would assume that," he replied, keeping his voice calm, "but I assure you that I am not."

"In order to be permitted entry this evening, I'll need you to provide both of your parents' names and your mother's maiden name," the soldier said through his grizzled black beard. His stubby fingers looked like small sausages turning the pages.

"My father's name was Eaisan Lurei, Master of Blades, Captain of Honor, and my mother's name is Veran Lurei, maiden name Nienas."

The other soldier, his narrow jaw framed by an orange beard, eyed him suspiciously as the first searched through the little book. Finally, after the two conferred briefly, Vultrel was permitted to pass. "Thank you, Gentlemen," he said with a polite bow. They eyed him with obvious suspicion, but neither said a word.

The village was quiet, as was to be expected at such a late hour. There were no militiamen patrolling the streets, and the few men he did see were simply commoners out enjoying the summer evening. Farmer Boyer and Clarissa stood near one of the gates of their farm. Clarissa was swinging her hands in a wild attempt to catch a firefly while her father lifted her above his head. He nodded at Vultrel as he passed, though Clarissa was too wrapped up in her game to even notice him. Several courts down, Ben Mantes sat in his favorite rocking chair on the front porch of his house smoking a long-stemmed pipe. He didn't seem to recognize Vultrel, though the darkness and Vultrel's face of stone may have had something to do with it. Vultrel nodded anyway. Ben was a good man. _A great weapons master, too._

Vultrel's own home was dark; his mother had a tendency to go to bed early. No doubt the empty house had been hard on her, especially at night. Hopefully his return would lift her spirits. It wasn't until he placed his hand on the doorknob that he heard the soft murmur of voices floating from the rear of the house. When he followed the dirt path through the short fence of chicken-wire, he found his mother seated in a wooden rocking chair his father had built, sipping tea and staring at the stars. Elayna Sheeth sat across from her, staring blankly into her own tea. They both wore their silk evening robes and shawls despite the heat.

Elayna shook her head as she spoke. "The world just seems so . . . empty without them."

"I'm alive, Mother," Vultrel said simply.

Veran's eyes widened as she whipped her head toward the alley. Elayna looked up as well, and their mouths dropped in unison. "Vultrel?" his mother asked, softly. "My son, is it truly you?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but she was already on her feet, and she threw her arms around him with a wail that could've been either euphoric happiness or overwhelming despair. "It is," he told her, his voice just as soft. She cried uncontrollably on his shoulder, murmured babble about dreaming and his supposed demise mixing with her sobs. Tears rose in his own eyes as he listened to her; there were times he thought he'd never see her again, either. "It's all right, Mother. I'm home."

"We heard so many terrible things," she sobbed. "We were told that you were killed in Cathymel with your father! They said Arus killed Eaisan! There were even rumors that aliens were involved!"

It was the moment he'd been preparing himself for since making the decision to return home. If he was going to keep Terranias' society from being corrupted by the knowledge of what went on amongst the stars, he was going to have to create a new reality not only for the people of Terranias, but for himself. He'd rehearsed the story over and over for the better half of the day. It was now or never. "Father was murdered by Sartan Truce," he began, trying to beat down the butterflies in his stomach. "I followed him to Cathymel, and during the battle for Castle Asteria, Father was killed, and I was captured by the Mages. They tried to take me back to their underground hideout under the Mayahol, but I escaped once we reached the Narleahan border. One of the stablemen there loaned me a horse, and I returned home as fast as I could."

Veran's sobs intensified as though his story was her final confirmation that her husband had been killed. Vultrel hugged her tightly, desperately searching for some words to encourage her while at the same time forcing down the lump in his throat. Across from them, Elayna stood in front of her chair, her face filled with anxious hope. "And my son?" The question came out as little more than a whisper. "What of Arus?"

Vultrel took a deep breath as he released his grip on his mother and stepped forward. "I tried my best, but I'm afraid I failed." The tears were running down his cheeks now, and there was nothing he could do to stop them. He kneeled before her and bowed his head. "I failed you, I failed my father, and I failed my mother, but most of all, I failed Arus. I'm sorry, Mrs. Sheeth. Your son is dead."

Chapter 2-4

It was hard for Arus to know how long he'd been sleeping when he awoke. Despite the fact that the Aeden Alliance measured time in the same way as humans on Terranias had—Damien said it was the most common speed of planetary movement across the universe—despite that, without the sun or the moon to guide him, he felt as lost as a fish in the middle of the forest. Still, he _felt_ rested, so there was little reason to remain in bed. Besides, he'd planned to spend as much time as he could spare training his skills, and today was as good a time to start as any. _The first day of my new life away from Terranias. Can't let it get me down. I'm going to make the most of whatever opportunities I'm given._

At least his mother would know he was alive and well; that had helped him sleep more soundly, though he had mixed feelings about his promise to one day return home. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to, but the truth was that he didn't see any way it would be possible in his current condition. He felt bad including it in the letter without telling her exactly what Truce had done to him, but he didn't want his mother to live out the rest of her life with the despair of having lost both her husband and her only son. Hope kept people alive, kept them going through even the roughest times, and he wanted to give his mother the same hope that he had that one day he'd be able to step foot on the soil of Terranias again.

With a stretch and a yawn, Arus threw his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. To his surprise, a stack of neatly folded clothes sat on a small wooden dresser just beside the door. He set his feet on the cold floor and went over to investigate, scratching his head and yawning again. There was a small hand-written note atop the garments.

Arus,

We had our tailor come up with some clothes for you to replace your old ones. We tried to match your style and taste based on what you normally wear, but if these won't do, we'll be happy to provide you with something else. I'll be in the gym if you need anything.

Kitreena

Arus looked down. He was long-overdue for a change, having worn the same shirt and pants since being captured and taken to the Underworld. Stains of dried-blood surrounded his left shoulder, and various rips and tears had turned the once comfortable garments into tattered old rags. The new clothes were indeed similar to what he was used to, both in size and style, though there were some colors mixed into the pile that he sooner go naked than wear. There were plenty of nice sleeveless shirts though, and Arus snatched up a red one to go with a set of dark brown pants. There were even several clean sets of smallclothes there for him, though quite different from the Keroko style. It was understandable, though; there was no way the tailor could've known what kind of underwear they wore without asking.

He took the new set of clothes and headed through the narrow door to the left of his bed where something called a "washroom" was located. Damien had shown it to him before he'd gone to bed. It was sort of an all-purpose room for personal hygiene. Arus had wished he'd known about it sooner, and Damien had apologized, saying that he'd been so busy with everything that has been happening that he hadn't had the chance to explain it all. The lights flipped on when he entered, illuminating the various devices arrayed inside. There were three main fixtures, the "shower," the "sink," and the "waste disposal unit," the latter of which he'd found to be much more useful than the chamber pots back home. It was the shower that he'd come to use today. A good cleaning was long overdue.

Thankfully, Doc Nori's assessment of the implant's resistance to water had been correct, and he made it in and out of the shower with no complications. After running a brush through his hair and cleaning his teeth at the sink, he donned the new clothes and slipped on his trusty brown boots. His sword rested on the counter across from his bed, and he examined it closely before latching it to his belt. He'd given the blade a good cleaning and a fresh polish before going to sleep, and the razor-sharp steel glistened like new.

The memory of his sword piercing Eaisan's chest flashed in his mind and boiled his blood. His master had taught him to fight for truth and honor, virtues that seemed to be fading from society. Arus had built his whole life around his dreams of being able to help anyone who needed him. And his mother—he missed her so—she'd always told him that he could be every bit of a man his father was and more. But all of that paled in comparison to one thing. _Vultrel, my best friend and practically my brother, thinks I'm weak. And it was my weakness, my bloodthirsty need for revenge that put this cursed implant in my head. Well, there'll be no more of it. No more!_ He would show Vultrel he was not weak. He would show Eaisan he wasn't weak. He would show Sartan Truce he was not weak. He would even show this Kindel Thorus that he was not weak.

By the time he'd reached the gym, he'd gotten himself so worked up that his fists were clenched and his eye was thin. Thankfully the halls had been vacant, or someone may have gotten the wrong idea from his demeanor and tried to detain him. His only companion for the walk had been the clopping of his boots across the floor. But that, in itself, had been strange. Why was it so quiet? Where was everyone?

When the door slid open, his stone gaze and fierce anger vanished under a wave of shock and amazement. Kitreena had said she'd be training, but he had no idea her workout regiment was so vigorous. A dozen pitch-black combat dummies were set up across the open end of the gym, set in a random formation and each with a weapon of some kind attached to their wooden hands. They were separated only by a series of steel gymnast bars elevated nearly six paces from the floor. The lights were dimmed, and she was the only other person in the room.

As Arus stepped into the room, Kitreena, in her snug black pants and sleeveless blue shirt, leapt to the first bar and grabbed hold with one hand while wielding her whip with the other. She swung her body forward, using the weapon to snap the swords from the hands of the first two dummies with one hard snap. As her body rose, she threw her legs over the next bar and released her grip on the first. She rotated down beneath it, again using her whip to lash out against the targeting dummies as she gripped the bar behind her knees. Even upside-down, the accuracy and intensity with which she used her whip were incredible. Her body rose again, and her free hand gripped the next bar as her legs released the previous. Over and over she went, from bar to bar, hand to knees to hand again, sending an endless stream of weapons to the floor from the hands of the training dummies. Her thick hair, tied in a smooth ponytail, trailed behind her in a whirling streak of black. When she finally released her grip on the last bar, her body spun through the air twice before she landed in a squat only a few paces away.

She didn't move a muscle, but her eyes turned up toward him. "Oh, it's you," she said. "For a second I thought I'd missed one. Early riser today?"

Arus struggled to find his voice. "Uh . . . Yeah," he finally said. "I mean—Wait, what?"

Kitreena grinned as she rose to her feet. "Still haven't gotten used to the time measurement around here, I see. It's just past five in the morning. Anyone not on night duty will probably be sleeping for another two or three hours." She coiled the whip and hooked it to her belt with a thick leather snap. "Is everything all right? Do the clothes suit you?"

_Even sweating, she's still beautiful. Look at her eyes, they're just mesmerizing. And her hair, she has such perfect—! Shut up, idiot, she's waiting for you to answer!_ "What? Oh, yes, they're perfect. Thank you very much. I'd like a chance to thank the tailor, too."

She didn't mention her telepathic abilities, but her cheeks were bright red. "I'll take you to meet him later," she said, wiping beads of perspiration from her forehead. "But since you're up, would you like to see the simulator?"

He'd heard it mentioned by both Damien and Kitreena, but he hadn't gotten a chance to ask about it. "What's a simulator?"

The only response she gave was a stifled laugh and a motion for him to follow her. Her voice drifted through his head, however. _He's so cute and innocent, even with that metal thing in his head. The girls were probably all over him back on Terranias._ She glanced at him briefly, no doubt wondering if he'd heard. He hoped his face wasn't as red as hers had been.

She led him out of the gym and down the hall, past the cafeteria and the lift, to a series of sequentially numbered doors. The words "Flight Simulation Training Facility" were engraved in large letters across the wall above them. Small control panels were set in the wall beside every door, each with small green lights above them. Kitreena stopped in front of the first, a door labeled with a large number one in white, and typed a brief command into its control panel. The green light turned red with a beep, and the door whisked open. "This is where we train recruits to fly a starfighter," she explained. "In the future, if you wish to use the simulator, and this light is red, it means someone is already in there. Just choose a different room."

He followed her into a darkened room, though the single dim light above clearly showed what was inside. A steel walkway about six paces long led to a small grey chair set down into the floor and surrounded by three panels of buttons, switches, and dials. The ceiling was nothing more than a low dome of black fabric suspended just a head or two above Arus. "Go ahead and have a seat," Kitreena said. Arus dropped into the chair, taking care not to kick what she called the "control stick" as he slipped his feet down on either side. "This is a replication of a standard fighter's cockpit. Don't let yourself be overwhelmed by the number of buttons you've got in front of you, because many are only used for specific reasons that you don't always encounter during a routine flight. I'll take you through each eventually, but we're going to start at the beginning. First things first; you need to put on your safety harness."

The harness was a square of brown leather straps that ran across his middle and up around his shoulders, holding him firmly in the seat. As soon as he was comfortably harnessed, Kitreena pointed to a darkened screen embedded in the control panel to his left. "This is the communication device. Every Alliance starfighter has one, and they all look just like this. You can switch it on by touching this button at the top," she said, pressing a thin red button above the screen. The display illuminated with green numbers reading one hundred and forty-two. "That's the current frequency setting. One forty-two is the standard Aeden combat channel. You can change the frequency by pressing on these arrows," she tapped an arrow facing upward and the number changed to one forty-three. The arrow facing down returned it to one forty-two. "Or, you can type the frequency you want directly into this number pad." The pointed at the series of numbered buttons beside the arrows. "As long as you have this activated, you can speak with anyone on the combat channel."

Arus certainly didn't understand how people could hear his voice through a mechanical device, but then, he didn't understand _how_ most machines worked despite having one implanted into his body. "Oh, all right," he murmured, trying to make it sound as though he understood.

Kitreena giggled softly. "You'll get the hang of all this. I know you can. For now, sit tight. I'm going to jump into the next simulator and connect with you. It'll be easier to teach you that way."

When the door slid shut behind her, Arus took a brief look at the rest of the controls. Most were grouped together in different sections and separated by thin white lines of paint, some with labels and others blank and mysterious. From his own experience with the implant, he recognized the scanner controls by their names, though he didn't have a clue of how to work them; the implant had taken care of those duties on its own. Another screen sat in the center of the front console, larger than any of the others. Elevated plates of steel rested just in front of either foot, and the polished black control stick lined with buttons and contoured to fit a person's grip comfortably sat between his knees. There was going to be so much for Kitreena to teach, but he was eager to learn anything that anyone was willing to show him. If he was going to help take down the kyrosen and this Vezulian Armada that Damien had told him about, he was going to have to train as hard as he could, not just in swordplay, but in any form of battle that he could potentially encounter.

"All right, Arus, you there?" Kitreena's voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"Um . . . Yes," he said, lowering his mouth beside the communications panel. "Can you hear me?"

There was a long silence before she finally responded, and when she did, it seemed like she was forcing back laughter. "You're holding your face right next to the panel, aren't you?" It didn't sound like a question, and she didn't give him a chance to answer. "There's no need for that. I'll be able to hear you no matter which direction you're looking or how high you hold your head."

If she saw how red his cheeks were now, she'd surely be giggling again. "Oh, all right."

She cleared her throat, and when she spoke again, she sounded like a professional instructor going through a routine lesson. It was clear she'd done this a number of times. "Very well, let's get started. The consoles you see around you will serve as your eyes and ears when out in space. Learn to use them as you would a hand or a leg, but don't rely on them over your own brain. Machines can malfunction, and you'll need to be able to identify a proper scanner readout or radar report from a faulty one. This simulator has been programmed to occasionally feed you such a faulty report, so be aware, and don't let yourself lose sight of common sense."

"I understand," Arus said. "I'll do my best."

"All right," she continued, "let's begin the simulation. First and foremost, never forget to strap on your safety harness. It is vital to your own protection when flying a starfighter. Since your harness is already on, we can proceed."

With a whirring hum, a series of long glass plates rose from the floor around the cockpit, completely surrounding him. They folded together at the top to create a roof of glass overhead, sealing him inside. Seconds later, they illuminated, and Arus' jaw nearly fell into his lap. The image of the _Refuge's_ hangar surrounded him, filling each glass plate as though he were actually sitting in the starfighter hangar bay. There were other ships lined beside him, and crewmen ran back and forth servicing them. It was a near-perfect replica of what he'd seen in the real hanger, though an occasional half-second blip in the image told him it was just a projection. Still, given his lack of experience with machines, it was a marvel unlike anything he'd ever seen, and no matter how much he tried, he couldn't seem to close his mouth.

"The _Refuge_ has a two-floor system for the arrival and departure of fighters and transports." Kitreena's voice startled him from his daze. "Once you are in your ship, the servicemen will signal flight control that you are cleared for takeoff, and they will lower your ship to the departure bay." As she finished the sentence, the ground shifted, and the starfighter began to descend through the floor. The most startling aspect of it all was that Arus could actually feel himself moving down. How the simulator recreated all of this was beyond him, but it certainly made for a realistic experience. "Once you've been lowered, the upper level will be sealed off so that the doors to space can be opened without disturbing the pressurization of the hangar." While she explained it, Arus watched as two large interlocking plates came together overhead to seal the room. Once they had successfully connected, the wall ahead began to split apart. An endless sea of stars lay beyond.

"Powering up the ship is easy," Kitreena continued. "You first power on your stabilizers, then your main engines. They are silver switches located on the front of the console just beside the main terminal screen. Flip all three from left to right whenever you're ready." Arus did so, and was surprised when his seat started to rumble beneath him. The dull whine of the engines grew behind him, and the ship lifted—he actually _felt_ it lift—from the deck. "Next, pull in your landing struts with the red switch beneath the engine power." The switch produced an electronic buzz and a brief rattle from deep within the ship, but he saw no outward change. "And now you're ready to leave the hangar. Place your feet on the pedals and tilt them forward slowly."

The sensation was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. The engine whined, and the fighter smoothly glided through the open doors. "This is amazing," he murmured. "I can actually feel the ship moving as if we're really out there!"

"That's what the simulator is designed to do. The idea is to prepare you for the dangers of space in an environment where those dangers _seem_ real yet are not." She was clearly amused by his shock.

A second starfighter passed overhead before swinging down beside him on the right. "Hey, there's another ship here," he told her.

"I know," she giggled, "that's me. Are you ready for the next lesson?"

"I'm ready!"

The next several hours seemed to pass in a heartbeat as Kitreena took him through a series of maneuvering and positioning drills and even gave him a chance to test his firing accuracy on a few dummy targets. It opened him up to a whole new world of combat; a new method for defending others from the evil of men like Sartan Truce. At the same time, it gave no comfort to know that such weapons were in the hands of those who would enslave and murder innocent people. It gave an unfair advantage that could be used against them, just as the kyrosen had done to humans during the Vermillion War. But with that technology now in Arus' hands, he could use it to keep them from pressing that advantage against those powerless to defend against it. And anything that gave him an extra tool for fighting against evil like that was most certainly an asset to him. _I'm going to train in this simulator just as hard as I'm going to train my blade. What happened to me will_ not _happen to anyone else as long as I'm alive!_

"You're really beginning to get the hang of this," Kitreena said as he completed another positioning drill. "You're well on your way to becoming a talented pilot!"

"How often can I use this simulator?" Arus asked, practicing another of the formation techniques she'd taught him.

"Whenever there's an open room," she told him. "Don't worry about disrupting the training of others. I linked our simulator terminals for the purposes of this particular lesson, but unless it is programmed that way by an administrator, each room will run its own simulation."

"Great! All right, then, what's our next lesson?"

"Well, next we're going to—" She was cut off by a short beep. "Hold on a second."

The communications terminal went dead for a minute or two. Arus recognized the beep as her personal communicator, but she must've turned off the transmitter in her simulator before responding. In the meantime, Arus pulled his ship into parallel to hers and performed a full rotation up and over her craft, ending on her opposite side. He repeated the maneuver over and over, each movement more precise than the last. Kitreena's voice came back in the middle of a rotation, throwing his concentration. His ship hung upside down over hers, and only the safety harness held him into his seat.

"I'm sorry, Arus, but we've got to cut this short," she told him in a panic. "I forgot that Damien and I were scheduled to interrogate the kyrosen prisoners at seven this morning and now it's half past."

"Oh, that's all right," he responded, turning his craft upright. "I'll just—" He stopped in mid-sentence as he realized what she'd said. "Wait, what kyrosen prisoners?"

"The ones we captured when we picked you up," she said simply. "Why?"

A million questions raced through Arus' mind. If there were kyrosen prisoners onboard, one of them may have knowledge about the implant. Maybe even knowledge of how to remove it. If not, then they'd surely have knowledge about Truce's plans. Regardless, they held a wealth of information that he wanted access to. "Can I come?"

"You . . . you want to watch us interrogate some prisoners?"

"No, I want to help. I know these guys, Kitreena. I was one of them for a while. I may be able to tell you if one of them is lying, and they may be able to tell me if there's a way to get this bloody implant out of my head."

"I'll have to speak with Damien first," her voice came back, "but if he agrees then I'll take you down to the prison level with me."

"Thank you, Kitreena. I appreciate it." All he needed was one kyrosen doctor or scientist or technician down there, and maybe he'd have hope of restoring his humanity somehow. And if there were none, surely whoever _had_ been captured would be able to point him in the right direction. Doc Nori claimed that the implant couldn't be removed without killing him, but before Arus, a machine had never been successfully integrated into a living brain. Truce's research had led him to previously uncharted technological territory, and if there was any one who could return Arus to normal, it would be him.

*******

Kindel stood at the peak of Mount Xenet, the largest mountain on his home planet of Zo'rhan. The cloth-covered 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 from a distance. Sweat oozed from every pore, rolling down his face and trickling down his back, yet his body shivered as though he were naked in an ice storm. Below him lay the corpses of slain Ma'tuul. Beasts of varying 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. Zo'rhan had been saved, cleansed of the cancer that would have brought an end to the world. Those that remained were safe, but the price was a debt that could never truly be paid.

Kindel had defeated the Ma'tuul, and yet his soul would be forever tainted by the insanity that came with such awesome power.

The weapon shook once more, drawing Kindel's glowing eyes. He stared for a lifetime, an eternity of struggle with his desire for sanity and lust for power. He could feel the warmth of the hilt through the dirty cloth as it pulsated against his palm. He wanted more, so much more, and the power was eager for him to take it. It beckoned him, called to him, pleaded with him, but his mind still knew right from wrong, and despite the unquenchable thirst that drowned his soul, he threw the cursed thing away, sending its black blade clattering down the mountainside where it disappeared amongst the trees. His knees hit the dirt at the same moment, and he unleashed a cry that pierced the air and reverberated across the farthest lands.

When he opened his eyes, he was sitting upright in his bed as the last echoes of his shout silenced. Scimitar and Kalibur burst into the room immediately, weapons drawn and ready. "Is everything all right, Master?" Kalibur asked after a moment.

Kindel didn't even look up. "Yes, thank you, I'm fine." He waved them away with a dismissive hand. He had stopped trying to interpret his dreams long ago—most had no real significance anyway—but this was one of the most vivid nightmares he'd had in a long time. If he was a fool, he'd think that the Maker was trying to say that he was drunk with power. But Kindel had yet to really get his hands on any true power aside from the artifact in his dream, and he hadn't yet truly considered laying a finger on the bloody thing. The lephadorite would be enough, and he intended to make sure it was used only when necessary, else anyone who abused the gift would find themselves on the wrong end of his anger.

When the door had closed behind his two assistants, Kindel rose from his bed and wiped the sweat from his forehead. It was rare that anything riled such fear in him, and he felt embarrassed for even waking from it. As he walked to the viewport beside his bed, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass window. Shirtless, sweat ran down his chest and back, glistening against the light of the stars. But it was his glowing blue eyes that kept his attention; no matter how many times he saw them, he'd never really gotten used to them. When _had_ they picked up that glow, anyway?

His bedroom was not much more than a large closet connected to his office. He had a bed and a small drawer of clothes in there, and it was all he really needed. Pulling his cloak from the wall and lazily throwing it around his shoulders, he headed through the door. Scimitar and Kalibur stood ready on either side of his desk. "Go find Dr. Barrine and get an update on the project," he ordered them. With hasty acknowledgments and bows, the two darted through the door like assassins moving in for the kill. Once he was alone, Kindel dropped into his chair and stared, wrapped only in his thoughts. _It was only a dream. Nothing more to it than that._ He knew the Maker could send messages through any means, but that kind of experience was reserved for prophets and teachers, wasn't it?

Then again, the number of people who even believed in the Maker's existence was dwindling across the universe. As more and more scientists released reports theorizing the beginnings of the universe, more and more people began to turn away from the Maker. Kindel himself had been uninterested in all of that religious mumbo-jumbo until the day he stumbled across an artifact on a distant planet. It was the subject of one of the few stories about the Maker and his Grand Design that remained the same on whatever planet it was told. Even that seemingly impossible coincidence hadn't managed to convince people of the truth about the conception of the universe, but when Kindel's eyes fell upon the weapon for the first time, _he_ believed.

Now, it sat on the counter near the wall, covered with a fine white cloth. He soon found himself standing in front of it, lifting the fabric to reveal the sparkling sword. Both hilt and handguard had been carved of a rare blue diamond, studded with precious gems and lined with gold around the edges of the pommel. The blade itself was straight and clear with ridges near the hilt that pointed upward. An image of a winged lion was carved just above the handguard. Kindel had never been able to determine what the blade was made of, but if the legends were to be believed, it was unlike anything the universe had ever seen. If the stories were true, then it was a material forged by the fires of heaven and wielded against the greatest evil ever known.

But it wasn't the history of the sword that struck terror into his heart. Fear of the blade had plagued him ever since he'd lifted it at the museum where he'd discovered it. It was an event he desperately tried to block from his mind, and though he'd been successful for the most part, images and memories still occasionally haunted his dreams. When he had approached the sword in the museum and wrapped his fingers around the hilt, he was instantly brought to his knees under a wave of immense power and energy that surged through his bones like the flood of a thousand fiery oceans. Even when he had tried to pull his hand free, his fingers gripped harder as though acting of their own accord. One of the museum curators finally tore his hand away, and shouted babble about the sword being cursed. They happily gave it to him when he requested it, and though he carried it as seldom as he could, he never let his bare skin touch its surface again.

Dangerous as it was, he kept it as a failsafe. If a great threat ever emerged, one that managed to overcome each and every weapon and soldier that Kindel sent forward, then the sword's power would have to be harnessed. Truthfully, Kindel wasn't sure if even he could control such a weapon, but that was why he kept it as a last resort. Surely there would be no need to use the thing anytime soon, and perhaps he'd be able to dedicate more study to it once the lephadorite project was complete.

The beep of his communicator yanked him from his thoughts, and he draped the cloth back over the sword. "Yes?"

"My Lord, Dr. Barrine requests your presence in the research lab," Scimitar's voice said. "He says it is urgent."

Kindel was almost glad to have something to take his mind away from the sword. When he put it out of his mind, it stayed there. But anytime he allowed himself to dwell on the subject, it clouded his vision with an anxious fear that made him feel as though his back was always against a wall. Better to put it back where it belonged, in the shadows of his mind where it could be ignored. "I'll be right there."

He headed through the door immediately, turning his thoughts to the business at hand. If Barrine had anything other than good news for him, it would likely be his last report as head of the research team. Despite constant assurances from his scientists, Barrine seemed more and more unsure each day that the lephadorite experiment would be a success. Then again, they were all scientists, and to Kindel, that was enough of an excuse for their inept behavior.

Even if Kindel hadn't found evidence of the Maker's Grand Design, he likely would've wound up believing in Him based on his own experience with scientists. All too often he'd seen complex theories developed based on an assumption that was little more than a far-fetched guess to begin with. Experiments were pushed forward after slight miscalculations because the scientists didn't feel they had enough time and resources to go back and start again. Ideas became fact simply by word of mouth, and theories law. But they maintained their professional front, claimed the precision of their work, and the universe believed. For thousands of years, scientists proclaimed that tales of the Maker were nothing more than myths, and that the universe had actually always existed somehow. And the people believed.

"They are blind fools," he growled, entering the lift. How anyone could look the splendor of the universe and believe it to be all some kind of chaotic accident was beyond him. For that matter, to think that scientists knew all there was to know was even more appalling. What right do they have to declare themselves as the highest level of intelligence in the universe? The arrogance required to even consider such an idea was astounding.

When the lift door slid open, Dr. Barrine's gaunt face met Kindel's with a smile. "Sir, I believe you'll be happy to see what's happened."

"I'd better be," Kindel muttered. "I haven't even gotten to wash yet."

Barrine led him to the research lab where the lephadorite egg was incubating. Scimitar and Kalibur bowed when Thorus entered, though he hardly noticed. A long jagged crack ran along the shell lengthwise. For a normal Belvid hatchling, the egg would've grown to at least four or five times larger than the egg in front of him. But being that this was a scientifically reproduced organism using the embryonic sequences of the _baharinda_ , its shell had been engineered not to grow any larger than a fist. A translucent white liquid was draining from the crack, and a gelatinous beige substance could be seen beneath it. "That doesn't look like my stone, Doctor," Kindel said quietly. "What am I looking at?"

"That's just the albumin of the egg," Barrine responded. "Think of it as the white from a chicken's egg."

"But when a chicken hatches, the white is not a part of it."

Barrine laughed as he began to peel away the shell. "Belvid eggs and chicken eggs have few similarities. See, the albumin in a Belvid egg remains until—"

"It doesn't matter," Kindel cut him off, rolling his eyes. "Where is the duplicated stone?"

"It will be just a moment." Barrine lifted a scalpel from the steel tray beside the incubator and gently inserted it into the white albumin. Piece by piece, he cut the gel away, revealing a purple stone no larger than a small fingernail. Barrine stared at it blankly for a time before looking back at Kindel. "Interesting," was all he said.

Kindel nearly gutted the man there and then. "Interesting? Interesting?! I was promised a duplicate of the stone I showed you! This is a useless fleck of a pebble!"

"Apparently my calculations were slightly off," the old man said. He was so wrapped up in his fascination that he barely seemed to notice Thorus' anger. "I'll have to study this to see if it truly replicates the properties of the host."

Slightly off? The experiment was a blunder of a catastrophic failure! _Why did you expect anything more?_ a voice wondered somewhere in the back of his mind. "Summon the rest of the science team here at once, Barrine," Kindel ordered. "We have matters to discuss."

When the entire team had been assembled in the lab, Kindel motioned for Barrine to step forward. "The progress of my project has been impeded constantly by your unfathomable incompetence," Kindel shouted. As a rule, he liked dressing down subordinates in front of others. It gave them a warning of what they would face if they failed in their own assignments. It was time to put a little haste into the efforts of these supposed geniuses. "I was led to believe by your research"—he put a tone of disgust in that last word—"that you would be able to clone my specimen through your scientific methods. But all you've managed to produce is a spec of a rock covered in slime!"

"Sir, you have to understand that our calculations were based on estimations and that—"

Kindel snatched the tiny stone from the doctor and dropped it into the small brown pouch on his belt. "I've no time for miscalculations and faulty estimates. I accept nothing but the best from my soldiers, nothing but the best from my assistants, and _nothing_ but the best from my scientists." He turned his eyes on the rest of the research team, nervously clustered together by the cabinets against the far wall. "Which of you ranks directly below Dr. Barrine?"

A short female Pelwig, a bipedal race with webbed hands and feet and oxygen-breathing gills on either side of their necks, stepped forward. "That would be me, Sir." She raised a blue-skinned hand and nodded slightly. "I'm Dr. Masse."

"Good." Kindel nodded. "You are now in charge." Without any further delay, he grabbed Barrine around the throat and lifted him into the air. The doctor gasped for air, struggling to pull Thorus' hand away. "My patience with you has run out, Mr. Barrine. Your repeated failures and your constant indignance will no longer be tolerated. I _would_ order you to be my servant, but quite frankly, I'd rather have a servant who will perform the duties I assign without failing and without excuses. So I'm afraid the Vezulian Armada no longer has any use for you."

Some of the scientists flinched visibly as Barrine's neck cracked multiple times in Kindel's grip. When his body was finally released, it fell to the floor in a lifeless heap. With a grunt of disdain, Kindel kicked Barrine's corpse in the ribs before making for the door. "I want new plans to properly reproduce the lephadorite and I want them immediately. Dr. Masse, I expect results, and please keep in mind that broken promises will send you down the same path as your predecessor."

A faint "Yes, Sir!" came through the closing door. As he headed back toward the lift, Kindel drew the reproduced jewel from his pouch and took a closer look. Its color and texture seemed similar, if not identical, to the lephadorite in his office, but that didn't necessarily mean that it carried the same properties. He cursed himself for listening to the claims of a scientist, but then again, he had no where else to turn. "A starving man will look the garbage to survive," he muttered. "At least now I'll no longer have to deal with the biggest rat."

*******

The guards patrolling the prison level of the _Refuge_ were more heavily armed than the rest, clad in a thick material Arus didn't recognize and armed with laser pistols so large they carried them with both hands. They took no notice of him as he passed, though each nodded slightly to both Damien and Kitreena. Most cells were empty, but the few prisoners they did pass were either asleep or just staring silently into nothingness as though hypnotized by some unseen force. Kitreena had warned him that most of the people they held prisoner were either mentally disturbed or narcotics addicts, and as long as he didn't do anything to attract their attention, they'd likely ignore him.

The colorful carpets and wood-paneled walls were absent on this deck, replaced by dull colorless steel on both the floor and walls. The corridor wound back and forth throughout the level; Kitreena said it was because the _Refuge_ was just a step below a battleship, and therefore equipped with all the weapons and accommodations required for an interstellar war. Since no such war currently existed—her use of the word "currently" made Arus a little uneasy—there was no need for most of the prison cells. The thought of a war grand enough to fill so many rooms with prisoners chilled his spine. With luck, a day like that would never come.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Arus?" Damien asked him as they strode along the corridor. "These people are responsible for what has happened to you, and speaking with them may bring bitter emotions to the surface."

"I need to know if there is any chance of removing this thing," Arus said, shaking his head. "I'm not sure if they'll know, but I want to explore every option available." Kitreena gave him a sympathetic look. There was no telepathic communication this time, but he could likely guess what she was thinking.

"All right." Damien's tone held more than a little concern. "But just let us do the talking to start. We'll give make sure you have a chance to speak, but there are things Kitreena and I need to address first."

Arus nodded quickly. "Of course. I certainly don't want to get in the way of your work."

They rounded a corner, and Arus found himself staring into the shifty eyes of Nevin, a low ranking officer of the kyrosen known more for his mouth than his might. He almost looked as though he was expecting their visit, standing at the front of his cell with his fists wrapped around the prison bars. His unkempt black hair dangled just above his dark eyes, and he wore a wry smile. "Well, well, well," he grumbled. "Look what we have here."

"Shut it," Kitreena hissed. "You'll speak only when you're spoken to, is that understood?"

"Calm yourself," Damien said in a voice meant only for her. "Let's not start this out on the wrong foot."

"That's up to him," she responded with a snort. Raising her voice, she addressed Nevin directly. "Cooperate with us, and you will not be harmed. But bear in mind that you are our prisoner, safely behind bars and—"

"And under the watchful eyes of your jailers, I know," Nevin's eyes flicked back and forth. It was then that Arus noticed the two guards on either side of the cell. Neither wore the extra armor of the rest of the patrols, and they stood facing Nevin with their hands extended toward him. Arus still hadn't gotten used to seeing so many aliens around him, so the presence of a blue-skinned being that resembled a cross between a tiger and a lizard startled him. He wore the same uniform as the rest of the Alliance soldiers, though his deep blue scales and thin whiskers extending from his long snout certainly seemed out of place against the smooth browns of his attire. Across from him stood a female alien that looked mostly human aside from a series of round fleshy knobs that lined her hairline from ears to forehead. Thanai, Kitreena had called them, a humanoid race with amazing talent for insight and intelligence levels that nearly quadrupled the average human's. The thanai were also skilled magic users, and Arus was willing to bet that the lizard-man shared that talent.

Kitreena must have noticed the looks he gave the two guards, because she leaned over and whispered, "They're creating a magical barrier around him to prevent him from using magic to escape. Standard procedure when holding a prisoner with such capabilities."

While she spoke, Damien was finishing his warnings for Nevin. "Rest assured that any attempt to either escape or harm anyone on this ship will result in your prompt execution. Do we understand each other?"

"Don't threaten me with idle words, Damien. You and I both know that I am protected by the Aeden Alliance's Code of Ethics for Proper Treatment of Prisoners." Despite the confidence in his voice, Nevin's eyes seemed to be searching for a way out. "You won't lay a finger on me and you know it."

"As long as you cooperate," Kitreena added. Arus got the feeling she was daring him to try something. "Cause us trouble, and the Code no longer applies."

Nevin's stare sharpened as he looked between both her and Damien. "If you have questions, get to them."

Damien wasted no time. "What do you know about Truce's implant technology?"

"Little. Very little. Truce didn't involve any of us in the project. Only he and Olock are knowledgeable enough in that kind of stuff to be able to make it work. All I can tell you about are the few experiences I've had with Arus personally."

And there weren't many. The only times Arus really remembered encountering the man were during the training sessions in the Underworld when Truce had pitted the kyrosen's best warriors against him to test the implant's abilities. Other than that, and the few times Arus had seen Nevin during the battles at Narleaha and Cathymel, they hadn't had much interaction at all.

"Does he have a buyer for the technology? Has he passed the schematics to anyone else?"

"Not that I know of," Nevin shrugged. "But Truce was never one to tell us his plans up front. He always waited until he'd already achieved whatever goal he had, and then he'd tell us about it."

"Did he ever mention a back-up plan? Did he have any ideas prepared in case the implant failed?"

Nevin pursed his lips and tilted his head with a face of disdain. "What did I just say?"

"Answer the question!" Kitreena immediately demanded. "Did he have any alternate plans?"

"I don't know!" Nevin shouted back. "Truce doesn't tell us his plans!"

Again, Damien looked at Kitreena. She shook her head, muttering something under her breath, and Damien sighed through a frustrated frown. "Are you aware that Truce is now in the custody of Kindel Thorus?"

"I said I don't—" He cut himself off as the question registered. "He's what?"

"He claims to have worked out a deal with the Armada. The kyrosen and the Vezulian Armada are now allies."

"That . . ." Nevin's confidence finally seemed to shatter as he slowly lowered himself onto the cot behind him. "That's not possible. Truce would never trust those savages."

Damien nodded and tried to keep his voice calm, though desperation glimmered in his eyes. "Do you think he'll sell the implant to Kindel?"

Nevin immediately shook his head, but his response seemed directed more toward himself than Damien. "Never! He wouldn't hand over a weapon like that to the kyrosen's greatest enemy!" When he looked back at Damien, his face was a depiction of pure fear. "Would he?"

Again, Damien sighed, this time staring at the floor. "Let's hope not. Thank you for your cooperation, Nevin. I'll see that you are sent a hearty meal for lunch today."

The Mage didn't even seem to hear. He stared into space, mumbling something about the imminent end of the kyrosen. Damien looked back at Arus. "It's your turn. Ask him whatever you'd like."

But Arus shook his head. "He's already answered my questions. If Truce has kept the rest of the kyrosen in the dark about the implant, then he wouldn't know how to remove it . . . if it even _can_ be removed."

Damien nodded and started down the hall, and Kitreena followed after sparing Arus a comforting pat on the shoulder.

"Do you think he's telling the truth?" Arus asked them as they walked.

Kitreena's look was grim. "I don't know. Most prisoners aren't great actors, and given the strain of what we told him, I doubt Nevin would've been able to react so emotionally without showing at least a few cracks in his facade."

"I think his surprise about Truce's deal with Kindel was genuine," Damien added. "I wonder how many of the other kyrosen feel the same way."

"I'm sure the promise of a return to space sweetened the deal for at least some," she reasoned, "but I bet there are others who would just as soon spend the rest of their existence in the Underworld as strike a deal with Thorus."

"Hopefully, our other prisoner will prove more useful."

The person standing in the next cell shocked Arus even more. He was large even sitting on the edge of his bed, wearing garb unusually different from the traditional black pants and vest of the kyrosen. Instead, his attire was mostly blue, woven of a sturdy looking material that Arus had never seen before. An emblem of a vicious boar surrounded by fire was sewn onto the right side of his vest, though he lacked the usual colored shirt that most of his fellow Mages usually donned beneath their own. A snug brimless hat covered the top of his head, and stringy blond hair fell just below his chin. Two guards, one zo'rhan and the other thanai, stood on either side of his cell the same as those that watched Nevin. The prisoner looked at Arus oddly as they approached. To Damien and Kitreena, he gave slight nods, but the expression he gave Arus almost looked like relief.

"You are well, I see," his low voice murmured. "Has your mind been restored?"

Arus nodded, almost unsure as to whether or not he should answer. Damien and Kitreena stayed silent, leaving him room to respond. "It has. How's the leg?"

Muert looked down at his right leg. "Just about healed. The doctor on this ship has got some incredible tools at his disposal."

It didn't make sense. Muert had been seriously injured during the cave-in of the Underworld tunnel. His leg shouldn't have been healed already, nor should he have been well enough to travel to Cathymel with Truce's army. But if he was the other prisoner, then he must've been there. "I didn't see you with us on the way to the castle," Arus told him. "How did you make the journey injured as you were?"

Muert looked away and shook his head. "When the Boss speaks, we obey. I was amongst the second wave that followed your group. We were to keep any of the Royal Guard troops from reaching the castle if the warning bell sounded. Boss made me wear a splint and said to tough it out. I had no choice."

"Would you have been there if he'd given you the choice?"

This time the Mage snorted. "Would _you_ have?" For the first time, Arus began to wonder if Muert might be questioning the actions of his leader. And he hadn't even heard the latest of what Truce had been up to!

Damien must've sensed it as well. "I get the feeling you don't agree much with what Sartan Truce has been doing," he said. "Do you?"

Muert looked at him for a moment, and despite his impressive size, his look bordered with fear. "I . . . don't know anymore. When we were first shown the implant technology, I was excited. But none of us knew precisely how it worked or the necessary sacrifices required for it to work properly. Once we learned that Arus had robbed of his free will, many were disturbed by the idea, but they accepted because what the Boss says is law for us. There were others who were thrilled with it because of our history of conflict with the humans; they may as well have been drooling over the idea of enslaving each and every one of them. But I never got comfortable with the idea. No one—man, woman, or child—no one should have their free will taken away."

Kitreena was certainly puzzled by the response. "If so many people question Truce's actions, why do you all follow him so loyally?"

Muert shrugged as he rose from the bed and turned away from them. "He's all we have. The leadership of the kyrosen isn't something that can just be thrown around from person to person just because we don't understand their ideals. Our society has been guided by the Truce family for generations, from Sartan to Aratus to Marcine and all the way back to the day that Orontus Mendin Truce led us to victory in the battle against the army of New Dunson. That was nearly four hundred years ago. And even while Aratus nearly drove us to extinction, we never even considered naming another as leader. We've followed the Truces for too long to even imagine a society under the guidance of another."

"I've got a question for you," Damien began, "but don't misinterpret me here. I have no intentions of releasing or pardoning you. But I want an honest answer." The glance he gave Kitreena was so quick that Arus wondered if he'd imagined it. "If we released you, would you go back to the kyrosen?"

Muert kept his back to them. He almost seemed to be fighting with himself, but Arus knew what the answer would be. "I would have to," he finally said. "It is my place."

Before Damien or Kitreena could speak, Arus asked, "What if we brought your wife and daughter here safely? If your family was together and safely away from Truce, would you still want to go back?"

No sooner had Arus finished the question than Muert whirled around, his eyebrows raised and mouth open. "You haven't imprisoned them, have you? I swear, if you've touched a single hair on—"

Arus held up his hands and shook his head. "No, Muert. We do not have your family here. I was merely asking if they would be your reason for returning."

"One day you will understand," he said, his eyes becoming distant. "They are everything to me. I need nothing more than the companionship of my Sienna and Keilan."

Kitreena gave Damien a puzzled look before continuing. "Are you aware of what Truce has the kyrosen doing now?"

"I only know that we were ordered to return to the desert if the mission were to fail," he answered, sinking back onto his bed. "Why, what has he done now?"

Damien looked to be searching for a way to deliver the news softly, but Arus wasn't going to cushion the actions of that lunatic. "He's made a deal with Kindel Thorus. They have allied to come after me for the implant. Supposedly, the agreement is that Kindel will get the implant in exchange for some ships so that the kyrosen can return to space."

"A return to the stars," Muert said in a thoughtful tone. "It has been the dream of many since the day we first landed on Terranias. But can such a thing be worth handing ourselves over to our greatest enemy? Kindel will—" He cut himself off and his eyes went wide. "Sienna and Keilan! They'll be in Kindel's custody! I cannot allow that! Please, you must stop this from happening!"

"We're in no position to interfere," Damien said, holding up his hands.

Kitreena's wry smile drove her words home. "Especially on behalf of a kyrosen."

But Muert ignored the both of them, falling on his knees as he clutched the prison bars. His pleading eyes were locked on Arus. "You are a noble warrior, a young man who knows right from wrong and puts the safety of others ahead of his own. You _must_ help them! If you will not release me, then you must act in my stead!"

Arus stepped back, shaking his head. "Believe me, I would love to help you, but it just isn't possible right now. I'm exactly who they're looking for! If they got control of the implant, I could be used as Truce's weapon to exterminate anyone he wants."

"Not only that," Damien continued, "but we are vastly outnumbered by the Armada. We're lucky they haven't come after us as it is."

"Please, you've got to do something!" Muert insisted. "If anything happens to them, I'll have nothing left to live for." It wrenched Arus' heart to see such a strong warrior reduced to begging.

"If an opportunity presents itself in which we can recover your family members, we will," Damien said, trying to calm the Mage. "But we cannot go out on some rescue mission on behalf of a kyrosen prisoner. Now, we have a few questions we'd like you to answer. You can cooperate, or—"

"I'll answer nothing!" Muert growled, returning to his feet. "You give me no reason to assist you!"

"Listen, you overgrown oaf!" Kitreena shouted, stepping toward the cell. "I don't care how big you are! You're going to help us out, or I'll—" Arus' hand on her shoulder cut her off and earned him an angry glare.

"Don't press him," he told her. "I know he is a kyrosen, but I believe him to be a man of honor. Given time, I think he'll calm down."

Damien nodded and started down the hall. "Agreed. And I think he's already shown that he knows little more than Nevin about Truce's plans. I had hoped that Sartan would at least consult _some_ of his men before making such a decision, but apparently the kyrosen are kept in the dark until after his wheels are already in motion. There is little more we can learn here, it seems."

Kitreena made her frustration visibly clear in her demeanor, but she followed Damien without another word. Arus moved to do the same, but Muert's voice stopped him. "You are not to blame, I know," he muttered. "And I apologize for my outburst. I simply do not know what to do. Truce's actions worry me; I cannot help but wonder if he is following the same path as his father. I am torn between my loyalty to the kyrosen and the welfare of my family. Sienna and Keilan are everything to me. I'd never willingly put them in harms way, even for my people."

Arus didn't know what to say. A part of him wanted to venture out and find Muert's family for him, but he was not skilled enough to pilot a starfighter against an enemy fleet, and he was certainly not prepared to battle an entire army on his own. "I'd like to help you, Muert. But it's simply not possible at the moment. Don't worry. As long as I'm safe here, Kindel needs the kyrosen's help. He won't harm them until he has what he wants."

"I pray the Maker that you're right, my friend. Thank you for your understanding." He stood and bowed formally. "Perhaps one day we will be able to truly test our skills against one another in the ring."

"I look forward to it," Arus replied with a smile. "I need all the training I can get."

"You are a talented swordsman. I have no doubt that you will one day exact revenge on Truce for what he's done."

"Thank you, but I no longer seek revenge. The path of vengeance leads only to the grave. My master taught me that."

Muert tilted his head, clearly surprised that Arus wouldn't want to settle the score. "You don't seek justice for the damage he's done to you? Your life has been forever changed by his actions, and you're willing to forgive that?"

"Truce is a criminal that must be stopped. That I don't argue," Arus said through a grin. "But I will not allow vengeance to fuel my actions. I will give him a chance to change his ways, and I will work to prevent him from committing further crimes, but I will not murder any man simply to satisfy a lust for revenge. I succumbed to that urge once, and it saw me enslaved to Truce. I refuse to make that selfish mistake again."

"You are wise beyond your years, young one," Muert said, bowing again. "I myself could stand to learn a lot from you. I hope one day to be half the man that you already are."

Arus smiled warmly and waved a dismissive hand. "I appreciate it, but you should save your praise for a man who deserves it. I'm simply trying to do what I believe is right."

"In this universe, the number of people who go out of their way to do the right thing is dwindling quickly. You are a star amid darkness, Arus. May that star shine for all eternity."

He didn't want to be rude, but Arus couldn't take any more of the Mage's unjustified praise. He was no hero and certainly was not deserving of such words. But rather than argue the point further, he simply bowed with an appreciative smile. "I'll speak with Damien and make sure you get a good lunch sent down today."

"I would be most grateful. Thank you, Arus."

Chapter 2-5

It was a comfort to be serenaded by the twittering birds of Keroko when Vultrel awoke. He had been too long away from home, and even longer away from his bed. The sweet smell of moist flowers hung in the humid air, disturbed only by an occasional breeze that was too warm for comfort. It was the hottest part of the summer, which was also usually the driest for Keroko, and to that end, rain had been more than scarce. Not that it was a big surprise or problem; the wells were still plenty full and the village stockpiles had been untouched thus far. The weather was typical for summer, and if anything, it made Vultrel that much more happy to be home.

He rolled out of bed and rubbed his eyes before heading toward the wash basin. The lingering effects of the previous night were still obvious in his face. The mirror just above his bureau reflected his red-rimmed eyes along with the blotches of red on his cheeks. That he was even awake before midday was a miracle considering that he and his mother had been up until nearly sunup reminiscing about Eaisan and the many memories he'd left behind, both good and bad. It had been a night of tears and laughs, and for Vultrel, it was good to finally be able to talk about the pain he'd bottled up inside. As for Arus' mother, she'd taken the news about as well as anyone could after being told their son had been killed in a battle he never should've been a part of in the first place. Veran had spent a considerable amount of time consoling Elayna, but Mrs. Sheeth had insisted she was strong enough to walk home on her own. Even so, Vultrel had shadowed her just to be sure.

With a yawn, he splashed his face with soap and water. Telling her that Arus had died had been one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do, but it was a necessity. It would be better for her to know the truth now rather than live with a false hope that he may one day return. That very thought brought tears back to his own eyes once more—his best friend of fourteen years, gone!—but he forced them down with a solid determination that he would not allow his feelings to dwell on what was past. He would take the lessons he learned and go forward with a new outlook and a new goal. What happened to Arus could've been prevented if Arus had been stronger. Truth be told, Vultrel wasn't sure even _he_ possessed the strength that he wished Arus had. But either way, to destroy threats like the Vermillion Mages or the kyrosen or whatever they wanted to be called, strength was key, and Arus demonstrated clearly that more would be needed against Truce and his army of heartless thugs. Going forward, strength would be Vultrel's only objective, because without it, he would be as helpless as Arus was. If only they'd known Anton's true strength. If only they'd learned from him . . .

But that was all over with and a part of the past. It was a new day, and Vultrel intended to start fresh with a positive outlook and a clean slate. He washed quickly—there was no telling how late it was already—and threw on a new pair of black pants and a sleeveless black tunic. His mother came into his room as he was pulling on his boots, her eyes sharing the redness that had outlined his own. "Where are you off to, Vultrel?" Her voice was blatantly casual. She didn't want him going anywhere considering what had happened, but he wasn't a child anymore, and he wasn't going to let anyone stand in the way of his duty.

"I've got to talk to Ben Mantes," he told her. With all that had gone on the previous night, he'd never gotten around to telling her his plans to rebuild the Keroko Militia and exterminate the Mages. "He's a smart man, and I think—" He stopped when he noticed her dark eyes tilting to the side, considering him, weighing him. Did she not think he could handle his responsibility to the Lurei household? To Keroko? "He knew Father well. I'd like to talk to him about a few things. That's all." If she didn't think he could carry the weight of Eaisan's duties on his shoulders, then it would be better for her not to learn of his intentions until he was already doing so.

"Oh . . . all right," she murmured, watching him strap his scabbard to his back. "Just be careful, all right? Things have gotten more dangerous out there since the resurgence of the Mages, and I don't want you running headlong into trouble anymore. Do you hear me, Vultrel?" Usually, Veran Lurei was the epitome of strength and confidence, solid under even the heaviest pressure and confident even when the odds favored failure. But now, she was clearly broken; a woman stunned by the harsh reality of the world and afraid to step foot back into it. Vultrel never knew how much of her own strength she'd drawn from Eaisan, much as he had. In time, he'd learn to find that strength in himself, and she'd be able to draw it from him. But for now, like him, she would have to find her own way.

"Do not worry, Mother," Vultrel assured her with a hug. "Father's body may be gone, but he will continue to protect this village long after you and I have both passed from this world."

She returned the hug and babbled on about his safety and the farm and house chores and such. Clearly, she was delirious; Eaisan had never had time for house chores with the responsibilities he carried on his shoulders. But he dismissed her comments as the front door closed behind him, and he headed down the path toward Trader's Square. Ben would certainly be able to help, if not as a member of the militia, then with weapons training and supplies. And if his schedule was too hectic, he'd certainly be able to point Vultrel in the direction of another good weapons master. There were several blacksmiths across Keroko, and Vultrel was willing to travel to Narleaha to recruit if necessary, so if Ben wasn't willing or able to join, there were certainly other options available.

The paths grew more and more crowded the closer he came to Trader's Square. Midday was not far off, and most people tended to do their shopping around that time. Vultrel saw a few familiar faces as he moved along the streets, but he was so deep in thought that he barely managed a smile or a wave for most of them. How was he going to pay the militiamen for their work? He thought he remembered Eaisan complaining once about how the Mayor hadn't provided him with a budget for the men's wages. Did the money come from Mayor Randolf, then? A meeting would be in order, Vultrel decided. There was no way Eaisan paid the soldiers out of his own pocket, so the money must've come from somewhere. And if it wasn't Mayor Randolf—

A brown-haired girl with glittery cheeks and wide eyes stopped him in his tracks. "Vultrel! You're alive!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. "I was so worried about you!"

Finally torn from his thoughts, he returned the hug. "I'm fine, Melia. You should've known I would be. I can take care of myself."

She released him and stepped back, already red in the face. "We heard you were all killed in Cathymel! But if you're here, then does that mean your father and Arus are all right as well? Does your mother know you're here? It's been over a week! Does Katlyn know?"

Too many questions at once. He suspected he was going to have to put on a cold facade frequently to dispel the rumors that were obviously going around. "My father and Arus are both gone," he told her quickly, "and both my mother and Arus' mother are aware. I haven't seen Katlyn."

Melia had been pawing at her blue wool skirts until that last statement. Her eyes shot up at him and turned toward the direction of Trader's Square just as quickly. Brown curls swayed around her shoulders and glistened in the sunlight as she moved. "Then we have to find her and let her know that you're alive!"

His hand grabbed her shoulder harder than he intended, and he loosened his grip a bit. "I'm sorry, but I don't have time for that. I have some important matters to attend to." He hated saying the words; there was a time not too long ago when he would've been all too happy to spend time with Melia. But things were different now. There were responsibilities on his shoulders, and he was not going to let his father down. "I have to get to the Square."

She froze momentarily, eyeing him with a nervous stare. "W-Why?" she asked. "What's wrong? Has something bad happened again? It's the Mages, isn't it? By the Maker, why can't they just—"

Vultrel very nearly cupped his hand over her mouth. "It's not the Mages, and nothing has happened," he cut in. "Everything is fine. I just have something important to do and I don't have time to spend playing around today."

She trailed behind him as he continued toward the center of the village, rambling on about how everyone was on edge about the Mages and that many wanted to find a way to set fire to the Mayahol itself to end the whole thing. Vultrel only half-listened, though he found it odd that she never mentioned concern over the lack of soldiers to defend them in the case of another attack. Regardless, it would matter little once he got the new militia on their feet.

It was business as usual in Trader's Square, though many citizens seemed to be stocking up on food and supplies as though a hurricane was on the way. Everywhere he looked, people carried multiple baskets filled with apples and pears and oranges and melons. Villagers pulled wheelbarrows full of masonry supplies and tools. Long boards of wood were bundled together and carried on the shoulders of shirtless men. Repairs from the Mages attack at the Festival of Souls were no doubt still underway, but these supplies were being hauled off by workers and average citizens alike. More than once Vultrel saw signs that read "Out of Inventory" standing in front of shops that had been closed up. It wasn't usual behavior for Keroko, unless there really _was_ a hurricane coming. Either way, there was work to be done.

Ben Mantes' Blacksmith Shop was located on the northern side of the square. It was a large building of grey stone adorned by yellow wooden shutters around the windows and topped by brown thatch. A billowing plume of black smoke poured from the chimney, indicating that Ben and his assistants were hard at work inside. What caught Vultrel by surprise was sight of two rows of freshly polished swords and newly sharpened axes lined up on a rack just beside the front door. Ben's wife Synthia stood beside the rack where a young man was examining one of the blades. She smiled and nodded at Vultrel as he pushed the door open. "I am glad to see that the rumors weren't true," she said in a motherly voice.

Vultrel returned the smile with a polite bow. "As am I," he said.

Inside, Ben was standing beside the forge along with Dendan Carsal and Mat Marren, his apprentices. Melia stood in the doorway, glancing between the soot covered men inside and her clean dress. Eventually, she allowed the door to close behind her, but she walked no further.

"Vultrel!" Ben exclaimed, looking up from his work. He held a long steel rod into the burning coals, slowing turning it. "Good to see you! So many rumors have been flying around lately that I wasn't sure what to believe anymore!"

If one more person mentioned those bloody rumors . . . "Good to see you too, Master Mantes. I'm afraid a couple of those rumors are indeed true. Arus and my father are both gone." He paused momentarily, but not long enough for apologies to be uttered. He didn't want to feel sorry for himself, and Eaisan wouldn't have wanted that either. "Life has been a bit hectic lately, but the recent changes in my life have paved the way for a new beginning, and I intend to make the most of it."

Ben's mood was notably diminished. "Understandable, Vultrel. If there is anything I can do to help, I'll be happy to try."

That was his opportunity, and he wasn't going to let it slip by. "Actually, there is something you could do for me."

The blacksmith didn't even look up from his work. "Name it."

"With my father gone, his responsibilities fall on my shoulders. I don't know how much everyone has heard or what the rumors say, but most of the militia was wiped out during the battle at Cathymel. The only surviving militiamen are the ones that stayed behind to protect the village, and that number is quite small."

Ben removed the glowing steel rod from the coals and walked over to the anvil, carrying his heavy hammer. "I know," he nodded. "It's a shame how everything Eaisan worked so hard to build was destroyed by Vermillion scum."

"Well, I'm going to rebuild it," Vultrel told him. "It's my job, my responsibility, but I'm going to need help. You're an excellent weapons master. I could use your help in training new recruits. I could use your help with supplies. I know you have to keep your business running and I'll make sure you get paid for your time one way or another, but I think you could make a huge difference in Keroko's future."

The man's eyes had taken on a wary look from the first sentence spoken, and he almost seemed to forget the glowing rod and hammer in his hands. That was no surprise; Vultrel's request was no small one. And while compensation had yet to be secured, Vultrel knew that all those weapons the militia used in the past had to have come from somewhere, and whoever made them needed to feed their families just as much as anyone else. "Vultrel, I don't know what you've heard since returning," he began slowly. A meeting with the mayor would straighten the financial concerns out. "But the Royal Guard has taken on the role of Keroko's protection." And supplies; Ben would certainly need those in order to craft anything in the first place. Dendan and Mat would have to be paid, too. So much to organize. "The Keroko Militia has been dissolved by His Majesty himself." And then there was food. Who would be best to organize and supply food? "He said that Keroko deserved better protection since we are so close to the Mayahol." Farmer Boyer would probably be able to help out, and Vultrel could certainly tend his own crops early in the mornings. There was armor to consider as well. "Haven't you seen the madness out there? They started building the first guardhouses today." Water would be an issue, too. How does one ration water between an entire army and the rest of the village? Another question for Mayor Randolf. Guardhouses? Wait, what?

"What was that?" Vultrel asked, snapping away from his thoughts.

Ben's somber look was all too telling. Even Mat and Dendan were looking at him with remorse. "I'm sorry, Vultrel," Ben said, sticking the rod back into the coals without hammering once. "The Royal Guard is in control of security now. A detachment of troops arrived two days ago. It was ordered by His Majesty. We've been hard at work crafting weapons for them ever since."

"I'm sorry, too." Melia's soft voice spoke from behind. "I thought you knew."

"How could I have known?" he snapped harsher than he should have. "I just got back last night."

"Lord Sarathon's orders cannot be reversed by anyone but himself," Ben said. "Did you really think you were going to be in charge of the militia now? Don't be so eager to throw your youth away, Vultrel. You're still a kid."

The words grated against his spine. How he would love to be a kid again, but Eaisan's death and Arus' departure had robbed him of his youth. The responsibilities of the Lurei men fell to his shoulders now, and he should be allowed to assume the role of his father in Keroko's society. Instead, he was being replaced by Lord Sarathon's troops—bless his heart, His Majesty only wanted to help—and that reduced Vultrel's role to little more than a farmer. Farming wasn't enough to make an impact on the safety of Keroko and it certainly wouldn't crush the Vermillion Mages. With a grunt of frustration, he clenched his fists and started for the door.

"I'm sorry, Vultrel," Ben said again. "I can tell this meant a lot to you. Don't worry. You'll do your father proud. All you need to do is care for your mother. That's all he'd want you to do."

Vultrel suppressed a snort of disgust. What did _he_ know about what Eaisan would've wanted his son to do? "Thank you, Master Mantes," he said despite his anger. "Good luck with your work. I know the guardsmen are getting the best craftsmanship Keroko can offer."

Back in the street, Vultrel kept a steady walk moving him away from the shop. His temper was raging inside, but he refused to allow it to show. Knowing that the faces around him were bustling about to serve the troops that had taken away his duty drove him nearly mad, but he would not respond like a fifteen year old boy. He was a man by circumstances, and he would act as one. Melia tailed him, all the while begging him to slow down, but he ignored her voice. His feet carried him to the south side of Trader's Square, into the streets beyond, past farms and homes and stables and supply sheds, toward the southern gates. No one understood what he was going through, and everyone seemed eager to call him a child forever. When he reached the gate, Melia grabbed his shoulder, and he whirled around in a blind rage, first knocking her hand away and then pushing her to the ground. "Get your hands off me!" he growled, hovering over her. "You think you know what its like! You think you know everything about the world! You think you've got all the answers, don't you?"

Melia shook her head, tears streaming down her face as she scooted away from him in the dirt. "I just . . . I want to help," she stammered.

"You can't help, Melia!" he shouted. "There's no one who can! No one knows the kyrosen like I do! No one knows what's really going on out there!"

The girl was still shaking her head. "The _who_?"

Vultrel grit his teeth, realizing what he'd said. Passing villagers were beginning to stop and stare, and he had no interest in drawing attention. "Just go home," he finally said. "Go home and leave me alone." Before she could say a word, he turned and stormed through the south gate. He needed to think, to sort things out, to come up with some kind of plan for his life, and there was only one place he ever went to think. The forest wouldn't be the same without Arus chasing him down for a duel, but it was his best option if he was to get away from the village and have some time to himself.

The leaves swayed overhead in the warm breeze, sending the occasional broken branch or rotten apple falling to the ground. Insect chirps filtered through the melodies of the birds overhead in a song that floated through the air alongside the sweet aroma of tulips and daisies and honeysuckles. Leaves and pebbles crunched beneath his boots as he wandered, headed nowhere in particular. A small fox scampered across the path several paces ahead of him. At least in the forest, things rarely changed. The birds would always be singing, the wolves would always be hunting, and the bees would always be buzzing. The trees would always stand tall through even the nastiest of storms, and smaller flowers trampled by the wildlife or withered over time could always be counted on to bloom again. It was times like this that Vultrel envied the animals of the land. None of them had to carry the responsibilities he did. None of them had to shoulder the burden. For them, life just went on as always, their routine forever unbroken.

A fallen log rested across the path ahead, worn and flattened by the years of abuse from hunters and gatherers that passed through. Head in his hands, Vultrel sat on its center, trying in vain to sort his emotions. The King had taken his duty from him, and although Lord Sarathon's actions were intended for the good of Keroko, it was a blow to the Lurei family to be deemed no longer capable of securing the village. Eaisan had handled the job with honor and dignity. He created something that even the Royal Guard couldn't possibly duplicate. To them it was just a job, just a village. But to Eaisan's militia, it had been home, and they had served Keroko with the respect and dedication that came with such a personal relationship. Master Mantes had tried to break the news gently, and there was no reason to be angry with him. And there had certainly been no reason for Vultrel to treat Melia as he had. His emotions were getting out of control. His life was getting out of control.

"What in the world am I going to do? What have I become?"

There were no answers amidst the chatter of the woods. The humid air almost seemed to wrap itself around his neck along with the myriad of problems weighing on his shoulders. He wanted to scream, but the lump in his throat would've reduced any shout to little more than a strangled whimper. His place in Keroko had been swept out from under his feet before he'd even realized it, and now he was just another boy assigned to tend his father's farm. There was nothing left for him. No purpose. No duty. Nothing that would let him even walk in the shadow of Eaisan's honor, much less carry it himself. He was a young man without a path to tread, and it was all because of Sartan Truce.

He did scream then, a forceful cry that sent birds flapping from the trees and squirrels scrambling away. Before he knew it, his sword was in his hand, and his feet were carrying him toward the Mayahol Desert as fast as his legs would move. Revenge was not something Eaisan would've approved of, but this was much bigger than vengeance. Truce and the kyrosen had ravaged Asteria from the moment they set foot on the planet, and it was time that the threat was eliminated. Each and every kyrosen would be squashed like the insects that they were, and if they managed to fell Vultrel before he killed them all, then at least those he defeated would never harm another innocent soul again.

A dull whine began to seep through the trees as he raced along, leaping over fallen logs and plowing through foliage with little regard for the trail of broken branches and trampled flowers he left in his wake. The sound grew louder the closer he came to the desert, and by the time the first bits of wind-tossed sand appeared near the edge of the woods, it had developed into a deafening roar that was all too familiar. Slowly, Vultrel's eyes adjusted to the brilliant sunlight reflecting off the golden-white sand, and his heart sank to the soles of his boots. Three enormous grey starships sat side by side in the open desert, surrounded by dozens upon dozens of men in black pants and matching vests. Standing taller than any structure Vultrel had ever laid eyes upon, their flat peaks reached nearly twice as high as the tallest tower of Castle Asteria. Each ship was identical in shape and size, their massive hulls obviously constructed for carrying large numbers of passengers. They resembled pelican beaks, Vultrel thought, with engines on either side near the upper-rear of each craft. On the ground, the kyrosen were scurrying about like ants building an anthill, carrying wooden crates and escorting women and children up long ramps that led into the ships.

_Are they . . . leaving?_ The idea was almost too good to be true. They sure looked as though they were packing every person they could into those ships, though there was no telling how many more remained underground. The more that left the better, but where had they gotten those ships? Did Truce manage to barter passage off of Terranias? Or did Damien have a hand in this? An uneasy feeling, solid as a stone, sat lodged in the center of his chest. If the kyrosen left, he'd never be able to right the wrongs they'd committed. And it was reasonable to assume that they'd carve a path of destruction wherever they went. _What would my father do?_ His feelings pushed him toward intervention. As much as he would have loved to see them leave, they had committed too many crimes against humanity to simply be allowed to walk away. They had to be destroyed because it was their due punishment. To keep them from wreaking havoc on any other societies. _I'll see that Truce and the kyrosen are punished for what they've done to us, destroyed so that no one will share my father's fate._

Sneaking out to the transports was out of the question. His black clothing would stand out against the desert sand a mile away and more. _What would the Royal Guard do?_ The thought nearly made him spit in disgust. The soldiers of Cathymel would likely wave goodbye rather than try to apprehend the Mages. Arus would've called it a "show of mercy" or something preposterous like that, when in reality it amounted to irresponsible cowardice in Vultrel's eyes. No, he was on his own this time, and weighing his options, few as they were, and came up with only one real idea. The large red rocks and boulders scattered across the sand were too few and far between to be able to effectively use as cover for his approach. And no matter how low he crouched or how slow he moved, his clothing would be clearly visible if he tried to slink across the sand on his belly. His only real chance, as mad it sounded, would be to surrender to the kyrosen and be taken prisoner, then figure out what to do once he was onboard one of their ships. It would be a bold plan, one that he would have never even considered a few weeks ago, but he was no longer under his father's wing. Truce's people had to be destroyed to protect other planets like Terranias that were too helpless to defend themselves. Imprisonment, trials, and other such nonsense were useless against such men. Their ways were more like that of conquerors, and such societies had to be purged from the universe if peace were ever to truly reign.

He returned his sword to its scabbard and stepped into the open sands, walking slowly as to not give the impression of an ambush. The last thing he wanted was to bring a shower of fire and lightning down upon himself. It took little time for the Mages to spot him, but once they had, a group of men carrying large swords and laser pistols dashed toward him. He raised his hands and dropped to his knees as they approached, and they quickly yanked his sword from his back. "I am Vultrel Lurei, son of Eaisan Lurei, and I surrender to the might of the kyrosen. Do with me what you will."

The statement visibly confused the soldiers. They exchanged nervous glances before binding his hands together with a steel clip. "Why have you thrown yourself at our mercy?" one of them asked him. "I see no logical reason for you seek us out simply to surrender."

"I may be mistaken, but it looks as though you're leaving Terranias," Vultrel responded levelly. "Your boss and I have business left unfinished, and I doubt he'd pass up the opportunity to take the son of his greatest enemy with him."

That initiated another exchange of glances between them. A well-proportioned man with stringy black hair lifted a communicator from his belt. "Boss, this is Ellas. I apologize for the disturbance, but we have someone here who'd like to see you."

*******

Damien rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger, a habit stemming back to his days with a beard. He always did it unconsciously when he was nervous, and as of late, he'd managed to tie himself into a bundle of nerves on a routine basis. Things were getting more and more unstable as days went by, and it seemed like only a matter of time before more blood was shed. That was something he hated, honestly and truthfully, unlike some of those who would call themselves his brethren. It was not an accurate reflection of the zo'rhan people as a whole, thankfully, but too many had submitted themselves to the Kindel Thorus way of thinking. How many more would align themselves at the man's heels before the universe fought back? How many more would die by his hand before he was stopped?

Watching the three green blips on the radar, things only seemed to get worse.

"Vezulian transports are entering the lower stratosphere now, Sir."

Damien nodded and returned his attention to the main viewport. It was more like a wall of glass than a viewport, stretching from one side of the room to the other and extending upward along the slant of the hull to give a broad view of space both above and ahead. The ships carrying the kyrosen were not visible to the naked eye as of yet, though the crew was tracking them closer than the eye ever could. Across the bridge of the _Refuge_ , the clacking of fingers across control panels mixed with occasional verbal reports from each station. The air was tense, despite the fact that Damien had no intentions of interfering with the Vezulian Armada's work. On the contrary, he wanted the kyrosen's transfer from Terranias to space to move ahead without interruption. He had made a promise to Arus, after all, and the time could not have been more right. "Is there a fighter escort?"

Lieutenant Harold Meni looked back from his post as the sensor terminal. He had a youthful face for his age, though he was not old by any stretch of the imagination. A human from Tarbosa, his dark eyes and hooked nose were framed by pale round cheeks that looked smoother than whipped cream. Did the man ever even have to shave? "Not as of yet," he reported. "I'm guessing it's Thorus' way of sending the message to the kyrosen that they aren't all that important to him."

Damien nodded absentmindedly. "Keep a close watch for any changes in starfighter formation amidst the Armada. If they notice our interest in the transfer, we may have to speed up the plan."

Most of the stations were set only a few paces back from the main viewport, separated by thin spaces between each console that were barely large enough to walk through. Navigation and flight control sat in the center, while the tactical station, manned by a round svodesian simply named Tump, and the communication array, operated by Lieutenant Merille Tears, were located on either side of them. To his far right, Kitreena sat slumped in one in a chair near the diagnostic terminal, mindlessly biting her nails and sparing an occasional glace toward the viewport. She never kept hidden the fact that these types of assignments bored her, and understandably so. Most girls her age were enjoying the last few years of youth they had left, but she'd thrust herself into an adult world well before she had even learned simple math. This was her life, and though Damien knew she embraced it and took her responsibilities seriously, nothing tamed the instincts of youth.

Then again, most girls her age weren't faced with most of the changes her body was going through.

She was a native of Lavinia, and that identified her as a Morpher. She had the innate ability to merge her form with an aspect of nature, though hers was different from any other Morpher in the universe. Most could change their shapes into beasts of the wild or camouflage their bodies as trees or bushes or other such life forms. The latter were considered to be inferior to those that could transform into animals, and it was reflected in their society similar to the way that humans had a clear distinction between nobles and commoners. But Kitreena was different from all of them. She had the power to merge with the four elements of nature: Land, Air, Fire, and Water. According to the history of Lavinia, only two or three others had ever been gifted with the abilities she had, and they had developed into the most powerful Morphers of their time. But they were long dead, and that left Kitreena alone to learn how to harness her abilities. Damien could guide her as best as he knew how, but the bulk of the learning would fall on Kitreena's shoulders. He knew she was up to the challenge, but that did nothing to ease his fears.

"Transports entering lower ionosphere."

Damien glanced at Kiris, a member of the fish-like race known as Pelwigs seated at the navigation terminal. "Have our destination coordinates been plotted?"

She gave her flowing blue hair an irritated flick over her shoulder before replying. "Yes, Sir. Ready to head for Aeden Outpost Twelve on your command."

Damien nodded with a sigh. _Well, I promised Arus I would take him to safer territory, and that's what I'm going to do._ The original plan would've had the _Refuge_ gone from the system during the night, but after a talk with tactical team it was decided that leaving during the kyrosen transfer would make it more difficult for Kindel and the Armada to impede their withdrawal. It didn't sit right with him, leaving when two such dangerous societies were forming a partnership, but emotions were things better kept away from the battlefield, replaced by logic and reason wherever possible. Emotions had led many a man to make rash decisions, and the battlefield was no place for that way of thinking.

"You look troubled, Dame," Kitreena said without bothering to look up from her nails. "What's got you so wound up?"

He'd been avoiding the subject because the truth was that there was little he could do about it, but that didn't stop the worries from eating away at him. "I want to know who it was that the kyrosen captured a few hours ago. I know that we agreed earlier that it was probably one of their own men returned from a hunting outing or something, but why was he circled by seven men and escorted back to the transports?"

Kitreena shrugged and looked back toward the planet. "All we saw were blips of light on the radar, Dame. They could've been anything. It could've been that the hunter was met by his friends and their formation in returning to the ships just _looked_ like an escort to us. Or it could've been another animal—a rabbit, perhaps—that had run out into the sands and was quickly captured by the kyrosen and taken back for food. There are numerous possibilities."

Damien nodded slowly. "I know. But I just can't shake this paranoia. What if it was a human? A native civilian?"

Kitreena frowned, finally looking at him momentarily before nibbling away at the nail on her index finger. "If it was a human, there's no more we can do for him than we can do to rescue the Belvids that were kidnapped. We're neither equipped nor manned to mount a rescue right now, if there's even anything that needs rescuing in the first place."

Damien pursed his lips, scratching his chin again. "That doesn't ease my fears."

Finally, she pushed herself up. "Look, whoever it was, the kyrosen obviously thought them important enough to keep alive; otherwise they would've blown his brains out right there and left him for the vultures. And if they did kidnap someone important, then they'll have demands they want met, which means we'll hear about it soon enough, whether it be from the spy network or from Olock's own beak."

Lieutenant Meni once again turned back to face Damien. "The transports are exiting Terranias' atmosphere now, Sir. They'll reach the rest of the Vezulian Armada within fifteen minutes."

The halfway point of their flight. Whatever they did now, Kindel would either have to order the ships back to the ground—a move he was unlikely to make with them so far from the surface—or wait for the ships to dock with one of his starcruisers. Either way, it was now or never. "All right then," he looked at helmsman Jindar Tradek, the short-haired zo'rhan male that operated flight controls for the _Refuge_. "Let's get out of here."

"Aye, Sir." Tradek acknowledged with a nod of his head. It took a mere two button command to set the starship into motion, rotating away from the Vezulian Armada to face their destination. Another three button clicks and the engines came to life with a brief whir before catapulting the _Refuge_ away from Terranias, away from the kyrosen, and away from the Vezulian Armada. It would take several days to reach the Aeden Outpost, making head-start seem minuscule, but even at top speed, the _Black Eagle_ could only match the speed of the _Refuge._ Long-range starfighters had a chance to catch up, and even some of the assault transports, but such ships would be cannon fodder for the _Refuge_ and her fighter squadrons. And since Kindel stubbornly refused to fly in anything but his flagship, _he_ wouldn't be able to catch them, and that in turn kept Arus safe. For the time being, anyway.

Kitreena's hand was on his shoulder, he realized. She was looking up at him with sparkling blue eyes of compassion. "You can't save everybody all the time, Damien. I know you want to—I do too!—but you just can't. It isn't possible."

She'd once told him that his compassion for others could be used against him. Truth be told, he agreed with her. To allow his compassion to get in the way of duty would compromise his judgment, and enemies would be all too willing to exploit such a weakness. _Emotions have no place on the battlefield,_ he told himself over and over.

"Sir, we have a transmission incoming from Outpost Twelve," Lieutenant Merille Tears reported. She was the blond-haired human with fair skin who operated the communications array. "Shall I connect?"

Damien nodded as he headed over to the console. Merille typed a quick command before flipping the silver switch beside the speaker. "This is Admiral Vaenin from Aeden Outpost Twelve. How are you, Damien?"

"We're well, Admiral," Damien answered as Kitreena moved beside him. "The _Refuge_ is underway now. We should reach Outpost Twelve in approximately six days."

"That's excellent news," the elegant voice of Vaenin responded. "You have the boy, then?"

"He is with us, yes. We're in the process of devising a plan of action regarding the Vezulian Armada's intentions toward him."

Vaenin laughed. "Don't worry, he'll be plenty safe here. I assume the kyrosen transfer proceeded as expected?"

"Yes, Sir. I wish I could say it had not."

"Very well. I'm going to take the matter to the Aeden High Council this evening. Hopefully we'll be able to come up with some kind of strategy to confront this new threat."

Damien nodded, not even considering that the admiral couldn't see him. "Keep me informed. I have no doubt that Thorus is going to be right on my tail as soon as the kyrosen are onboard whatever cruiser he's assigned them to. Kindel and Truce both want Arus, and it is imperative that we keep both him and his implant out of their hands."

"Agreed. I will report all of this to the Council and get back in touch with you tomorrow. In the meantime, try to get some rest. I can't imagine the past couple of weeks have been easy on you. And don't push that daughter of yours too hard, either. She's proven herself to be a fine soldier, but she is still a child, after all."

Kitreena opened her mouth, but Damien clapped his hand over it. "Yes, Sir. I'll do that," he said, struggling to keep her quiet. "Damien out."

As soon as Merille flipped the comm switch, he released his grip on Kitreena. "I am no child!" she growled, kicking the side of the terminal. "Who does he think he is?"

Damien couldn't help but chuckle. "Relax, Kit. It's a common misconception. You're only fifteen, after all."

She growled again as she headed for the lift. "Whatever. If you need me, I'll be in the gym."

When the door closed behind her, Damien turned back to the crew. "Everyone stay clear of the gym for a while."

*******

Arus' late afternoon workout ended as soon as he saw Kitreena enter through the far door. He was seated on one of the weight simulation machines when she arrived, chatting with Rollock, the long-eared alien with a single nostril and pink skin. A peaceful race called the svodesians, Rollock's people were among the first to accept the protection of the Aeden Alliance during its initial formation. Many a good soldier had come from their homeworld, according to Rollock, and from what Arus had seen of him and the other svodesians onboard, there was no reason to doubt that claim. He had been telling Arus of how he'd come to join the Alliance when Kitreena entered.

"So," he was saying in a scratchy voice that reminded Arus of the sound teeth might make if they were scraped across cement, "when the Aeden recruiter came to me and suggested I join, it was an easy decision to make. I mean, it seemed like the best place to put my skills to good use." Rollock's age nearly tripled Arus' own, though in svodesian measure of age and maturity, that was considered younger. He had an arrogant way of speaking, though through Arus' conversations with Rollock and several other svodesians, he'd come to believe that they meant no harm by it. What humans perceived as bragging was viewed to svodesians as simply stating the truth. They did not look down on people of inferior abilities, but they did not make light of it either. It was going to take time to learn the subtleties of the different races of the galaxy. A long time.

Then again, Rollock could've been verbally tearing Arus to shreds at that moment and the boy wouldn't have noticed. His gaze was locked on Kitreena, who donned a pair of fingerless black gloves and proceeded to beat the stuffing out of the lone training dummy set up on the far end of the gym. Her eyes spoke of fury—not that it was a new emotion for her—and her fists pounded into the dummy's chest with remarkable speed. There were several other soldiers in the gym, each working either on weight training or sword technique, but most of them made a hasty exit when she appeared. It took only a few moments for Arus to realize that Rollock had stopped speaking. When he looked over at the machine where the svodesian had been working out, he found Rollock's eyes fixed on Kitreena uneasily. "Well, I've got to be heading back," he said without looking at Arus. "I'll see you here tomorrow?"

Arus nodded, though he wanted to ask what had put the fear of the Maker into everyone. "I'll be here."

Rollock left with the two remaining soldiers, leaving Arus alone with Kitreena in the gym. She delivered two hard blows to the dummy's head before stopping, head bowed so that her hair obscured her face. Arus didn't move, unsure as to what he should do. Had Kitreena reserved the gym for a private workout at this time?

"Aren't you going to run away from me, too?" Her voice startled him. He hadn't thought she'd seen him, let alone notice that everyone else was gone.

"They didn't run away," he told her, though he knew what he'd seen. He rose from the machine and crossed the gym. "What makes you think that?"

She still didn't look at him. "They always do. I don't know why. Damien says I'm too intense in my workout. Naelas told me it's because they don't want to be under the eye of the ship's first officer. But I don't think that's it at all."

She sounded sad, which was unusual for her. Kitreena had been solid as a rock since the day he'd met her. He'd seen her go from being furious to something that could almost be called happiness, but never sad. "What do you think it is, then?"

Her sniffle was confirmation of his suspicion. "They're afraid of me. Too many of them saw what happened to me on Terranias, and I have no doubt that the stories have spread across the ship by now. And there are probably thirty variations of it all, too. They think I'm a monster. I know it. And maybe I am."

Arus wanted desperately to comfort her in some way, but he knew how easy it was to anger her, and he didn't want to worsen the situation. "I don't think you're a monster."

When she finally looked up at him, the tears he expected to see were not there. Her eyes were certainly filled, but she was holding them back with every last shred of dignity she could muster. "That's because you don't know me well enough yet."

It was the opening Arus had been waiting for. With a big smile, he stepped toward her and extended his hand. "Then let's change that!" She looked at him like he was a lunatic. "C'mon, let's go get a bite to eat and talk." It was strange to hear the words come from his own mouth, especially as confident as they were. Back home, he was a quivering wreck whenever Katlyn even said so much as "hello" to him. And though he'd felt that way when he first met Kitreena, the more time he spent with her the more comfortable he felt. That was something he could never have said about Katlyn.

Kitreena eyed him for moment, and her telepathic connection to him sprang to life. _You won't like me, Arus. No one does once they get to know me._

"You don't know that," he responded to her thoughts. For once, she didn't seem angry with him for hearing them. "C'mon, give me a chance. It can't hurt."

"Why would you want to befriend me?" she asked him.

His initial response never reached his lips, but the mere fact that he thought of it at all was enough for Kitreena to hear it. _Besides the fact that you're beautiful?_ His face turned red immediately. Hers, too.

She opened her mouth to reply, but instead of resisting further, she simply asked, "Can you meet me at the lift in about an hour? I'd like to clean up a bit before we eat."

Arus looked down at his own sweat-drenched clothes. He'd been working out since they'd come back from speaking with Muert, practicing his sword techniques and building strength with the weight machines. If either of the two of them needed to wash, it was him. "I could use a cleaning myself," he admitted. "One hour. The lift. I'll be there."

He was sure he wasn't supposed to see it, but she wiped her eyes as he headed for the door. Once he was in the hall, he sprinted toward his room so fast that he nearly tripped over his own feet. If Vultrel had been around, Arus would've had a million questions to ask—Vultrel had always known how to treat the girls, after all—but that was certainly not an option. Even Damien would've been able to give a little advice, Arus was sure, but the only familiar face he came across on the run to his room was Doc Nori.

"Ah, Arus!" the old man waved, unconsciously stroking his beard with his other hand. "What has you in such a hurry today?"

Arus skidded to a halt just outside the door to his room. "Doctor!" he called, motioning for the old man to meet him.

Nori sidestepped a few passing soldiers and joined him. "Yes, what can I do for you?"

"Do you know anything about women?" Arus panted.

The doctor's eyes nearly burst right through his glasses. "My word," he murmured, "I wasn't expecting to have to teach _that_ lesson today."

"I just need to know how to treat a girl on a date. Can you help with that?"

A relieved look came to Nori's face. "Ah, yes. Well, I'm a bit out of practice, but I may be able to give you a few pointers that could help—"

Arus grabbed the sleeve of Nori's white coat and dragged him through the door. "C'mon!"

The shower felt good against Arus' back, especially after the long training session he'd put himself through. But sore muscles and achy joints were the last things on his mind. Outside the washroom, Doc Nori rambled on about the details of proper treatment of ladies. Every so often he would innocently prod for the identity of the girl that had caught his eye, though Arus knew full-well that the doctor was aware of his interest in Kitreena. It was a lot to remember, and most of it likely wouldn't apply to Kitreena—she'd likely be more insulted than anything else if he tried to order food for her—but Nori did provide a few good tips for conversation dealing with etiquette and such.

By the time he ran the brush through his hair and pulled on a sleeveless blue shirt to go with his baggy tan pants, the old man had moved onto the subject of kissing. "It is an art form, you see, one that many cultures treat as the most important—"

Arus waved a dismissive hand as he slipped his feet into his boots. "I'm not going to be kissing anyone tonight, Doc. I just want to enjoy her company, and I hope she'll enjoy mine."

"Many women appreciate that, they do," the old man said with a thoughtful finger on his chin, "though many others do not. Some view a reluctance to kiss to mean that—"

"Trust me," Arus said with a chuckle, "this girl will not want me pressing myself on her like that. Truthfully, I wouldn't want to push things that fast anyway. I don't even know if she views this as a date or not. I just asked if she wanted to get something to eat with me."

"Myself, I respect that," Nori responded. "Too many people move too fast these days."

Finally, Arus gave himself one last look in the mirror. Aside from the wretched implant, he was as clean and neat as he was going to get. "Don't worry, I'm in no rush." He glanced at the counter to his left where he left his sword and considered latching it to his belt. He rarely went anywhere without it, but was a date the proper place for a weapon?

As if the question had been spoken aloud, Doc Nori shook his head. "Leave it, young one. My, my, my, what state would the universe be in if men and women carried _weapons_ while courting each other?"

A slow warmth heated Arus' cheeks as he smiled and nodded. "Right. I guess that's it, then. Thank you so much for your advice, Doctor. I really appreciate it."

"No trouble, my friend!" Nori bowed his head slightly. "No trouble at all."

This time, Arus walked casually through the halls. There was still some time to spare before he was expected at the lift, and he didn't want to get himself sweating again by darting off in a mad dash. Hopefully Doctor Nori's advice would come in handy, though the old man sometimes seemed a bit out of touch with the nature of present day relationships. Still, kindness was kindness, and it was good advice to hear, regardless of the generation from which it came.

As he rounded the corner to head for the lift, he nearly stopped short. Kitreena was already there, standing beside the lift. However, it wasn't her presence that caught him by surprise, but her attire. Her hair was drawn away from her face and clipped behind her head, spilling down her back like a waterfall. Sparkling jewels no larger than a pea dangled from her earlobes, and her cheeks glistened with a faint touch of glitter. But the most shocking of all was that she wore a dress—a dress!—that reached halfway to her knees and faded from a royal blue at the top to black at the bottom. Elegant black slippers that girls back on Terranias would've worn to a wedding or a ball adorned her feet. She was biting her lip when he approached, another first for her. Kitreena, _nervous_?

"Do I look all right?" she asked, pawing her dress. "I don't wear this kind of stuff often because I'm not all that great at choosing what looks good and what doesn't. I can go change if you want. I just thought you'd like it if I looked like a girl for once in my—"

Arus held his hand up with a warm smile. "You look beautiful," he told her. Certainly better than he did with that ridiculous machine sticking out from his head. "Since you told me to meet you by the lift, I assume we're not going to the cafeteria. Where _are_ we going, then?"

Her lips curved into a small grin. "Do you like spicy food?"

"I'll try anything," he told her. "Why, what do you have in mind?"

She pulled him by the hand toward the lift, and the door slid open. "Come on, I'll show you."

The lift carried them to the highest level of the ship, an enormous room that Kitreena called the Observation Deck. There were no walls or ceiling, only a crystal clear dome that she referred to as reinforced titanium glass. Beyond that, the endless sea of space swam by in silent tranquility, unfazed by the conflicts and struggles of the mortals that floated alongside its stars and inhabited its worlds. For the first several minutes, Kitreena stayed quiet while Arus simply stared, taking in the amazing sight. If not for the occasional shimmer of light reflected by the dome's surface, he'd have thought he was standing amidst the cosmos itself. It gave him a sense of reality grander than anything he'd ever known before. No longer confined to Terranias, never having known what he'd been missing. For his entire life, he'd been taught that machines were evil. Yet floating amongst the stars, he couldn't help but question that. It wasn't as though human ideals had never been misguided before. He'd been so depressed about leaving his home behind, but perhaps . . . Perhaps he _could_ embrace this lifestyle.

"Takes your breath away, doesn't it?" Kitreena's voice was near a whisper. She stood close to him, her eyes tilted up the same as his. "I've flown across the universe more times than I can count, but whenever I look out at the stars, words escape me."

"We never knew," Arus murmured, half speaking and half thinking aloud. "We were so content to confine ourselves to Terranias because of our fear of machines. We've always been so afraid of the unknown that we don't ever venture out and try something new. Our civilization has been at a standstill for as long as our history books have recorded, never once even considering the possibilities of what a little exploration might teach us. To think that we're so far behind . . . If I hadn't been captured by Truce, I never would've been able to see any of this."

Kitreena looked at him with raised eyebrows. "You almost sound as though you're glad for what he did to you."

Arus shrugged. There were many ways he could perceive things, but both his father and Master Eaisan had always been positive, optimistic, and hopeful people. They were well respected and accomplished men, and both had been able to positively affect the lives of others through their attitudes and outlooks on life. Arus had lost sight of that once, and it cost him his arm, his mother, his master, his best friend, and his home. "I just want to see the good in things. I want to take the bad experiences in my life and find the good in them. I mean, everyone goes through tough times, right? But it's those times that teach us about ourselves, and show us what we need to improve. I could be moping around and crying and sulking about what I've lost," he tapped his cybernetic arm, "but look at all I've gained." He shook his head in wonder as he gestured toward the stars. "I'm not happy about what Truce did to me, but I can't change the past. All I can do is make the most of whatever situation I find myself in, and that's what I intend to do."

"I wish you luck with that," she told him. "I truly do. I wish I had that same outlook."

"You can," he said, finally turning to face her. "You just have to be positive. I mean, if I hadn't been captured by the kyrosen, would you and I be standing here together right now?"

She smiled through a thoughtful expression, but for a moment, she looked as though she was going to argue the point. Instead, she tugged at his arm with a grin. "I promised you some spicy food, didn't I?"

The deck was carpeted with a deep blue and dotted sparsely with cushioned chairs and couches where a few crewmembers were either reading or conversing quietly. A few small tables sat here and there as well, mostly near the outer rim of the dome. Opposite Arus, a group of young men and women were lying on their backs on the rug, staring up at the planets and stars that flew by and trying to name each. Glowing lights from the floor provided the only illumination other than that stars. The room had the overall feel of a library, Arus noted, though whatever books were being read had been brought from elsewhere on the ship. A long counter stood on the far right where Kitreena was pulling him, lined with circular stools in the front and trimmed with a golden edge that ran its entire length. Behind the counter stood a plump man with at least three chins who was wiping his hands on his messy apron. His jowls swayed as he moved, alternating between rinsing off dishes in a large basin behind the counter and flipping circular patties of meat on something Kitreena identified as a griddle. Racks and cabinets full of cooking tools and supplies stood behind him. He smiled as the two approached, nodding politely to Kitreena in particular. "Hello, Kitreena. I hope this evening finds you well. Who's your friend?"

"Good evening, Ron," she responded. "This is Arus, a guest from Terranias who is going to be staying with us for a while."

The large cook ran a greasy hand through similarly greasy hair. "Ah, I see. Welcome aboard, then! I trust you're enjoying your stay on the _Refuge_." He sounded more like a tourist guide than a cook on a military starship. Still, he was friendly enough, and that was enough for Arus.

"Thanks," he nodded politely. "The hospitality of the crew has been remarkable. I appreciate everything you've all done to make me feel at home here."

Ron's smile grew wide enough to expose a blackened tooth on the right side. "Bah, it's nothing. That's what we do! Can I get you two anything?"

"Two baekrolls would be great," Kitreena told him. "Light on the cuen powder on mine."

"Coming right up!"

Arus watched as the man went to work, laying several narrow strips of some kind of dark meat on the cutting board before sprinkling them with seasoning. He threw some chopped vegetables that resembled peppers onto the griddle, then took the strips of meat and wound them together into two rope-like concoctions. Once they were tightly wrapped, he drove a pointed stick of wood through each and placed them on the griddle amidst the vegetables. More seasoning, and then he scooped the chopped vegetables up and poured them onto the meat-ropes. While they cooked, he grabbed an oblong bowl and took a large bottle of some kind of sauce from the top cupboard. With that, he filled the bowl nearly halfway and added the vegetables. Yet more seasoning, a quick stir, and then he dunked the ropes of meat into the bowl until they were completely submerged. "Five seconds," he said with a smile. Arus began a slow count, and two plates were being pushed toward him by the time he reached five. The meat-ropes—baekrolls, Kitreena had called them—were completely covered in sauce and vegetables, though the ends both sticks had been wiped clean. "Enjoy," Ron said, immediately going to work on cleaning the dishes he'd used.

One whiff of the aroma rising from the plate brought Arus' appetite to life. "It certainly smells good."

Kitreena took her plate and led him toward one of the tables at the far edge of the dome. "Oh, I guarantee you'll love it. It's my little guilty pleasure. Whenever I'm feeling down, I come up here and have a baekroll."

Once they were seated, Kitreena watched him expectantly as he took hold of the stick and raised it to his lips. A thought occurred to him before he bit down. "This isn't some kind of trick, is it?" he asked, grinning suspiciously. "I'm not going to bite this and be running for a bucket of water, am I?"

Kitreena laughed, though it was clear she was forcing herself to be more reserved than she wanted to be. "You tell me," was all she said.

He pursed his lips despite his grin, then took a deep breath. "The Maker have mercy on me."

The meat was so tender it nearly felt apart in his mouth. An explosion of spice and flavor spread across his tongue, tantalizing his taste buds with a sweet tang and a spicy heat all at once. The second bite tasted better than the first and the third better than both. He'd eaten half of the baekroll before he noticed Kitreena's stare.

"Enjoying it?" she giggled, swallowing a bite of her own.

He licked the excess glaze from his lips. "It's great. You've got good taste."

"I'm glad you like it. A lot of people find them too spicy."

Her smile captivated him. Why was she looking at him like that? He wished her telepathy would kick in so that he'd know what she was thinking, then cursed himself silently for wanting to intrude on her privacy. At any rate, it seemed she was getting better control over her abilities; he had yet to hear a single thought of hers, and it didn't seem as though she'd heard any of his. She just kept smiling at him with those beautiful little lips. Seeing her in a good mood was still hard for him to get used to, especially considering how she'd acted when they first met. "You've changed a lot since that day you found us in Truce's lair."

She raised an eyebrow at him, looking more confused than offended. "Really? How so?"

Arus chuckled as he laid down the bare wooden stick from his baekroll. "Don't you remember? You were so . . . cold. It was almost as though you didn't _want_ to save us."

Kitreena nodded, though her eyes were distant. "Sometimes you _must_ be cold when on duty. _Any_ weakness can be exploited by the enemy, so it is important to be strong in all aspects of oneself in order to give as little advantage to your opponent as possible. Emotions have no place on the battlefield."

"Somehow, I don't think that's all there is to it," Arus said before he could stop himself. He hadn't meant to probe into the young lady's personal life. Thankfully, she didn't seem to take offense to the comment. "I mean, I wouldn't say that your actions and demeanor in the Underworld were emotionless."

"My life has conditioned me into the person I am," she responded. She looked uncomfortable, but not offended. "I have been molded into who I am by the past events of my life. I've had little say in who I've become."

Arus sat back in his chair. "May I ask what happened to you?"

She shrugged it off. "It doesn't matter. It's nothing compared to what you've been through, I'm sure."

"Everyone reacts differently to things," he told her. "It obviously was bad enough to affect you so deeply. What does not hurt one person could deeply scar the next. Don't minimize your troubles simply because you perceive the problems of others to be worse. Everyone's pain needs to be dealt with, not buried away. This thing," he tapped his steel limb, "is a constant reminder to me that I cannot run from my pain. No one can. It will eat you alive from the inside until there's nothing left but a hollow—"

"F'Ledro killed my parents," Kitreena finally blurted out. She stood and stepped away, wiping her eyes so quickly that Arus would've missed it if he blinked. He was out of his seat in an instant and at her side in the next. "They came to Lavinia when I was only six years old, about year before they landed on Terranias. They were passing through our solar system at the time, and they sent F'Ledro to pick up some supplies. He and his detachment of soldiers landed right in the middle of our kingdom. We had no warning." Her head tilted backward as she gazed at the stars above them. Unconsciously, Arus took her hand into his own. She didn't try to stop him. "He gave them no chance. There were no requests made, no negotiations, and no attempts to barter. He just forced his way in and . . . killed them."

With that, the picture became a little clearer. Her hatred toward the kyrosen, her endless frustration and anger, her cold and seemingly heartless visage; it all stemmed from what the kyrosen had done to her. What they'd taken away. Arus wanted to comfort her, but he knew there were no words that would truly soften the pain of losing someone so close. He knew that all too well. "What did you do?"

"I ran away from home. After wandering for a few days, I ended up settling in an alley," she continued. "There was one Aeden soldier on the ground at the time, a covert operations agent who had been hired by the kingdom to track down a local narcotics supplier. He found me in that alley and offered to take me home. I didn't trust him; I didn't trust _anyone_ at that point. So I lived in a waste disposal tub in the alley for about a month, and every day that soldier would stop by at least twice to bring me food and drink. He said he didn't like seeing anyone live like I was and that he wanted to take me to my parents." She smiled briefly and said, "I remember when I told him I was an orphan. He looked as though he was on the verge of tears. Eventually, he asked if I would be willing to let him care for me. He told me he was a member of the Aeden Alliance and that he'd do everything in his power to keep me safe. To this day I don't know why he did what he did for me, but he's watched over me like a father ever since."

Arus' breath caught as he realized who she was talking about. "Damien? It was Damien who rescued you?"

"Yes. He's taught me everything I know. More than just how to defend myself, mind you. He's raised me as his daughter, laughing with me when I'm happy, punishing me when I disobey, and holding my hand when I've needed support. He'll never be able to replace my real father, but that was never his intention. He just wants to make sure I'm taken care of, and there are no words to describe how grateful I am for it."

It certainly was a lot of trauma for a six year-old girl to be forced to endure. Within one month, she'd gone from living a normal life with her parents to being an orphan in an alley to fleeing her planet in a starship. Why she thought this wasn't a big deal, he couldn't understand. Her life had been forcefully ripped away, and the incident had instilled such fear in her that she felt her only escape was to flee the planet. Arus struggled to find something to say to comfort her. "Kitreena, I'm so sorry," was all he could come up with.

She shook her head and waved it away. She didn't want his sympathies. "I know my issues don't even compare to what you've been through, so I have no right to—"

"You have every right," Arus cut in. "Don't compare yourself to me or anyone else. We all face problems, and we all feel pain. Just because you think something worse happened to someone else doesn't mean your pain doesn't matter! Pushing it away and trying to ignore it will only make it worse."

"It's selfish of me to sit here and wallow in my own miseries when there are so many people out there suffering more cruelty and injustice than I've ever had to experience," she said simply. "I've got to just ignore it and move on with my life."

"You'll find no peace that way. You don't treat an open wound by ignoring it. Even a small injury can be fatal if not treated properly."

Now she laughed out loud. "Trust me, this isn't going to kill me. I'll be fine."

Arus made a conscious note of fixing his cybernetic eye on her, and raised his steel hand. "It almost killed me, and I didn't even realize I'd been harboring any pain until recently. When I saw the Mages attack Keroko for the first time, and I dueled with one of them, a hidden fury buried deep inside me awoke, and by the time Truce and I were face to face in the Underworld, I wanted nothing more than to spill his guts all over that arena floor."

"I can control my anger," she insisted, glaring back at his metallic eye without as much as a flinch. "I won't let that happen to me."

"Can you? Were you in control when you transformed in Castle Asteria?"

Finally, she tore her hand away from his and stepped back, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Don't speak of something you know nothing about! Morphing is different; every one of my people goes through the same thing when initially learning to control their abilities."

"I'll admit that I know nothing about Morphers," Arus conceded, "but the two times I have seen you tap into that ability, they were both brought on by a vivid display of anger and hatred. You can't deny that."

Kitreena's lips twisted into a wry smile. Any hopes of salvaging a nice evening together had flown out the window, it seemed. "Don't try to analyze me like some kind of psychiatrist. Just because you couldn't handle your anger doesn't mean I can't control mine. I've been doing it for seven years, and I'll continue to do it because it's what I have to do."

Finally, Arus threw up his hands in resignation. "I just . . . I don't like seeing what its doing to you."

She crossed her arms and turned away from him again. With her head tilted so that her forehead was resting against the glass dome, she let out a long sigh. "I told you that you wouldn't like me once you got to know me."

"It's _because_ I like you that I'm so worried about you."

That brought her eyes back around, and she stared at him with that considering look again. _What about me could you possibly like?_ She opened her mouth, presumably to ask the question aloud, but words were already tumbling out of Arus' mouth.

"You're beautiful, you're emotionally strong, and you defend people who can't do it for themselves. You're funny, sweet, and caring when you let your guard down long enough to allow those qualities to come out, and you honestly care about the well-being of others. You're fifteen years old, and yet you've got the strength and determination to carry yourself confidently through even the grimiest parts of the universe just to help someone in need. Whether you realize it or not, Kit, people like you are a rare breed."

Tears streamed down her face as he spoke. It was as though she'd never heard anyone say a positive word about her before. Before he realized what was happening, she fell into his arms, and the next thing he knew she was crying her eyes out as she nuzzled against his chest. "I don't mean to be like this! I don't!" she said between sobs. "But every time I see someone who would harm another soul I just see red, and I lose control. I want F'Ledro dead at my feet, I won't deny that, but anyone who disrespects the sanctity of life is just as bad as him in my eyes. There won't be true peace until they're dead, every last one of them!"

Arus ran his hand through her hair as she cried, hoping in some way to comfort her pain. "I know," he whispered. "I know. That's why Vultrel and I took up the fight against the Mages when we were so young. When my father was lying on his deathbed, he gave me his sword. The last words he spoke to me were a request that I use it to defend the helpless against monsters like Aratus Truce and his minions. I promised him that I'd spend my life keeping the innocent safe, and I will die to keep that promise. But I can do that without allowing anger and vengeance to cloud my vision. And so can you, Kitreena. I know you can."

"I don't see how," she sniffled, wrapping her arms around him. "It's not as though I choose to react the way I do. It just . . . happens."

"It will take time. Changing your perception of the world around you doesn't happen overnight. For me, I tried to fight the anger and rage, but it wasn't until I paid the price for it that I really learned to rise above it. It's more than just ignoring it; you have to change your view of life so that feelings like that have no place. Avenging your parents' death won't bring them back. But it _could_ destroy you."

She only cried harder at that, shaking her head against his chest. "But I want them all dead! Every single being out there that would hurt another out of selfishness should be gutted and removed from the circle of life! What gives them the right? What makes them think they have the right to hurt people the way that they do!?"

"I don't know, Kitreena," he murmured, staring out into space. "I just don't know."

They stood there for hours while she cried on his shoulder, and when the Observation Deck had nearly emptied itself as crewmembers headed for bed, Arus escorted Kitreena back to her room. She thanked him for the evening and apologized over and over for her emotional outburst, but he graciously told her there was no need for apologies and that his shoulder would be available whenever she needed to get her feelings out. She seemed appreciative at that, and she closed her door with a soft "Good night." Arus returned to his own room and grabbed his sword. His mind was still racing over everything that had happened, and there was no way he was going to be able to sleep. Instead, he headed to the gym to practice his techniques. The woods outside of Keroko were certainly a better spot for one to find solitude with his own thoughts, but the gym was a reasonable substitute. "I won't let what happened to me happen to her," he murmured as he walked along the corridor. "I won't."

Chapter 2-6

A dull ache pounded through Vultrel's head with each breath. He was not surprised to find himself in a prison cell when he awoke—that had been his goal, actually—but he had certainly been surprised by the circumstances that led him there. He'd expected to be brought to Sartan Truce following his capture, but he was instead escorted to meet with Olock. After he once again demanded to be allowed to speak with Truce, he was informed that Olock had taken command of the kyrosen. That, of course, left Vultrel to wonder if Truce had been killed at Cathymel. And if so, had it been a mistake to surrender to the Mages?

No, they all must be destroyed, not just Truce. Killing him alone wouldn't stop them from bringing destruction to other civilizations. Besides, Truce wasn't killed at Cathymel.

At least he knew that for certain now. Olock had been tight-lipped about the kyrosen's apparent departure from Terranias, saying he was too busy to entertain guests. A stiff blow from a blunt object to the back of Vultrel's head put him down, and when he opened his eyes, he was in a prison cell onboard a starship headed to who-knew-where. The accommodations were actually quite comfortable for that of a prisoner's cell. The bed was soft and clean, the air was cool, and the floor was carpeted with a pattern of blue and green squares and ovals. There was even a rectangular viewport on the rear wall. It was a nice step over the makeshift cells of the Underworld, though an extended stay as a prisoner in some starship was not a part of Vultrel's plans. Especially not with Sartan Truce as his neighbor.

To say that waking up to find Truce seated comfortably in the cell across from him was a surprise would be a mere fraction of the truth. Mutiny was the first thought that came to mind. Had his failure at Cathymel led to an uprising amongst the kyrosen against Truce? It would've certainly made sense considering how many Mages died in that battle and how many promises of Sartan's were broken. Arus' implant, while seemingly flawless, had not gotten the job done. Sarathon lived, Asteria stood, and the Mages were once again sent fleeing to the Mayahol. Combined with Olock's assertions that he was suddenly in charge, mutiny seemed like the obvious conclusion. But when Vultrel inquired, Truce denied any such thing, insisting instead that he had stepped down temporarily for the good of his people. He refused to elaborate any more on that, though his ever-present grin was as wide as ever. Eventually, Vultrel decided that trying to get any more information out of Sartan Truce would be like trying to milk a bull.

But that didn't stop the wretched man from grinning at him through the bars of his prison cell. "You really don't know when to quit, do you?" Truce laughed as he spoke. "You should've stayed in bed this morning, kid. We were going to leave you and your pathetic world behind for good. You never would've heard from us again. But you had to go and throw yourself into the mix again. You've assured your own death, boy."

"Don't try to threaten me, Truce," Vultrel shot back. "You're in no better position than I am, no matter what you claim."

The man threw back his head and roared with laughter. "If only you knew," he said between gasps of air. "You really think you've figured out what's going on around here, don't you?"

Vultrel smiled coldly. "I won't be fooled by your lies anymore. You can make up as many stories as you want, but I will not be deceived by you again."

"The man who lives his life in search of lies will often miss the truth right in front of his face."

Vultrel rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall. How he wished the bloody pounding in his head would stop! "Spare me your 'wisdom' and tell me the truth. What's going on around here? Where are we going?"

The gleam that flashed in Truce's eyes could've only been described as wicked. "To find your friend, of course."

That got Vultrel's attention, so much so that he was on his feet in an instant. "Arus? What are you going to do with him?"

Truce reclined on his own bed, his insufferable grin growing to reveal every tooth. "Pay a debt," he simply said.

Vultrel grabbed the bars of his cell with a snarl, which drew the attention of the two towering men guarding Truce's cell. Their faces and skin looked much like Damien's, though their uniforms were a plain grey as opposed to Damien's more colorful attire. The two of them turned their faces away from Truce long enough to glare at Vultrel before returning. So far, there had been little indication of what they were doing standing there with their palms raised as they were. Vultrel had decided that it was simply extra protection in case Truce tried to escape. The man was a Mage, after all.

"You seem angry," Sartan noted as though thinking aloud. "I've gone over it dozens of times in my mind, and the only reason I can come up with for your sudden surrender to my people is that you hoped to somehow exact revenge upon me for the death of your father. Is that it?"

Vultrel grit his teeth and turned away. He had to get that miserable wretch out of his sight. "You will pay for what you've done. All of you. The kyrosen will cause no further pain to anyone. It's not revenge. For people like you, it's the only justice possible. You cannot be made to listen to reason; killing is your nature, a part of what makes you who you are. You must be destroyed so that the killing will stop."

Now Truce snorted. "You sound an awful lot like someone else around here."

"You would do well to abandon such ideals," a female voice came from the right. Vultrel peered through the bars of his cell, but there was no one else in the hall. "Who said that?"

"Great, more pompous self-righteousness from the Belvid queen," Sartan muttered. "Haven't heard enough of that lately."

"I am imprisoned in the cell to your right," the female voice spoke again. "I am the High Lady Almatha of Belvidia."

High Lady? The title sounded important, but where in the world was Belvidia? Vultrel had never heard of such a kingdom, yet it seemed the Mages had not only found it, but captured a high-ranking citizen. "Where is Belvidia?"

"That is knowledge I cannot share," she responded, sounding offended. "We try to keep ourselves separated from the rest of the universe, as those who know of our location tend—"

"She's a fairy-girl from another planet," Truce broke in. "What she's doing here, I have no idea, but I'm sure there is a good reason."

Dozens of questions rose with that tidbit of information, and for the first time Vultrel began to consider that he was not on a kyrosen ship at all. This Almatha woman, she was captured and held on a ship that had picked up the Mages and imprisoned Truce. But Olock claimed he was in charge. None of it made sense. Who had come to take the kyrosen from Terranias, and why had they locked Sartan away? What had they been doing beforehand that they had already taken other prisoners? What had Almatha done to deserve to be jailed? "Who is command of this ship?" he asked. It seemed as good a place to begin as any.

Neither had a chance to answer. Two men, one dressed entirely in white and the other clad in black, appeared in front of Vultrel's cell so suddenly that he'd almost thought they had somehow materialized out of thin air. They both wore cloths around their heads of the same color as their attire, concealing all but their dark eyes. "The Admiral will see you now," one of them said through a snake's hiss.

"See _him_?" Truce sounded legitimately shocked. "Why him? What does Thorus—"

The one in white whirled to face Truce. "You will speak only when spoken to, worm! You abandoned your post willingly, and you are expected to adhere to the rules you agreed to!"

Truce was certainly unhappy with that exchange, but he kept his grin plastered across his face, however forced it seemed, and sat back against the wall once more. The man in white faced Vultrel again. "You will come with us at once. Do not resist; we have no intentions of harming you unless you give us reason."

"I will cooperate," Vultrel quickly agreed. He saw Truce sit forward again, though the Mage held back whatever it was he wanted to say.

The door was opened, and he was escorted down the hall so quickly that he barely got a glance at the green-skinned woman with flowing red hair in the cell beside his own. He didn't get much of a look at her wings either, but he saw enough to agree with Truce's assessment that she was a "fairy-girl."

"Be wary," she warned from behind. "If you were looking to throw yourself into a pit of vipers, you've managed to find the king."

*******

The tiny fleck of reproduced lephadorite sparkled with beauty by the time Kindel was through polishing it. He had no idea how he was going to test the abilities of the cloned stone, but then he had yet to test the properties of the original. It put an invisible pressure on his chest, all the hard work and research on a theory that had yet to be proven, but that seemed to be the way of science. Countless claims, few of which held any water, were made daily by men who thought that the universe must conform to the boundaries of their own understanding. How could he be so sure that his theories about the lephadorite were not as baseless as the claims made by scientists that the universe just somehow always existed out of nothingness?

Because the stories of the historical war had led him to the precise location of the stone. Ancient textbooks handed down through civilizations for thousands of years had provided detailed accounts of what had happened on Terranias during that ancient battle. All of his research had led him to discover the stone exactly where he expected it to be, colored as it was described in the books, and shaped as predicted by descendants of humans that had survived the ordeal. Kindel's theories regarding the lephadorite were born from more than simple mathematic calculations and common scientific principals. And it was only a matter of time before his theories and expectations would be proven.

He nervously rolled the two rocks around in his palm as he reclined at his desk. There was more to the puzzle than simply them; there was the amulet to consider. Everything had to come together with exact precision. But it would all be tested soon, he would make sure of that. A random soldier from the Vezulian Guardsmen would suffice for those tests. If there were any adverse effects, the soldier would be dismissed and the formula for the construction of the amulet would be reassessed. As it was, a smaller housing would need to be constructed for the pebble of lephadorite that the lab had managed to create. As long as it possessed the same ratio of gold and jewels to lephadorite, Kindel saw no reason why it wouldn't work as effectively. But then, if the stone was as unpredictable as he'd been led to believe . . .

The visitor alert tone sounded, interrupting his thoughts. He dropped both stones into his top drawer and closed it; he could deal with them later. There were more pressing matters to be handled, and if the rumors going around the ship were true, then his visitor could prove useful in retrieving the Arus boy. The situation would have to be handled delicately. No doubt this young man had no love for the kyrosen, and by now he must've certainly learned of their partnership with the Armada. Still, a relationship could be salvaged if the proper seeds were planted. "Come in."

A visibly wary young man entered, nervous eyes darting about as though he expected an ambush from every side. His black clothes matched his dark eyes and hair, and there was a muscular definition in his arms that was rare for a boy of his age. Well, for a _human_ boy. Scimitar and Kalibur were close behind, though they stopped just inside the doorway.

"He came without resisting, though I think Truce was trying to confuse him with his usual rhetoric." A hint of disgust laced Kalibur's voice.

Kindel's lips twisted wryly. "Let him talk. Truce doesn't have a clue about what's really going on around here, anyway." There. The first seed planted. He motioned the young man toward an elegantly crafted wooden chair set before his desk. "Sit, friend." A brief glance spared for his two assistants was met with slight bows before they exited, leaving Kindel alone with the guest from Terranias. "I've been reading much about the history of your world lately. Truly, your people are a fascinating race."

The boy kept his cold stare fixed on Thorus, though it did seem a bit forced. He was struggling to maintain his calm composure; that much was clear. "Thank you," was all he said.

Kindel let a grin slide across his face. "You seem tense. Relax. I mean you no harm so long as you show the same respect toward me."

"I don't even know you. I know very little of what's going on around here."

Kindel nodded as he rose to his feet. "Fair enough," he conceded. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Kindel Thorus, Admiral of the Vezulian Armada and Defender of the Homeland of Zo'rhan." He finished the sentence with a bow that would've pleased a king.

The youth stood as well, returning the bow while managing to hang onto his defensive facade. "Vultrel Lurei, son of Eaisan Lurei, Master of Blades, Captain of Honor."

"An honor well-deserved, I'm sure," Kindel said as he sat. "From what I hear, he dealt the kyrosen more than a few crushing blows over the course of his life. Tragic how it ended."

The corners of Vultrel's eyes and mouth tightened briefly. "How do you know about my father?"

"As I said, I've been studying your people. In fact, you might say that it was the circumstances surrounding your father's untimely demise that set up this meeting between us."

Vultrel shook his head. "I don't understand."

Kindel leaned back and put his feet on his desk. "You see, the kyrosen have been enemies of the Armada for a number of years. It is the sole purpose of the Vezulian Armada to eliminate any beings or races that threaten the safety of others through their cruel and malicious actions. From your own experience, I gather you are aware of just how heartless and cowardly the kyrosen can be. The Armada spent many years chasing Aratus Truce and his men in an effort to rid the galaxy of the threat they carried. But then, seven years ago, they vanished. Terranias and its solar system was uncharted territory for us at the time, so the kyrosen remained hidden from us until recently when Sartan Truce began to use some of his old transmissions equipment to put feelers out across the galaxy in search of a buyer for his implant technology. What he wasn't aware of was that one of his 'contacts' was a Vezulian spy. The transmission led us right to Terranias." There was no need to mention that they had been headed to Terranias anyway. The lephadorite and its origin would be another subject for another time. If things went according to plan, of course.

Vultrel shifted in his chair. He seemed less tense, though his hands still gripped the arms of his chair tightly. "Is that why Truce is now locked in your prison level?"

Kindel couldn't help but chuckle. Having Sartan locked up served as a constant reminder that even the greatest of evil could be defeated. "Something like that. Though he believes I've formed an alliance with the kyrosen. He offered himself as collateral to ensure that his followers wouldn't turn on me, and as a result, he now stews in a prison cell. Incidentally, I apologize for keeping you down there for so long, but I wanted to give you a chance to regain consciousness and I couldn't risk having you wake up unbound only to cause havoc on what you would've likely thought was a kyrosen ship."

"So . . . I'm _not_ a prisoner?" Vultrel asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

"Not unless you give me reason to make you one." Kindel stood and walked to the large viewport, unconsciously shifting his black cloak as he moved. "You see, Truce had a favor to ask. He wanted ships to use in order to escape from your planet." He laughed again, this time more openly. "What kind of fool goes to his greatest enemy for a favor? At any rate, as payment, he offered me something that he obviously believed would set me following at his heels. Whether he knows it yet or not, he was wrong."

Through the reflection in the viewport, Kindel could see the sudden concern on Vultrel's face. He'd already figured it out. A smart boy, that one. "What was it? What did he offer you?"

"Judging from your face," Kindel began, facing him, "you've already guessed. He offered the implant, and the boy you know as Arus along with it."

The young man seemed torn between rage and concern. He clearly didn't trust Kindel yet, but Thorus had given him no indication that he was interested in controlling his friend. "W-What are you going to do?"

Now came the tricky part. The answer had to be worded just right if Kindel was to convince Vultrel to assist him. "Well, as I said, the Armada's sole purpose is to protect the galaxy from tyrants like Truce and his men. If I don't get to Arus first, someone else will, and you can be sure that they'll use him for their own selfish wishes. I can provide him with protection to keep him from dangerous hands."

"He already has protection," Vultrel told him. "People calling themselves the Aeden Alliance have taken him into their custody."

So he knew. The information Kindel had been provided with regarding this one had not included any interaction with Aldoric's band of thugs. It made little difference, though. "Yes, so I've heard. How much do you know about them?"

He shrugged. "Only that they are some kind of space military that claims to protect civilizations that cannot do so themselves."

Kindel pursed his lips in disgust. "The mask of righteousness is the guise that evil prefers most."

"Are you saying that Arus is in danger?"

"Not directly, though I would put nothing past the Aeden Alliance. No, I believe the true threat comes in the Alliance's inability to properly protect him. You see, their vision is weak and flawed. They show mercy where there should be none. They allow criminals to go unpunished, giving them limited prison sentences or sending them to work in community benefit facilities. All too often, men are pardoned for crimes that should've been answered with death simply because they aren't satisfied with the evidence presented, and many of those who have been freed have gone on to commit similar crimes. On top of all of that, the Aeden Alliance opposes the Armada and has interfered repeatedly with our mission of bringing true justice to those who would trample the rights of others." Kindel growled and turned away, trying to keep his emotions in check. Anytime he spoke of the hypocrisy of the Alliance, a fire raged inside him. "They stand in the way of justice more often than they uphold it, and their weakness will lead to their downfall."

"That doesn't mean that they'll endanger Arus," Vultrel said quietly.

"Perhaps not. But what happens when someone else comes for him? Truce has been looking for a buyer for quite a long time. Sooner or later, someone will track him down, and who can say whether the Alliance will be strong enough to keep him safe? For that matter, who is to say that he isn't being manipulated already? I bet there are a good number of Aeden scientists who would love to get a look at that kind of technology. And a weapon is much more dangerous in the hands of the weak than it could ever be in the possession of someone who knows how to treat it." When Kindel looked back at Vultrel, the boy seemed to be contemplating something. Creases of worry lined his forehead. "What troubles you?"

"Well, now that you mention it . . . Arus was being studied by one of the doctors on their ship. He reactivated the implant's mechanical eye so that Arus could see, and I remember overhearing him tell Arus that he intended to study it further. You don't think . . ."

Kindel was already nodding. It was no surprise. "They're trying to gain control of him. I can't let that happen. I won't. Arus would be much better off under the protection of the Armada until the implant's mechanism can be reworked to prevent _anyone_ from taking control of him again."

Vultrel bowed his head with a pained look on his face. "And I suppose you want my help in convincing him to abandon them, is that it?"

"You don't trust me," Kindel said levelly. "I can understand that. You've been through a lot lately, it seems."

"I don't know who to trust anymore," he responded, standing as he rubbed his temples. "I can't even tell who's good or bad! You say you serve the good of the universe, yet you've allied yourself with the kyrosen. The Aeden Alliance claims to be good, but they just stood by and watched while my father was murdered. All they were concerned with was capturing Arus. And now all you're interested is getting your hands on him. Everything has been about Arus lately, and I feel like I've been left standing in the middle of a crowded battlefield with no idea which side I'm supposed to be defending." By the time he'd finished, he was staring through the viewport, visibly struggling to force his anger down. "I just feel so lost without—" He stopped short as though he hadn't intended to add that last sentence.

"Without your father," Kindel finished the thought. "I understand. I, too, lost my parents to the murderous hands of a conquering race. It was then that I decided to stand up for what was right and do everything in my power to ensure that what happened to me didn't happen to anyone else. To that end, your father's death falls on my hands due to the Armada's failure to eliminate the remnants of the kyrosen, and I apologize. As for our supposed partnership with them, I owe no allegiance to Truce or his wretched followers. But I will need his knowledge once we have rescued Arus so that we can alter the design of the implant to keep him from being enslaved again."

"And what makes you think he'll help you do that?" Vultrel frowned as he asked the question. "He just wants to regain control of Arus for himself."

"Once he realizes that I hold the remaining members of the kyrosen race hostage, he'll have no choice but to obey."

That prompted a look of sheer disgust. "Extortion doesn't sound like a tactic a man as noble as you claim to be would even consider."

Thorus shook his head in wonder. The young man was much like he was in his days of youth before the Ma'tuul came. "I was raised much like you, you know. Taught to prize honor and nobility and all that. But when certain events came to pass, I was forced to see the horrible truth. The universe is not about honor and nobility. Criminals are not about honor and nobility. The most dangerous men of the cosmos will kill their mothers to get what they want. There is no honor in that, is there? These people do not respect an honest man. Do you think Truce would willingly help me if he knew my goal was to protect your friend? Of course not. And that's the reality of the universe. You cannot hope to make any strides against evil if you are not willing to do whatever is necessary to defeat it. Those that think otherwise will find themselves crushed beneath the boots of Kuldaan himself. You, Vultrel, of all people should know this. Truce showed no mercy to you. The kyrosen showed no mercy to your people. They did whatever was necessary to achieve their goals, and because of that, you now find yourself without a father, without a lifelong friend, and without a purpose."

Vultrel's hands had rolled into tight fists as he spoke, though it seemed more out of pain than of anger. His jaw was set harder than ever, and the rims of his eyes were pink. He said nothing, but Kindel knew he was getting through.

"Since the day I realized this," Thorus continued, looking through the viewport beside him, "I have sought only strength. Honor, nobility, and all of that idealistic nonsense has no place in my life anymore. Strength conquers all in this universe, and I will not allow anyone to threaten the peace and security of innocent worlds. I will do whatever it takes. Criminals will do the same, and to allow them to go on with their lives unhindered and unpunished because of some petty dedication to honor is just as bad as surrendering to them. They learn nothing from it, and they certainly don't pay for their crimes through it. The kyrosen will have a lot more to deal with than mere extortion once I am through with them. They deserve nothing less."

The next several moments passed in silence as Vultrel stared out into the stars. Finally, he looked at Kindel and asked, "Who is that lady you have locked up in a jail cell? Almatha, I think her name was?"

That was a question Kindel had not expected. His own fault, he realized; he should've made sure that Olock moved Vultrel into a cell that wasn't near hers. "The details surrounding her imprisonment are classified at the moment," he said, trying to sound sympathetic. "I wish I could tell you more, but regretfully I cannot." Vultrel slightly inclined his head in what looked like an understanding nod, but Kindel couldn't help but wonder if he had spoken at length with the Belvid. "Did she talk with you?"

"Only long enough to refer to you a snake," Vultrel answered, sparing him a suspicious glance.

No surprise there. The woman had the same silly notions of honor and all that bloody foolish talk as Aldoric. "I wouldn't spare too much interest for anything she says if I were you. Almatha stands in the way of the greater good, and she will learn the value of strength when I am finished with her." That came out sounding too much like a threat against her, though truthfully that was exactly what it was. Kindel didn't want to lie to Vultrel about his intentions, but he did realize the importance of presenting himself in a manner which would be gentle to the boy's ears. He was in need of guidance, there was no question of that, and he could prove to be immensely helpful in convincing Arus to abandon the Aeden fools. "Remember, Vultrel. Strength is everything in this universe. It is the strong races that conquer civilizations and murder the helpless. The only way to truly defeat such evil is to overcome it with a power greater than anything they can muster. And in order to attain such power, sacrifices must sometimes be made; it is the cruel nature of existence. Sacrifices which may, at the time, seem heartless."

Something had struck a nerve, because tears were rolling down Vultrel's face. "He wasn't strong enough." The sentence began as a murmur, but his voice grew with each word. "He wasn't strong enough to follow Anton's lead. If he only he had managed to break free for just one moment, he could've ended it all. He could've sacrificed himself to save . . ." Shaking his head, he turned his back to Kindel and moved away. "What do you need me to do? I'll do whatever it takes to keep the implant out of evil hands."

It was done. Whatever the Alliance may have said to try to corrupt Vultrel meant nothing now. He was ready to pledge himself to fight for the greater good. "For now, I require nothing of you. We are in pursuit of the ship that has taken your friend, and when we catch them, I will require your assistance. Until then, I have arranged a room for you, and you will be granted access to all areas of the _Black Eagle_ with the exception of any area marked for Senior Officers only. That gives you free reign to wander through most of the ship. If you'd like, I can have an officer show you around. We have a workout area that you may enjoy."

Vultrel sighed heavily before responding. "Thank you, but I'm sure I can find my own way around."

Kindel frowned behind the young man's back, but he kept his voice pleasant. "Very well, as you wish. I understand your weapon was confiscated when you were apprehended by the Mages. I'll make sure it is returned to you." He lifted his communicator and summoned Scimitar and Kalibur, who entered nearly as soon as he returned the device to belt. "Scimitar, please see this young man to his room. I'd like to speak with Kalibur for a moment."

Vultrel said no more. He silently followed Scimitar through the door without as much as a glance in Kindel's direction. A few years in the Armada's training academy would've done the boy service, but he would learn to show the proper respect in time. He had a fire inside him that could be harnessed for the greater good of the universe. But there was no time for that at the moment. Perhaps once the implant was safely in Kindel's hands, but not until then. And until Vultrel was properly tamed, he would have to be closely monitored. "Kalibur, I want you to appoint a team of soldiers that you trust to befriend Vultrel and keep an eye on him for me. I want him kept away from any vital systems, and he is not to return to the prison level. I don't need that Belvid down there to corrupt his mind any further."

"Yes, my Lord," the white-clad ninja responded. "What about the kyrosen? If he harbors such a grudge, any interaction with them could spark an incident. For that matter, if he discusses anything that has transpired between you with one of them, it could cause an even larger problem."

Kindel sat behind his desk and began rummaging through the paperwork in the lower left drawer. "If there are any kyrosen onboard the ship besides Truce, send them over to the _Falcon Mist_ with the others. I was going to give the ship's command to Olock anyway."

"Command?" Kalibur's question was out of character for him. "I beg forgiveness, Sir, but a kyrosen in command of a Vezulian starship? Have you relieved Commander Enzulia of his post?"

"Well, not entirely." Certainly there was no way a kyrosen would ever be given a position of power by the Armada. But according to the conditions of the deal he'd made with Truce, the kyrosen were entitled to their own craft. There were ways to get around that, of course. Truce guaranteed that his people would not turn on the Armada, so there was no harm in giving control of a ship over to them as long as certain precautionary measures were taken. "Commander Enzulia has been given the proper instructions. He will remain onboard the _Falcon Mist_ in a supervisory role, and he has been ordered to kill Olock if he does anything but obey my orders. They can have the ship as long as they work with us, but should they decide to go their own way, this little partnership will be over. I know the kyrosen don't want that, including Truce."

Kalibur bowed respectfully. "Of course, Sir. My apologies, I did not mean to question your orders."

"I admit, the idea of giving command of one of my vessels to a kyrosen certainly churns my stomach," Kindel conceded. "I've questioned myself dozens of times about it. But I am confident in the commander and crew of the _Falcon Mist._ They won't let the kyrosen get out of hand."

"Understood, Sir. I shall carry out your orders immediately." Kalibur wasted no time in making for the door.

When Kindel was alone once again, he drew a packet of papers from his drawer and flipped through it. The specifications for the creation of the amulet were listed somewhere within those pages, and they would have to be reworked for the second piece of lephadorite. As for Vultrel, the seeds for a partnership had been planted, and it seemed as though they'd taken root. Having Arus' best friend as an ally would be a considerable advantage in convincing him to leave the Aeden Alliance. The use of force would be a last resort, though regardless of Arus' decision, the Alliance would likely launch an attack to keep him in their hands. Minimal force, then.

Following that, the kyrosen would soon be out of the picture completely. Once Truce walked the Armada's scientists through altering the implant to give control over to Kindel—hopefully they wouldn't botch THAT up, too—then both Truce and his wretched followers could be destroyed once and for all. No doubt Truce and Olock had their own schemes up their sleeves, but any such plans would soon be rooted out by his spies. "It won't be long, now," Kindel said under his breath. "The enemies of the Armada will soon fall to their own methods of evil."

*******

In the days following their departure from Terranias, Arus did little besides train and rest. Most of his time was spent either practicing with his sword in the gym or running through the training lessons built into the flight simulator. Early each morning, he met with Rollock, Timen, Nat, and Tam to hone his skills with a blade in a group sparring session. Each had their strengths and weaknesses, and Arus was constantly analyzing their maneuvers in search of flaws. He asked that they all do the same for him, though it was rare that they actually mentioned the mistakes he made. Perhaps they were concerned about hurting his feelings, but the truth was that Arus welcomed the criticism.

On the first morning, he had arranged to train with Rollock. It was there that Rollock introduced him to the other three. They each had enormous potential in Arus' opinion, held back only by a lack of experience. Timen was a fair-skinned thanai who was always polishing his sword. He was younger than Arus by nearly a year, and it showed in the youthful chubbiness of his cheeks, though he was not overweight by any means. He held an insatiable thirst for knowledge behind his sparkling eyes of blue, and his closely cropped blond hair reminded Arus of little Max Nadealai from back home. Nat was a human with shaggy curls of brown hair and shifty eyes that reminded Arus of Nevin's. The young man was great with a sword, though he never seemed capable of admitting when he'd made a mistake even when it cost him the match. Rollock was surprisingly swift for a svodesian. Despite his unusually large belly, he darted around with the quickness of a rabbit, making his drooping ears seem more sensible. Tam's biggest asset was his strength. A human with dark hair and a budding beard, Tam's muscular arms seemed capable of handling any weapon with ease. During the course of battle, he'd rotate through an arsenal of weapons he had dangling from his belt, switching from sword to axe to club to spear like they were regularly used appendages of his body.

It was Arus who set the pace most often, swinging his weapon in such a blur that the others had no choice but to struggle to keep up or withdraw from the fight. They were very gracious about their defeat, though Nat always seemed to have a convenient health issue to explain his inability to win. He was never arrogant about it, but it was clear that he wasn't the sort to openly accept that his skills couldn't match Arus' own. It mattered little in the end, though, and Arus didn't hold it against him. It reminded him a little of Anton, minus the attitude.

Each morning session was usually followed by a few hours in the simulator. It wasn't long before he had mastered each obstacle course and conquered every combat challenge. Occasionally, he'd link his systems up with others who were training at the same time and practice with them. It helped give him a wider perspective on starfighter combat strategy and flight tactics by exposing him to real pilots as opposed to the preprogrammed enemies created by the simulator. The control stick was beginning to feel like a part of him just as much as his sword, though he knew there was plenty of room for improvement. No matter how much he was taught, there would always be more to learn, and he was happy to embrace whatever knowledge and wisdom he was offered.

Weight training came next, followed by dinner with Samas, Doman, and Orchi. They were an interesting trio. Arus had first run into them while lifting weights the day that he'd ended up going to the Observation Deck with Kitreena. Samas and Orchi were both dark skinned humans from a world they called Provodan, a warm world in a solar system on the far side of the charted galaxy. They were twin-sisters with a strange sort of telepathic connection that didn't allow them to share thoughts as much as it did feelings. They were revered warriors on their homeworld, able to sense each other's movements before they happened. This gave the two of them the ability to fight as one, stringing their attacks together in a fluid sequence of motions that would've otherwise been impossible. And they did it all without saying a word. Beautiful girls, in Arus' estimation, though at least ten years older than him, with loose golden curls they kept wrapped in tight ponytails with leather cords. Their complexions reminded Arus of the hot chocolate Mrs. Boyer sold in Trader's Square during the wintertime.

Doman, on the other hand, was pale-skinned human mercenary from the southern pole of the same planet. His burly body was covered with large jagged knives. He kept two in leather sleeves latched to the front of his belt, another hooked to the back, and two more attached to straps that ran vertically over his shoulders. A slight frown seemed etched onto his broad face of stone, though the minute he opened it, he seemed like an entirely different person. Behind the fearsome facade was a gentle and noble man who had nothing but kindness in his heart. Arus didn't know the whole story of his relationship with Samas and Orchi, but he knew that the ladies had saved him from certain death, and in return he had pledged his lifelong protection to the two of them.

When Arus headed to the cafeteria that first night, the three of them invited him to sit at their table. They urged him to share his story, and so he told them of how he'd come to reside on the _Refuge_ and the unknown future he faced. Upon learning he was a swordsman, they invited him to join them in their sparring session following dinner. Happy to accept any chance he could get to improve his skills, Arus quickly accepted, and the evening workout became a part of his nightly routine for the remainder of the week. Samas and Orchi practiced an almost acrobatic style of hand fighting, flipping and whirling with almost every movement while somehow always keeping their golden eyes locked onto their opponent. They seemed to prefer hand-to-hand combat, but when they drew weapons, they were unlike anything Arus had ever seen. Bronze colored yet hard as steel, the blades were inverted half-circles that were sharp on both sides and pointed like hooks at their tips. They reminded Arus of what the opposite of an axe might be, and they proved to be incredibly difficult to defend against due to their shape. His sword was yanked from his hand on more than one occasion.

Doman's knives were equally dangerous. Despite the fact that the man had only two hands, he seemed to find a way to make use of each blade he carried—there were four more hidden beneath the legs of his pants, Arus later found out, two on either side of each shin—and each blow he dealt to Arus' sword made his bones rattle. He was a muscular powerhouse of strength, though he never allowed his weapons to even graze his sparring partner. At first, it seemed as though Arus would never be able to keep up with the three of them. But the challenge was welcome; he'd have to be able to defeat the toughest opponents if he wanted to keep anyone from controlling him through the implant again.

The rigorous workout must've had _some_ effect on him. By the end of the week, his morning training with Rollock and the others almost seemed to be too . . . _easy_.

Rumors of the mysterious "robot boy" had circulated throughout the ship rather quickly. Where once people had simply nodded and smiled when passing him in the halls, they now whispered amongst each other and sometimes stared openly at the implant. Damien had said it was because people hadn't realized that it was connected to his brain when he first appeared on the _Refuge_ , and that as word got out that his brain and the implant coexisted for survival—something that had never been done before—more of the crew would begin to take notice. It was nothing personal, just interest in a revolutionary technology. There were hopes among many that it could lead to more advanced treatment for people with brain disorders or those with head injuries that would otherwise be fatal. Arus tried his best to take it all in stride. No one he'd met was afraid of him, nor did they harbor any ill will over what he'd done on Terranias, so he tried not to let it bother him. Their interest in the positive possibilities of the technology was better than having to deal with the backlash he would've had to face if he'd gone home.

Kitreena spent many evenings with him. She joined him for dinner with Samas, Orchi, and Doman one night, and caught him coming out of the cafeteria on a few other occasions. He would've spent more time with her if he could've, but her duties to the _Refuge_ kept her busy. She did join him in the simulator on the second day, however. And on the fourth, she and Damien were in the gym when Arus arrived early for his morning workout. He kept his distance and watched as Damien tried to teach her how to control her powers as a Morpher. She seemed to have already learned to initiate her transformation by the time Arus entered; that eerie purple light encompassed her eyes more than once. Rollock and Nat entered as she and Damien were leaving, and both commented that they were glad they weren't sticking around.

"I'm surprised the Captain allows her to work on that power onboard the ship," Nat said, wringing his hands with an exaggerated shudder. "Hope she doesn't blow us all up."

Arus laughed at the absurdity of the idea. "No worries, Nat." He patted the young man's shoulder. "She's capable of handling herself." Truthfully, he wasn't exactly sure even _he_ believed that considering how she'd exploded at Cathymel. Still, he trusted Damien's judgment. He wouldn't let her power get out of control. "I'm sure they won't endanger the ship."

Later that night, he met up with Kitreena following his evening workout. They wound up walking along the corridors, talking and laughing and just enjoying the pleasure of each other's company. Vultrel's jaw would've hit the ground if he saw how comfortable Arus had grown to be around her; it was nothing like he'd been around the girls on Terranias. There was a certain connection between himself and Kitreena that didn't exist with anyone back home. He looked forward to every moment he got to spend with her, and whenever she popped up unannounced, it felt like the Maker had decided to bless him a little extra that day. There was a moment in a quiet corridor around the corner from the cafeteria where they simply stared into each other's eyes for what seemed like an hour, though how she could look at his mechanical eye like a little girl adoring a fluffy rabbit was beyond his comprehension. He almost kissed her that day, and her telepathic connection betrayed her intention to do the same, but a call from Damien on Kitreena's communicator interrupted them. Despite his attraction to her, he was almost relieved. Talking with her was easy enough, but once the possibility of something more arose, his knees began to shake so much he nearly toppled over right in front of her. It took all night just to calm the butterflies in his stomach.

Insomnia gripped him one evening while thinking over everything in bed. Concern over the kyrosen and the Vezulian Armada and Vultrel and his mother and everything else that had happened all piled onto itself and tied his emotions into knots. When it became clear that sleep wasn't going to come any time soon, he found himself wandering the corridors, trying to settle his mind. Before he knew it, he was exiting the lift onto the Observation Deck. The lights were dimmed and Ron was nowhere to be seen. A lone figure, tall and ominous in his dark cloak, stood at the far end of the dome, staring into the sea of space. His flowing white hair gleamed against the light of the passing stars, and he spoke without looking back. "Having trouble sleeping?"

Arus nodded as he stood beside Damien, watching the cosmos silently glide past. "Something like that. The further I get from home, the more I worry about the safety of Asteria. And the rest of the Terranias, for that matter."

"Understandable." Damien's voice was low and quiet. Almost solemn. "If it eases your concerns at all, neither the Armada nor the kyrosen are anywhere near Terranias anymore."

"Really?" Arus looked up in surprise. "How can you be sure?"

"Because they're following us."

"Oh." That brought on a whole new set of fears, but it _was_ comforting to know that Terranias was safe. However, that meant only one thing. "They're coming after me, then."

"It was to be expected," Damien reminded him. "Do not worry. We will protect you. We'll reach the Aeden Outpost before they catch us, and a good portion of the fleet has been recalled from various outposts and planets to gather there. We'll have plenty of support."

It all sounded like such a grand effort. And it was all because of him. That placed a tremendous guilt on top of everything else he'd been feeling. Plans were being altered, lives were being changed, and people of various races from across the _universe_ were placing themselves in the path of danger all for him. In spite of his resolve to view his life experiences in a more positive light, actually doing so was proving to be difficult. "I apologize for the trouble I've caused. I feel terrible placing such a burden upon you and your army. I didn't mean for all of this to happen."

Damien's head shook ever so slightly. "No one holds you responsible, Arus. If it hadn't been you, Truce would've found another boy to test his experiment on. Likely one much younger, as the design specifications called for a child under the age of ten. Supposedly, the likelihood that the implant would properly synchronize with the brain rises significantly with a younger host."

"Max . . ." Arus murmured, remembering the young boy that the Mages had tried to kidnap. "At least my experience protected him from having to go through it."

"For now," Damien noted. "But if we fail to get the plans for the device out of the hands of the kyrosen and the Armada, the children of the universe will forever be at risk of being swept away into a cybernetic army of slaves. I fear this won't end until both Kindel Thorus and Sartan Truce are dead." His voice took an even more melancholy tone at that suggestion.

Arus looked up at him. The towering man's eyes were visibly pained. "I don't like killing any more than you do, but if they refuse to change their ways, what choice will we have?"

Damien nodded a slow agreement. "I just hoped to never have to face Kindel in battle. He was once a good man. I believe he still is, despite his vile interpretation of peace. He genuinely wants to see harmony and tranquility across the universe, but his methods of achieving such cannot be condoned."

They conversed for a bit, discussing everything from the possible uses of the implant technology to Kitreena's potential as a Morpher. Damien seemed pretty optimistic about her talents. He said she was something called an Elemental Morpher which, according to him, was a rarity. Although he'd been trying to help her harness her strength, he knew little about how Morphers channeled their energy. And since she was a rare breed, there were no others alive who could properly train her. Damien admitted that it made him feel a little less guilty about taking her from her homeland knowing that no one there could've taught her anyway.

"I just couldn't leave her there," he said. "When I found her in that alley, she was so scared, and she didn't want to go home to any of her other relatives. She was terrified that the kyrosen were after her, and she didn't want them to kill any other family members while trying to get to her. Reassurances that something like that wouldn't happen proved useless. I was left with the decision of either leaving her alone on the streets to fend for herself or taking her with me when I left the planet. So I offered to take care of her. It took some convincing, but she agreed to it. Given her options, it made the most sense. And I'm glad she agreed. I may never have a child of my own kind, but Kit has been the best family I could've asked for."

He went on to thank Arus for urging Kitreena to abandon her vengeful desires. She'd made no such commitment, according to Damien, but she was quite taken with Arus, and he believed it was more likely that she'd listen to him than anyone else. "As much as I hate to say it, she has a stubborn way of ignoring my advice the way most children shrug off their parents' instructions," he said. "You've got a good head on your shoulders, Arus. Don't let her discourage you. Keep trying; you may be the only one who can pull her away from the dark path she treads."

Not that Arus had any intention of abandoning his efforts, but hearing the encouragement and appreciation was nice. Doc Nori shared Damien's feelings on the matter. Apparently, Kitreena had told both extensively about that first night on the Observation Deck. One afternoon, while allowing the doctor to examine the implant before heading to dinner, Nori made mention of the subject.

"I hear you and Kitreena have been spending quite a bit of time together," he said, turning Arus' cheeks red. They seemed to be doing that a lot as of late. "I'm sure I don't need to warn you what you're getting yourself into, oh no!" He shook with his usual jolly laugh and wiped perspiration that didn't exist from his brow before going on. "I exaggerate, of course."

Lying on the examination table, Arus tried to think of any topic of discussion that would embarrass him less. Nori didn't give him a chance, though. He tinkered for a moment with a pointed tool and a small magnifying glass, then shifted to his tool cabinet and began rummaging through it. "To be frank, I believe you're probably the best friend she could have right now," he said, speaking as though he were simply thinking aloud. "As someone who's been through his own share of hardship and come out on the other side of it all with a positive and optimistic outlook on life, you could help dissuade her from what she has convinced herself will give her some of closure to the pain of her past." He finally drew a pointed gripping tool from his drawer and returned his attention to the implant. "Besides, you two are cute together!" That brought more eccentric laughter from the old man.

"I'm not going to push her," Arus told him. "I can only tell her what I've learned and what I believe. It's up to her to decide which path to take."

"That's all anyone can ask," Nori said with a nod. "Now, let's see. I think if I remove this piece . . ."

Arus heard a snap, and the room began to spin. Instinctively, he put his hands on his head and squeezed his eye closed. "Ugh, what was that?"

"That was once of four electronic circuits that allowed for the input of commands to be transferred to your brain," Nori answered. "There are three others still in place. If I remove them and solder off the connections, it should prevent anyone from ever controlling you through the implant again."

"I'm dizzy," Arus groaned. "Are you sure it was the right piece?"

"It will subside. Though it wasn't actively controlling you, there was still a flow of data being transferred though the piece I removed. The dizziness will stop once your brain adjusts to handling the flows of information on its own."

The wooziness only got worse as Nori removed the other circuits. For nearly an hour, he lay there moaning softly as he fought the urge to empty his stomach over the side of the table. But a little nausea was a small price to pay to prevent himself from ever begin controlled again, even if Truce were to capture him once more. Of course, Truce could likely remove the "soldered" connections—Arus was going to have to ask what that word meant—and replace them with new ones, but whatever stumbling blocks could be placed in front of him were welcome. While Arus recovered, Nori also mentioned that he had rewired the implant's sensors along with the eye laser. Arus didn't want to use either, but Nori programmed them to be dormant until activated by Arus himself. He insisted that they could be valuable assets in keeping Truce at bay, and while that was likely true, Arus had no intention of resorting to them.

Through it all, he kept his training as his first priority. Every time his body felt as though it could go no further, he pushed harder. When his mind was exhausted from the strain of concentration required both in dueling and in piloting a starfighter, he deliberately added an hour onto his training session. There was no telling how powerful his enemies were, and to allow himself to limit his own abilities was akin to saying that no one in the universe was stronger. That was untrue, he knew for sure; only a fool thought otherwise. And even though he knew that there would always be a greater foe out there regardless of how much he honed his skills, it only drove him to work harder so that he might one day be able to meet their challenge. He would never be the best, but with the right amount of work, perhaps his abilities could at least be . . . enough.

After all, if he couldn't even defeat Vultrel, how could he expect to stand up to the villains of the universe?

Chapter 2-7

On the afternoon of the sixth day of travel, Damien's communicator beeped while he was enjoying lunch with Arus and Kitreena in the cafeteria. "Go ahead," he spoke into the little silver device.

The voice of the helmsman, Jindar Tradek, responded. "Sir, we have a problem. Approximately three minutes ago, we received a distress call from Aeden Outpost Twelve. The fleet is under attack."

Damien nearly dropped his fork. Arus stopped short with a spoon of corn halfway to his mouth, and Kitreena was already rising to her feet. "What? By who?"

"The Vezulian Armada, Sir. Kindel must've issued orders to any Armada starships in neighboring systems to gather together and launch an attack once he realized his own band of ships wouldn't be able to catch up to us. Scans are picking up at least four starcruisers, two battleships, and an assortment of assault transports and starfighters."

Damien spared Kitreena a grim look. "The sword has been drawn, then. This is nothing less than a declaration of war."

"There's more, Sir," Tradek continued. "While I was receiving the transmission from the outpost, our sensors picked up two large ships obstructing our flight path. The proximity alarm went off, and the safety protocols automatically deactivated our engines. We've got two Vezulian cruisers sitting in front of us, and the _Black Eagle_ is quickly gaining."

He couldn't have given a worse report. Damien was on his feet in an instant, wiping his mouth as he headed for the door. He was flanked by Arus and Kitreena, fierce determination mixing with uncertainty in their eyes. "I'm on my way to the bridge. Perform evasive maneuvers immediately." He clicked a smaller button on the top of his communicator to activate the ship's intercom system. "Attention all crewmembers. This is Damien speaking. The Vezulian Armada has launched an assault on Aeden Outpost Twelve, and I have no doubt they are coming after us. I want all certified starfighter pilots to their stations as soon as possible. Be ready to launch when I give the word. Combat troops, prepare to repel boarders. I expect you experienced fighters to keep an eye on our rookies out there. Commander Naelas, please meet me on the bridge on the double."

The corridors leading toward the lift had never seemed so long. People were rushing up and down the halls in an organized frenzy. Tension was thick in the air, especially amongst the younger cadets that ran along with creases of worry framing their inexperienced faces. Damien had long expected a war with Kindel Thorus and his Armada, but he certainly did not welcome it. Many lives would certainly be lost— _I wonder how many have already died at Outpost Twelve?_ —and if the Aeden Alliance failed, then the Vezulian Armada would have gained one of the most technologically advanced weapons in the history of the universe. It could not be allowed, no matter what the cost. Some of the greatest tragedies in history had begun with the creation of revolutionary weaponry, yet the intelligent decision-making abilities of a living species had never been combined with the precision and versatility of machinery. The possibilities of such a concept were vast, and the dangers more so.

To his right, Kitreena made her irritation apparent, though Damien detected a hint of anxiousness lacing her mood. Her hands flexed unconsciously as she marched beside him, and narrow eyes combined with her tight lips creating an icy stare that could've squelched the heat of the sun. If she'd had a tail, it would've been lashing about like a steel whip. Damien was surprised that she hadn't begun flipping her whip back and forth as she had a habit of doing. In time, likely.

As for Arus, he seemed more uneasy than anything else. No doubt the strain of the situation was wearing on him; it couldn't be easy knowing that some of the most dangerous men in the universe were pursuing him. Still, he walked with purpose, giving no lead to either Damien or Kitreena. A brave youth, that was for sure. Damien hadn't seen anyone with such courage or drive since meeting Kitreena. He had unlimited potential despite his age, and that had little to do with the implant.

Lieutenant Meni began speaking as soon as the three exited the lift and stepped onto the bridge. "The _Black Eagle_ and her escorts are within visual range aft, Sir. They'll enter attack range in approximately ten minutes."

Lieutenant Tears added her report nearly over the tail end of Harold's. "I've alerted the Aeden fleet to our position and situation. They're sending a cruiser and several squadrons of fighters and assault transports to assist us while the Outpost summons reinforcements."

The sight that greeted Damien through the viewport was nothing short of terrifying. Not that he hadn't seen worse over the course of his career, but no amount of experience ever made it easier to stand up straight when confronted by hostile forces, especially when those forces were under the command of Kindel Thorus. The Vezulian starcruisers were positioned head-to-head just in front of the _Refuge_ , blocking the path to the Aeden Outpost. "Hard to starboard," he ordered. "Get us around them." They were quite majestic looking, plated with shining titanium along their long t-shaped hulls with rounded off heads where long panes of glass identified the bridge of each craft. The bellies of the ships dropped down in a wide section where the hangar doors stood open, ready to launch starfighters and transports if necessary.

"They are matching our movements, Sir," Tradek warned. "We have no room to maneuver."

Damien racked his brain for options, but feasible ideas were scarce. "Lieutenant Meni, how long until assistance arrives?"

"At least twenty minutes," Harold reported. "They're having some trouble breaking away from the battle."

"And the _Black Eagle_?"

The lieutenant's expression was bleak. "Seven minutes."

The _Refuge_ did not have nearly enough starfighters to properly defend herself, not against two fully armed starcruisers, the _Black Eagle_ , and her escorts. That left diplomacy as the sole remaining option. In any other situation, that would've been Damien's first choice, but it was no secret what the Armada was after, and no amount of negotiation would make him hand Arus over to Kindel. It was unlikely that Kindel could be convinced to abandon his pursuit of the implant, either. "This is going to get messy," Damien muttered.

Kitreena leaned close to his side. "We've got to secure Arus. We could put him in the security vault with a bunch of troops or something."

"It's not going to stop Kindel from trying to force his way onboard," he told her. "But if we launch fighters to try to hold him back, they'll get slaughtered out there. I want to minimize the loss of life, yet doing so would pretty much mean inviting Kindel to come on over."

"He'll board us anyway," she said, folding her arms across her chest. "He can teleport, remember?"

Damien looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "So what makes you think Arus will be any safer in the vault?"

Apparently, he'd spoken too loudly. Arus' ears perked at the mention of his name. "What? What vault?"

Kitreena sighed as she turned toward him. "We have a security vault in the center of the _Refuge_ where weapons and sensitive materials are stored. In the event that the _Refuge_ was destroyed, this vault would remain intact to be picked up by another Aeden ship later on. It would keep you safe from Kindel so long as he doesn't think to look for you there."

He made no attempt to hide his dislike for the idea. "No! Absolutely not! I didn't train night and day for the duration of this journey just to run and hide at the first sign of danger!"

"As much as you've improved," Damien said, turning toward him, "you have no idea what we're up against. You may have stood a chance against Kindel while you were under Truce's control, but without that programming, you would be easy conquest for him."

That made Arus' mouth drop open. Even Kitreena gave an incredulous look. "Damien!" she exclaimed. "You aren't suggesting that we use the implant to control—"

"Of course not," Damien said, raising his hands. "I apologize for the reference. I have no interest in repeating Truce's mistakes. I was merely trying to explain that Arus isn't ready to meet Kindel in battle."

Arus clenched his fists to his chest. "I want to fight!" he growled. "If you take me from the battlefield, I lose any chance I may have had of preventing this," he tapped the implant with his steel finger, "from happening to anyone else!"

"On the contrary," Kitreena responded, "locking you away may be the _best_ chance."

He said no more, but he ground his teeth and turned away in a stiff movement. Kitreena patted his shoulder softly. Behind them, the lift doors opened to admit Commander Naelas. A sturdy man in his middle years, his age was betrayed only by the white wisps of hair streaking back from his temples. He wore the standard brown uniform of the Alliance, though his was adorned with numerous tassels and pins across the breast of his coat indicating his rank. A narrow jaw framed his smooth face, and eyes of soothing green held years of experience in battle strategy and combat operations. As the commanding officer overseeing the movement and deployment of all soldiers aboard the _Refuge_ , it was his knowledge and expertise in which Damien was most interested.

"Commander Naelas," the zo'rhan said with a nod, "we find ourselves in a bit of a pickle today."

"That much is certain," Naelas responded. A usually reserved man, his attitude became all-business whenever duty called. "I confess that I am not sure how we're going to squeeze out of this one."

"Securing Arus is our top priority," Damien said. "Even if the rest of the ship is completely destroyed, we must ensure Arus' safety and survival. Kitreena has suggested placing him in the vault."

Naelas shrugged. "Such a move would slow Thorus only. It will buy us time, but not completely prevent the Armada from getting their paws on him."

"Time is all we need," Kitreena put in. "We just need to survive long enough for reinforcements to arrive."

Damien raised a finger. "But, as you said, Kindel can simply teleport inside the vault, grab Arus, the teleport back to his ship."

"Then we'll line the interior with soldiers skilled in the use of magic," Naelas told him. "If they create and hold a magical barrier around the vault in the same way that the guards in the prison level have been keeping Truce's men from using their abilities to escape, it should prevent Kindel from teleporting inside. If he wanted to get to Arus, he'd have to crack the security codes on the hatch."

" _If_ he even thinks to look in the vault in the first place," Kitreena put in. "I'd say it's our best plan at this point."

Lieutenant Meni's voice put the emphasis on her point. "Three minutes, Sir."

Finally, Damien resigned himself to the idea. It was really the only option they had. "All right, here's what we're going to do. Commander, I want you to prepare the troops to repel intruders. Position squads at every possible boarding point. Prepare all pilots for combat and come up with some sort of plan to hold the Armada back while we wait for assistance. And send the necessary soldiers to the vault to create the energy barrier. Make no aggressive moves until I've ordered so. If, by some miracle, I can manage to keep this peaceful, I will."

"Yes, Sir!" Naelas said with a solid salute. Damien looked to Kitreena and Arus as the commander returned to the lift.

"Kit, get him down to the vault. Make sure that he's secure before coming back." Arus finally faced him again, and Damien placed a hand on his shoulder. "Your hard work and determination will serve a great many people one day. But today, you must allow us to do what is best both for you and for the good of the universe."

Arus' nod was solemn, though he clearly knew that Damien was right. "I know," he murmured. "I just wanted to make a difference. I'm tired of everyone fretting over me. I want to be a help, not a burden."

Damien smiled in spite of himself. "You will have your chance. Don't be overzealous; that can lead to disaster. Sometimes patience can be more important than any kind of weapon." The boy nodded again, albeit reluctantly, and followed Kitreena toward the lift with no further objections. "Kit," Damien called, "that goes for you too."

She shot him a look as the doors closed that said she wasn't in the mood for a lecture, but in many ways, she had just as much to learn as Arus. Hopefully, she would have the chance.

"Sir," Merille Tears called from the communications array, "we are receiving an incoming communication from the _Black Eagle._ It's Kindel Thorus."

With a heavy sigh, Damien headed over to the terminal. "Here we go," he muttered. "Connect us."

"This is Kindel Thorus of the Vezulian Armada," the calm voice announced over the speaker. "With whom do I speak?"

"It's me, Kindel," Damien responded.

"Ah, Aldoric! I was expecting one of your peons." Damien caught Lieutenant Tears' frown at that comment. "I assume you know why you find yourselves in this predicament."

"Whatever you want, I won't give it to you," Damien said. Every minute gained was crucial. "You'll have to destroy the _Refuge_ before I'll submit to your demands."

"A pity you would volunteer such an option so easily. I wonder if your comrades know how disposable their lives are to you."

On any other occasion, Damien would've refused to allow Kindel to draw him into a verbal confrontation. The officers of the Aeden Alliance accepted the fact that they might one day be forced to lay down their lives for the good of the galaxy, though most did not look forward to such a time. Damien certainly didn't want to sacrifice the _Refuge_ and her crew, and he couldn't fathom making the decision to send them all, Kitreena included, to their deaths. But with the way things were going, it was quite possible he'd be faced with that very decision quite soon. "My people know how valuable they are," he said quietly. "But they also serve the good of the universe, and they won't cower to your demands any more than I."

"And many have already paid with their lives," Kindel answered with a bit of amusement. "The Aeden fleet protecting your little base up ahead has suffered considerable casualties. It can be stopped, of course. You have the power to give the order for my ships to withdraw at any time. I simply ask that you hand the boy over to me. Once he is in my custody, the killing will stop."

"I will not," Damien growled, trying to rein his anger. "You speak as though Arus is a child looking for a father, an innocent toddler with no control over his future. I know that you care nothing for his well-being; you're simply after the implant. But I will not allow his free-will to be trampled upon. Regardless of what technology he holds, he is a sentient being capable of making his own decisions. And he has decided to remain with us."

"He is a child with no idea of what he is doing!" Kindel snapped back. "A zo'rhan child is not even remotely ready to make decisions for himself until at least the age of ninety, and humanity is a race far inferior to—"

Damien raised his voice to drown out Kindel's. "Your comparison holds no water. Humans and zo'rhan differ in too many ways to be expected to grow and mature the same way."

A moment of silence passed, no doubt as Kindel tried to regain his outwardly peaceful facade. "In the end, it makes little difference," he muttered. "We will be within firing range in mere moments. Either I will have my hands on that boy, or no one will. The choice, my dear brother, is yours."

The stiff click from the speaker indicated that the communication had been severed. Damien ground his teeth as he turned back toward the viewport to the two starcruisers blocking the way forward. "Helmsman Tradek, throttle the forward stabilizers to full and prepare to engage main engines on my mark. Get us over these bloody cruisers."

"Aye," Tradek responded, his fingers zipping across the control panel. "Forward stabilizers to full."

Through the viewport, Damien watched impatiently as the nose of the _Refuge_ began to rise, angling the starship's trajectory above the Vezulian ships. The enemy cruisers remained stationary for several moments before powering their own stabilizers in an attempt to block the path once again. Damien opened his mouth to order the engines to full when Harold whirled around from his position at the sensor array.

"Sir, the _Black Eagle_ is within firing range, but it isn't slowing down! Their current flight path will take them right over our heads!"

"They're going to try to block us," Tradek acknowledged with a frustrated groan. "Awaiting your orders, Sir!"

Damien unconsciously balled his fists. "Main engines to full, Jindar!"

Tradek nodded and pushed the main throttle to maximum. The stars stretched briefly as the ship leapt forward, but the proximity alarm flashed beneath a small red light on the sensor array, and the _Refuge_ came to an instantaneous halt. Lieutenant Meni tapped away at his control panel frantically. "Too late," he grumbled.

Damien, along with the rest of the crew, was already looking up. The shining black hull of the _Black Eagle_ sat dangerously close to the _Refuge_ , blocking the path above the two starcruisers. "Full power to rear stabilizers!" he ordered. "Go underneath!"

"It's too late, Sir," Lieutenant Meni reported. "The _Falcon Mist_ is moving in below us, and I'm tracking an assortment of astrotroopers launching from the hangar of the _Black Eagle_."

_Astrotroopers,_ Damien thought as he rolled his eyes. _Just want I need._ The elite soldiers of the Armada had been trained in interstellar combat using little more than protective spacesuits with miniature propulsion units built into their boots. Practically useless in a starfighter battle, their primary function was to board enemy starships and assume control. They used whatever means necessary to gain access, from entering through waste disposal ducts to cutting holes in the hull. Perhaps the vault had been the best idea after all.

Lifting his communicator, he activated the craft's intercom. "Attention all soldiers. We have astrotroopers incoming. I want all hull turrets manned and every disposal duct and ventilation shaft on this ship guarded. Starfighters are not to launch until I see enemy fighters in the air. Kitreena, please see that our guest is secured in his assigned location. When that is finished, return to the bridge. We will—"

The air began to ripple several feet in front of Damien, and a white light grew from its center. A blinding flash forced him to cover his eyes momentarily, and when he looked up, Kindel Thorus and his two bodyguards stood before the bridge.

"Greetings, Aldoric," Kindel said with a bow. "I've come to discuss the terms of your surrender."

*******

"Three, two, one, now."

Simultaneously, Kitreena and Naelas turned the tan keys in the control panels on either side of the vault's large hatch. Two red lights illuminated above, signaling that the room was secure. Kitreena removed the key from her console and slipped it into her pouch. It pained her to leave Arus in there, especially with the fighting spirit he possessed. And the thought that she might never see him again terrified her. _No, I can't let that happen. Thorus will_ not _win! He can't._ She ground her teeth and forced herself to turn away from the door. Naelas was there, trying not to let her see his sullen expression. He slipped the second key into his own pocket as Damien's voice blared over the intercom.

"Attention all soldiers. We have astrotroopers incoming. I want all hull turrets manned and every disposal duct and ventilation shaft on this ship guarded. Starfighters are not to launch until I see enemy fighters in the air. Kitreena, please see that our guest is secured in his assigned location. When that is finished, return to the bridge. We will—" The communication ended abruptly.

Now Naelas looked at her. "Better get moving. I've got to get our troops in position."

Kitreena nodded and patted the key in her pouch. "Keep it safe," she told him. "Whatever the cost."

He gave a quick salute before hurrying down the hall. Kitreena raced off in the opposite direction, snatching her communicator from her belt as she ran. "Damien, this is Kitreena, come in." No response. It was possible that the Armada was trying to interfere with their communications systems or that something more important had come up on the bridge. "I'm on my way," she said into the device before returning it to her belt. Thoughts and concerns filled her head until she thought it might explode. There was no need to go over the dangers of failure; the stakes were quite clear. Damien's safety weighed on her heart in spite of his capabilities. The zo'rhan were born to fight; they were bred to be noble warriors of honor and valor— _most_ of them, anyway—and Damien had proven himself in that regard time and time again. It wasn't his skill or strength that made Kitreena worry. It was the underhanded tactics of his opponent that kept her stomach churning. _Hang in there, Damien. I'm running as fast as I can!_

The chilling rumble of an explosion in the aft section of the _Refuge_ brought her feet to a momentary stop. Multiple aerial battles and countless hours logged in the simulator had taught her to discern between the different sounds of interstellar warfare. _That was a missile._

As if to confirm her thoughts, the intercom came to life with Naelas' voice. "Enemy ships approaching! Launch all fighters! I repeat; Vezulian Armada starfighters and transports have been sighted! Launch all starfighters!"

The attack had begun. There was little time to spare. With clenched fists, she made for the bridge as fast as she could, weaving her way through the halls without looking back. _Arus will be safe in the vault_ , she kept telling herself. Armored soldiers and assorted ship personnel saluted as she passed, but she paid them no mind. The lift was just down the next corridor, and the longer the radio silence from Damien continued, the more her heart welled up with fear.

Fear that was quickly compounded when she rounded the corner.

At the end of the hall, just past the lift doors, a viewport gave a clear view of an assault transport hovering beside the _Refuge_. An astrotrooper floated between them, aiming a large laser rifle at the glass. Before Kitreena could even shift her feet, a powerful blast of green energy exploded through the window, allowing the vacuum of space to penetrate the hall. A furious wind began violently drawing the air from the deck through the shattered viewport, and Kitreena's body was lifted from the floor and hurtled toward the abyss of space. She flailed in a panic, desperately clawing for anything to keep from being sucked away. Somehow, her fingers found the edge of the lift doorway, and she held on with all of her might. The air was thinning rapidly, and her lungs felt as though they might collapse upon themselves. _Just a few more moments . . . Come on! Just a few more—_

A sharp whine signaled the activation of the emergency security shield. A solid wall of titanium dropped down from above the viewport, sealing the vacuum and allowing the deck to pressurize once again. Air came into Kitreena's lungs slowly, and she gulped down every breath she could get. When she opened her eyes, she found herself kneeling on the glass covered floor and clutching her chest. The world went in and out of focus repeatedly in a dizzying whirl of colors and shapes as the oxygen began pumping through her veins once again. When her senses had settled, she rose to her feet.

"Freeze," an electronically masked voice ordered. To her left, the astrotrooper aimed his rifle directly at her head. He stood at least a foot taller than she, clad in a heavy-looking uniform of thick silvery material with rings at his wrists and ankles into which his gloves and boots were fastened to create an airtight seal. None of his features were visible through his black visor. Two tubes ran from either side of his helmet to a pair of flat oxygen tanks strapped to his back, and an occasional hiss of air was expelled from a valve on top. He motioned with his weapon as he spoke. "Hands on your head!"

It was a fine time to find herself alone in the hall for the first time considering how many soldiers had been bustling about moments ago. She took her time responding to his demand, eyes darting about in search of some way out. The most dangerous option seemed to be the only one available, and desperation got the better of her. Raising her hands as if to comply with his orders, she grabbed the barrel of his rifle and directed it away from her head, spinning as she did so in order to swing her foot up into the soldier's gut. His armor must've absorbed the majority of the blow, because he simply took one massive hand away from the rifle and punched her in the face as hard as he could. She hit the ground like a pile of rocks, one hand fumbling at her belt for her whip while the other wiped fresh blood from her mouth. In the corner of her eye, she saw the barrel of the rifle come back down, and she kicked the weapon away just as the soldier pulled the trigger, sending a bright green burst of energy into the wall beside the lift. With her weapon in hand, she flicked her whip toward his wrist, and the sharp snap forced him to drop the rifle. A second snap against his head had no effect— _That helmet must be stronger than I thought!—_ and that prompted her to push herself up in a desperate lunge toward her attacker. Their bodies collided into the far wall with a loud clang the tanks on his back. More explosions sounded in the distant corridors.

"You're a feisty one," the soldier laughed between grunts. "You don't honestly think you can best me in a hand-to-hand fight, do you?"

Truthfully, brute strength was not one of Kitreena's strong points. She knew that if she could get some distance between herself and the soldier, she'd be able to use her whip much more effectively, but it was clear that he had no intentions of giving her any room. Instead, she struggled vainly against the large man, desperately hoping for the appearance of some friendly faces in the corridor. A violent shove from the soldier knocked her onto her backside, but she rose just as quickly as she'd fallen. The trooper's body spun in a blur, and his heavy boot connected with her chin, knocking her against the wall in a daze. He gave no room for retaliation, following the kick with a solid fist to her middle. Clutching her stomach, Kitreena slumped to her knees amid gasps for air. He stood over her, fists poised to strike, but a sudden voice from the communicator on his wrist stopped him in his tracks. "Ronah, are you there? Have you determined if the intelligence report was accurate?"

He snorted and punched Kitreena in the cheek as hard as he could. She felt as though she were adrift on a boat amidst of a raging storm with the way her head was spinning. Struggling to steady her senses, she squeezed her eyes closed and opened them again in hopes that the floor would settle. Vaguely, the soldier's words drifted through her ears. "Stand by, I'm checking." Before she could react, he tore the leather pouch from her belt.

"No!" she groaned, pushing herself to one knee. Her whip lay uncoiled beside her, and she grabbed the leather handle as she stood. Wooziness began to fade as she forced her body to cooperate. The astrotrooper was already several paces away, carrying his rifle in the crook of his elbow while he rummaged through her pouch. As he rounded the corner, she heard him speak again. "It's here. I've got it. Heading to the rendezvous point."

"Get back here!" Kitreena shouted angrily. She dashed after him as fast as she could, the floor seeming more solid with every step, but to her surprise, the soldier had vanished by the time she turned the corner, and he'd taken the key to the vault with him. She cursed herself loudly for having let him go, though she knew he wouldn't be able to get to Arus without Commander Naelas' key as well. The brute couldn't have gotten far in the brief amount of time that he'd been out of her sight, but a number of the connecting rooms had secondary exits leading to other rooms and corridors, and a quick peek through the first several doors revealed nothing out of the ordinary. She found an empty office here, a storage closet there, but nothing that suggested the trooper had escaped through either. Her heightened sense of hearing was little help; everything blended together with the distant sounds of laser fire and missile detonations. Instinctively, she lifted the communicator to her mouth to report the soldier, but Damien's warning had stated that there were multiple astrotroopers attempting to board the _Refuge_. Given that the Aeden soldiers were ordered to either kill or capture any Vezulian intruders they might encounter, announcing that one had stolen the key to the vault would do nothing but panic the crew.

With a growl of frustration, she wiped the blood from her nose and lips and headed for the lift. Failure was not something she was accustomed to, and knowing that her failure in this instance jeopardized Arus' safety made her feel that much worse. Her only solace came in knowing that Naelas would be safely guarded amongst his colonels in the battle command center several decks below. Coiling her whip, she pressed the call button on the panel beside the lift doors. "Where are those bloody Morpher powers when I need them?"

Chapter 2-8

A slight rumble from somewhere within the ship echoed in the otherwise silent security vault. To say that Arus felt foolish sitting in the center of the room with multiple rings of armed soldiers surrounding him and an assortment of magic-wielding guards lining the walls would be a drastic understatement. He wasn't an incapable child, yet it felt as though he'd been told that his skills weren't required and that he was to lounge in a secluded hideaway somewhere while everyone else fought for his freedom. Why should they have to suffer the burden of protecting him? He was responsible. He could take care of himself. _No one should have to die for me. No one._ In truth, that very thought was the main reason he was so upset over being locked away. It wasn't that he questioned Damien's judgment; he knew what was at stake. But, simply put, Arus didn't want anyone to lose their lives trying to watch over him. And while he knew very well that there was a chance he'd be captured again if he were to face the invading forces, he hated the thought of simply sitting back and waiting while good soldiers like Rollock and Timen were out there fighting his battle. It made him feel like a coward.

Still, in his heart, he knew Kitreena and Damien were both right. If Truce or Thorus got their hands on him and somehow managed to regain control of the implant despite Doc Nori's assurances that the mind-altering components had been removed, the consequences for the universe could be deadly.

The vault housed mostly spare weapons and munitions. Wide crates of pistols and rifles lined the floor in rows, occasionally separated by larger containers painted in black and marked as "volatile materials." It truly was nothing more than a huge box of a room, its silver floor and ceiling as smooth and undecorated as its walls. Some of the crates had been shifted to the rear to make space for Arus and the troops surrounding him, but their presence still made for a cluttered feel. The air was thick and stale, and there were no ventilation shafts. _How long will we be able to breathe in here, anyway?_

Another explosion erupted in the distance, sending heavy vibrations through the floor. Arus bit his lower lip and sighed heavily, staring down at his boots as he tried to calm his nerves. People were dying. People were dying, and he was just sitting around biting his nails while his stomach turned itself inside out. He tried to force down the instinct to swear revenge for every soul that died, but it was much easier said than done. _I cannot submit to that way of thinking again,_ he told himself. _I can't! I won't! Vengeance got me into this mess. I can't forget that!_

Apparently, his apprehensions had not gone unnoticed. "Calm yourself," Doman's deep voice said as his heavy hand fell on his shoulder. "You will be safe here." He had been assigned to lead the squad of troops protecting Arus along with Samas and Orchi. The two girls stood at either side of the large entrance hatch where two sets of steel beams barred them securely inside. Their half-circle weapons were drawn and raised as though ready to strike, unblinking eyes fixed on the hatch itself. They had remained there, as solid and unwavering as stone, since Kitreena left. Doman claimed that they could stand in that position for days without moving a muscle. Extraordinary warriors, those two.

"I'm not worried about myself," Arus told him. "I'm concerned for the people out there who are fighting to protect me."

Doman drew one of the knives from his shoulder harness and examined the blade. "They do their job willingly," he said, running a finger across the edge of the weapon. "No one is forced to join the Aeden Alliance."

Arus nodded slowly, staring at the floor. "I know. But I can't help but feel responsible for what they're going through right now."

Doman twirled the knife between his fingers almost absentmindedly as he spoke. "You did not ask to be placed in the situation you're in. Sometimes we find the circumstances of life to be a bit more than we can handle on our own. The Maker has a way of providing for His children through even the roughest of times, much as He has done for you."

"I guess," he said with a shrug. The Maker. A fat lot of help _He'd_ been lately. Arus had never really decided whether or not he believed in the Maker. Other than enjoying the story of _The Blade of Kaleo_ , he'd never really given it that much thought. But he didn't want to insult Doman's faith. "I just want to do the right thing, and I'm torn. Either I risk myself to help the others, or I risk the others to protect myself. The latter just seems so selfish, yet that's exactly what I'm doing."

"You are focused too much on the here-and-now rather than the overall situation," Doman said with an understanding grin. "If the implant were to fall into Kindel Thorus' hands, he could learn to manipulate it and control it, and very likely, reproduce it! I know you don't have much experience with Kindel or the Armada, but if he were to develop an army of young men such as yourself, each equipped with an implant like yours, he could devastate and conquer as many planets as he wished. And I have no doubt that he would."

"Damien doesn't seem to think that Kindel is a bad man," Arus responded, remembering his conversation with Damien on the Observation Deck. "Just misguided."

Doman chuckled softly at that. "Damien's perception of Kindel is a bit unique. He truly believes that Kindel can one day be shown the error of his ways. Trouble is, Kindel has been rampaging across the universe for hundreds of years now. It's unlikely he'll see the light any time soon."

Arus' human eye bulged. " _Hundreds_ of years?"

Now Doman laughed openly, nearly dropping his knife on his own foot in the process. "Didn't Damien tell you? The average zo'rhan lives to be nearly a thousand years old! Damien himself is closing in on eight-hundred, and Kindel is thought to be around six hundred and eighty."

"Wow," Arus murmured in disbelief. "I had no idea. The surprises never stop coming around here, do they?"

"When you've traveled across the galaxy as many times as I have, _nothing_ surprises you. I haven't been—"

"Someone comes," Samas said suddenly. She spoke as though she was announcing the arrival of honored guests, yet she and Orchi visibly tightened their holds on their weapons.

The knife in Doman's hand stopped in a white-knuckled grip instantly, his face becoming serious as stone. The rest of the soldiers stiffened as well, some hefting their pistols and rifles nervously. Arus instinctively reached for his sword, though he knew he would likely be shuffled to the back of the room in the event of a struggle. "How does she know that?" he asked.

"They can sense nearby life forms," Doman responded, his attention focused on the girls. "How many, Samas?"

"Difficult to say," she told him.

"More than twenty," Orchi added. "Perhaps double."

A thought ran through Arus' head, one he almost dismissed immediately, but his desperate desire to be of some use forced him to give the idea some thought. Every shred of humanity within told him that using the implant in any way other than what was absolutely necessary would be akin to submitting to Truce's will once again. Other soldiers survived by their own wits and skill, and he didn't want to rely on anything other than his own devices. Yet he considered his sword, an object he had not been born with, a tool he had trained to use to serve the good of the people, to be one of those devices. That blade, the same weapon that he'd used to murder Master Eaisan, had been used to defeat Aratus Truce years ago. It was a tool that could be used for either good or evil. In the hands of a murderer, a knife was a weapon. In the hands of a surgeon, it was a lifesaving tool.

Why, then, should the implant be any different?

"I will not use it for evil," he said aloud, drawing confused looks from Doman and the others. Closing his eye, he concentrated on the device. He didn't understand how it worked, but it took only a simple thought to activate the implant's scanning systems. The maroon tint that suddenly flooded his vision brought back terrible feelings and memories of his experience under Truce's command. _I am free now,_ he reminded himself. _I am free. He isn't controlling me anymore._ Again, unaware of exactly how he did it, he initiated a scan of the vault and its surrounding corridors. A three-dimensional diagram of the area appeared in his vision, complete with numerous white blips indicating nearby life forms. Without having to count, he heard himself reporting that there were thirty-five men outside the door. _I_ am _in control, right?_ A quick scan of several of those life forms brought up a diagnostic display of size, weight, body mass, strengths, weaknesses, and weaponry for each. Finally, he shut the implant's sensors down, ridding his vision of the crimson film with a sigh of relief.

When he looked up, nearly everyone was staring at him.

"What?" he shrugged. "What's wrong?"

"How can you possibly know all that?" Doman asked in astonishment.

He suddenly realized that he'd not only told them how many soldiers were outside the room, but every other detail about the individual scans he'd conducted. Everything from sword length and rifle intensity to the physical strengths and weaknesses of at least five different soldiers, if not more. Not knowing what to say, he held up his hands and shrugged again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to alarm anyone. I just wanted to know what we were up against. I wanted to help us defend—"

Doman was shaking his head alongside a few others. "Don't apologize," he said. "I just had no idea you had such abilities."

"I don't like to use them," he admitted. "I'm not proud of what this thing can do."

"Such talents should not be left to collect dust. You spoke of wanting to help; these skills bring something to the battlefield that no soldier can duplicate."

"They come!" Samas shouted.

The sounds of weapons being cocked mingled with scraping of swords against their scabbards as the thick bars across the hatch slid away with a mechanical hum. Doman pushed his way toward the front of the room while the rest of the soldiers converged to form a protective barrier ahead of Arus. A tall thanai female named Sollete looked back at him. "Go," she ordered, "hide behind one of the crates in the back!"

Arus frowned. "Don't expect me to stay there if things get rough," he called as he scurried between the rows of containers. "I'm not about to watch everyone die protecting me just to get captured anyway."

The troops that appeared when the hatch finally swept open were quickly swallowed by a sea of brown. Aeden soldiers rushed forward as soon as there was room enough to fit through. The clashing of steel against steel was occasionally swallowed by intermittent laser fire and magical blasts, each of which made Arus cringe. He peeked around the corner of the crate to watch, unconsciously easing his sword from its sheath with his left hand. _At what point do I intervene?_ The laser fire intensified as the Aeden men pushed the attacking soldiers back into the hall, allowing more room for each side to maneuver. It wasn't long at all before Arus found himself alone in the vault watching a volley of laser blasts through the open hatch. _How did they get the keys? Kitreena said she'd make sure . . ._ The thought was replaced by an entirely new fear. It was unlikely that she'd be listening for his thoughts at the moment, but he tried anyway. _Kitreena! Can you hear me? Did they hurt you? Please answer if you're there!_

No response came as he crept forward, careful to remain hidden behind a crate or storage container as he moved. Once he neared the hatch, he could see a tan colored key protruding from a control panel just outside. _Kitreena? Are you there?_ Both brown and grey uniformed bodies littered the floor on the other side of the opening. The sight tore at his heart regardless of their allegiance. Beyond them, a pair of enormous balls of fire sailed past, followed by two blinding streaks of lightning from the opposite direction. That brought the gunfire to a halt for a brief moment, but when it resumed it was louder than ever. Reactivating his scanners, Arus performed a quick sweep of the area. Many had indeed died, though the readout showed a large number of life forms moving down the hall in either direction, suggesting that the battle had split in two. And more were arriving on both sides. He shut down the scanners and sat back against the wall beside the hatch. _Now what? I'm certainly not safe here, but where should I go?_

A woman's scream from the hall drew his attention. In the center of the intersection, a human female in an Aeden uniform collapsed to her knees as her rifle clattered to the floor beside her. Dangling brown locks of hair swayed over wide eyes, and her face was a sickly shade of white. Thick streams of smoke rose from the burning laser wound in her stomach where fresh blood oozed through her burnt uniform and smoldering flesh. A Vezulian soldier raced over and yanked her to her feet with an arm around her neck, using her body as a shield against enemy fire while he aimed his own pistol over her shoulder. The Aeden blasts died down while the Vezulian soldiers' intensified further, emboldened by the Alliance's unwillingness to fire at their own comrade. Arus could only assume that their reluctance to shoot around her stemmed from the fear that the Vezulian trooper would move her into the path of their lasers. In the end, it mattered little.

There was no thought. No hesitation. No fear. Arus leapt to his feet and drew his sword, activating all available functions of the implant as he rose. The pinpoint accuracy and precision he once had came flooding back to him as the scanning and sensor systems came online, and he lunged into the hall without looking back. A blinding beam of crimson burst forth from his cybernetic eye, searing through the Vezulian captor's skull in less than a second. His body fell to the ground with the Aeden woman, a gaping tunnel burned straight through his head. Troops from both sides gasped as Arus stepped into the hall to meet the Vezulian laser fire. Machine and body working as one, there was no need to even look at his sensor readout to know where each blast was aimed. Every shot met his whirling blade with a ringing clash of sparks as he swung it in dramatic flourishes around his body. He was in control of his functions and yet not. Aware of his actions though just as surprised as his assailants. To him, deflecting those laser blasts was as simple as walking; once you knew how to do it, you barely gave the process any thought. Still, he was not invincible, and very well aware of that fact. He filled his lungs to capacity and shouted as loudly as he could. "Unless you want to end up like your friend behind me, I suggest you cease fire!"

To his surprise, much of the Vezulian fire came to an abrupt end. Those that didn't stop right away quickly followed the lead of their fellow soldiers. Many wore their fear openly on their faces, though some seemed to be more furious than anything else. Quivering hands on their weapons betrayed their fright, and rightfully so. The implant's sensors noted the approach of the Aeden soldiers behind him, and he raised his mechanical arm with a sideways glance to order a halt. Most stopped, though one rushed forward to check the status of the fallen female. He was too late, Arus knew. Her signal had long since vanished from his radar. "Listen to me very carefully," he shouted with a commanding voice that would've made Master Eaisan proud. "Anyone who surrenders their arms and cooperates with the Aeden Alliance from this moment forward will not be harmed. I urge you to take this opportunity to spare your own lives and renounce your loyalty to the Vezulian Armada."

Doman's voice was suddenly at his ear. "What are you doing?" he nearly hissed.

Arus didn't look back. "I'm giving them the chance they never gave us. Everyone should have the chance to change regardless of what they've done."

"But these people believe that their ways are right and just! You cannot think that they'll simply abandon their beliefs to—"

"I cannot assume that they won't without giving them the chance."

One of the Vezulian men, careful not to lift his weapon as he took a step forward, frowned at them. "The Aeden Alliance prides itself in its cowardice and its refusal to make the sacrifices necessary to ensure the safety and security of the universe. We will never align ourselves with such a faction!"

Arus grit his teeth in a struggled effort to keep his outward appearance from showing the fire that raged inside. He took a step to the side and turned halfway toward the fallen woman, now cradled in the arms of another Aeden soldier. "Was _her_ safety and security ensured?" he asked, pointing his sword at her. His upper lip twitched in anger. "How about him?" he continued, directing the blade toward the Vezulian corpse beside her. He continued pointing out each and every man and woman that had died during the fighting, his voice growing louder with each one. "What about her? And him? How about that one? Did your values of peace ensure their safety? Did it? Come on, someone answer me! You initiated this battle, not us. So tell us, what makes you think your violent and heartless ways are going to bring about peace?" He swept his sword toward the surviving Aeden soldiers. "Tell us all! We're anxious to hear it!"

"The sacrifices made here today are necessary so that the greater good might one day prevail!" one of the Vezulian soldiers shouted.

"How?" Arus demanded. "How do the deaths of these people serve some sort of greater purpose? How did their lives impede the safety of the universe?"

"You are too young to understand," someone else muttered. "The Admiral will set you on the right path."

With Arus' anger came a boldness that surprised even himself. "Oh he will, will he?" he asked, motioning toward the nearest soldier. "Do you have a communicator?"

The trooper, a thanai male, reluctantly produced a small silver device. "Wh-Why do you—"

Arus ignored the question and yanked it away with his free hand. With Doman and the other Aeden soldiers looking on in horror, he lifted it too his mouth and pressed the button on the side. "This is Arus Sheeth speaking. I wish to speak with The Admiral in charge of the Vezulian operation onboard the _Refuge._ "

Doman gaped openly at him now. "You're mad, boy. You're absolutely mad."

The comm remained silent, which only served to heat Arus' blood further. "I have twenty-four of your soldiers down here who want to know why you've left them to die at my hands!" He had never heard such anger in his own voice before, but his sudden forcefulness _had_ managed to keep anyone else from dying thus far. "Now if I don't hear from the admiral, I'm going to start—"

"Kill them." The calm voice from the communicator startled him. He stared at the device for a minute before replying.

"What?" he asked, shaking his head.

"Kill them. They have quite obviously failed in their mission, and your possession of their communication devices means that they allowed Vezulian equipment to fall into enemy hands. Their failure has made them more of a threat to me than anything else, and thus they must be disposed of. So, if you'd like to, then by all means. It would save me the job of having to do it later."

Arus shot a look at the Vezulian soldiers. "How do you feel about being the next sacrifices on this ridiculous quest for peace that you claim to pursue?" he sneered, holding up the communication device. "Your glorious Admiral has just sentenced you to death."

"That wasn't the admiral," a plump man in grey said. "That was the battle commander, Commander Arctis."

"And does _he_ have the power to decide your fate as he has stated?"

None of them seemed to want to meet his stare. Most looked at the floor or each other, but the dejected expressions on their face answered Arus' question. Their lives were going to be ended by the very people they claimed to serve.

The long-legged man stepped forward and placed his gun at his feet. "I surrender myself to the Aeden Alliance, and I accept whatever fate—" A bloody blade suddenly burst through his chest, turning his sentence into nothing more than a strangled grunt. Arus blinked in surprise, and the blade vanished just as quickly as it had appeared, leaving the soldier to slump to the floor in a lifeless heap. Another man abruptly gasped and fell, his throat sliced wide open. More began to go down, each mortally wounded in one way or another. Through his scanners, Arus could clearly see a single life form darting amongst the Vezulian soldiers, but shock and confusion held him still. Had an assassin been sent by their battle commander to see that his orders were carried out? No, there hadn't been enough time. It all happened so fast that the few seconds it took for Arus to shake off the surprise and step forward to intervene were a few too many. The final two bodies dropped, revealing a face that nearly caused Arus' jaw to crash to the floor.

"Vultrel?" he asked in an incredulous fury. "How? How did you get here? Where did you come from?"

"Checkmate." Clad in his usual black, he wiped his sword on one of the Vezulian uniforms before returning it to the scabbard on his back. "There's no time for that now," he said in a melancholy voice. He seemed to share the others' reluctance to make eye contact, and his face was alarmingly pale and dripping with sweat. "You're in danger here."

Turning his attention to the pile of slain soldiers, Arus ground his teeth again. "Why? Why did you kill those soldiers? I was trying to help them—"

"They were a threat," Vultrel responded, stepping over each casually as though they were fallen trees or dead bushes. "They were not about to cower to your demands. Come, we must get out of this area right away."

Arus tucked the Vezulian communicator into his pouch and sheathed his weapon. "You don't know that!" he insisted, deactivating the additional systems of the implant. "One of them was about to accept our offer of asylum! You cannot assume that people—"

"Look, can we discuss this later?" Vultrel snapped. "This area is not safe."

Finally, Arus forced himself to let the subject go. For the time being, anyway. "Where are we going?"

"I have orders to take you somewhere safe," he told him. His dark eyes shifted toward the Aeden soldiers as he added, "Alone."

If he had orders, then that meant . . . "Damien knows you're here?" That seemed unlikely, yet if Vultrel had been given orders regarding his safety, then it must've be true.

For some reason, Vultrel eyed him for a moment before saying, "Yes. Now let's get moving. We can talk later. The rest of these soldiers can head to the hangar. That seems to be where the bulk of the fighting is taking place."

Arus nodded and turned to Doman. "You heard him. I've got orders from Damien to go with Vultrel while the rest of you head to the hangar to help fend off the invading forces."

"We'll take care of it," Doman assured him, shaking his hand. "Go. Get yourself to safety."

Vultrel motioned toward the end of the hall. "This way."

Reluctantly, Arus followed him down the corridor and around the corner. Once they were out of sight, Vultrel set off at a dead run. Arus' questions about his appearance and how he'd gotten back to the _Refuge_ were mostly shrugged off as Vultrel continued to insist that there was no time to explain everything. He wouldn't even say where they were going, claiming that there were too many people listening. What that meant, Arus couldn't fathom. And Vultrel wasn't interested in clarifying. He looked different than when they'd last seen each other, beyond the ghostly look to his face. There was a new definition and tone to his bare arms that suggested he'd been training extensively, and his clothes were torn and tattered in many places. Beyond his appearance, there was an animosity about him that was much more amplified than it had been when he'd departed from the _Refuge_. All of it came together to form a very unsteady feeling in the pit of Arus' stomach. What could've happened that would've affected his best friend so? How had he gotten back to the _Refuge_? Why didn't Damien mention anything about him?

At the lift, Vultrel hustled him inside and hit the button for the bridge. The long ride was silent; any questions were waved away or shrugged off with a simple, "Not now." Vultrel's constant refusal to enlighten Arus on _anything_ irritated him to no end, which he made clear when his mechanical fist slammed into the wall in anger.

"By the Maker, we're at war here!" he shouted. "Can't you tell me anything at all?"

Vultrel only leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, refusing to make eye contact. "You'll know everything you need to know soon enough," he said. "And I have a feeling that when you learn what has transpired, you'll wish you'd come home with me rather than remaining here with these . . . people." That last word had been changed, Arus was sure. It almost seemed as though it had been wrenched from Vultrel's lips.

All questions vanished from Arus' mind as the lift doors slid apart, revealing a scene that put the fluttering of a hundred wild butterflies in his stomach. In the center of the bridge, Damien was matching another zo'rhan warrior blow for blow in a battle unlike anything Arus had ever seen. Each attack was delivered with what looked like a killing force, yet both men somehow managed to remain standing. The second fighter, nearly identical to Damien in every way with the exception of a slimmer build and eyes that radiated with a pure blue light, fought with unimaginable speed and agility; it almost seemed as though he could predict Damien's attacks three and four moves ahead. But Damien somehow managed to keep up, his fists connecting more often than not, bringing streams of blood from his opponent's nose and lips. He was not without his own injuries, however, as a thick smear of blood marred the side of his face near his left ear, and another stream trickled from the corner of his eye. Arus didn't need an introduction to identify the intruder. Kindel Thorus had made his presence known.

Outside, ships of every size and shape twisted about, firing lasers and missiles at one another amidst the occasional explosion of fire and twisted metal. The starcruisers fired a steady stream of red lasers from a seemingly endless array of turrets lining their hulls, and assault transports launched missiles fiery green missiles at the larger starships. The _Refuge_ was repeatedly rocked by various attacks, and garbled damage reports came from the now vacant communications terminal. People were dying left and right, and the bridge of the _Refuge_ served as the center of the struggle.

The rest of the flight crew was no where to be seen. Perhaps Damien had sent them to find refuge elsewhere. To the right, two men uniformed in white and black held Kitreena captive near the side of the room. Dried blood crusted on her upper lip while fresh crimson shimmered on her chin and dripped onto a growing stain on her shirt. She watched the battle in an unfocused daze, and her arms looked limp in the grasp of her captors. They glanced at him as he entered alongside Vultrel, and despite the scarves that concealed their faces, Arus would've bet any amount of silver that they were smiling. Or grinning, at least.

Before even acknowledging the presence of Kindel, Arus yanked his sword from its sheath and dashed toward Kitreena's captors. "Let her go!" he screamed, leaping into the air. Like flying face-first into an iron wall, an invisible force smacked him out of the air and sent him sprawling on his back by the lift.

"Arus!" Damien's voice cried out. "Get out of here!"

Shaking his head in a vain attempt to shed the pain, he pushed himself upright and rubbed his forehead. _What? I thought Vultrel said he had summoned me here._

"You've done well, Vultrel," another voice said. It came from the center of the bridge. "Has he conceded your point of view?"

"I haven't had a chance to speak with him at length," Vultrel's response came. He, too, headed for the middle of the room. "If I had, he most certainly wouldn't have come."

Damien chimed in, both angry and appalled. "Vultrel! You've sided with _him_? How could you turn your back on—"

"Enough, Aldoric," Kindel cut him off. "Do not try to undo what has been done. Vultrel and I have discussed everything at length, and frankly, he agrees that you are unfit to care for the child."

Arus couldn't believe what he was hearing. Vultrel and Kindel were _allies_? The mere thought was more than he could stomach. His best friend, his partner, a young man he'd once called his brother, had betrayed him to an enemy who sought to control the universe through power and intimidation. It had been no secret that Vultrel had looked after Arus as they grew, being the better swordsman and all, but now he'd gone beyond simple brotherly protection. He had handed Arus over to a man who only wanted to harness the implant's power for his own personal gain.

At least, _tried_ to hand him over.

In an instant, every function of the implant was activated, and Arus leapt to his feet with an ear-shattering scream of anger and rage. His mechanical hand was clenched around the hilt of his sword, though he almost felt as though he might kill Kindel with his bare hands. "Get off this ship!" he growled, pointing above to the stars. "Get off this ship or I'll send you off in pieces!"

Damien and Kindel had parted, both staring at Arus intently. Damien's look of bewilderment was priceless; he had no way of knowing that the implant was fully functional and no doubt thought Arus was suicidal. Kindel, on the other hand, seemed to take the threat seriously. To a certain degree, anyway. He wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hand and whispered something to Vultrel, who stood beside him with arms crossed. To the right, Kitreena squirmed to free herself to no avail.

"Arus, a lot of people are after you," Vultrel finally said. "Dangerous people. They want to use you to further their own selfish desires. You hated being used, didn't you?"

"I am _not_ being used, Vultrel," he responded through a clenched jaw. "The only person in this room who wants to use me is _him_!" The point of his blade shifted toward Kindel, who shook his head with a sigh.

"I am not surprised that Aldoric has corrupted your mind, young one," Kindel said, an almost sincere sympathy lacing his voice. "He goes to great lengths to keep me from doing what is necessary to spread peace and harmony throughout the universe."

Arus swung his sword down emphatically as he stepped toward the Vezulian admiral. "I don't know who Aldoric is, but it doesn't matter. I'm not going with you, Thorus. You may as well leave now."

For a moment, Kindel's artificial smile turned to an open frown. A questioning eyebrow was directed toward Damien. "You haven't told him?" The smile was back before the words had completely exited his mouth. "I suppose that shouldn't surprise me either. Most people make great efforts hide their shame, especially those seeking to deceive others."

Looking at Damien, Arus spoke cautiously. "What is he talking about?"

Damien grimaced and shook his head before responding. "By birth, my name is Aldoric. Aldoric Thorus." He gave only a momentary pause for Arus to absorb the sentence before continuing. "While everything I've told you about Kindel was true, there are pieces of the story that I left out for personal reasons. Kindel is my brother, as much as it shames me to admit it. During the Ma'tuul's attack on our homeworld, his anger grew dangerously, and he became obsessed with his quest to see Zo'rhan safe once again. While his goals were just, the means that he intended to employ were not. Our father taught us honor, nobility, generosity, and love. We are a noble family . . . At least, we were long ago. Kindel disowned everything father taught him in pursuit of nothing but strength and power."

"Such traits may have sufficed amongst the zo'rhan, but against the Ma'tuul, they only served to send many of our people to their graves," Kindel interjected. "You speak as though I am some kind of criminal, when it was I who liberated Zo'rhan from the terror of the Ma'tuul in the end."

"That's debatable," Damien responded, clearing his throat. "At any rate, I couldn't allow Kindel to continue on the dark path he'd chosen. He would kill our own people just to prevent the Ma'tuul from getting to them. He—"

"I struck quickly and vanished so that when the Ma'tuul arrived, they would find nothing but corpses. The theory was that it would make them think that they'd killed us all and leave Zo'rhan," Kindel cut in. "Though the plan didn't work in the end, it had to be tried."

"It was heartless and ruthless," Damien growled back, "and it had to be stopped." Looking back at Arus, he spread his hands in resignation. "So I took matters into my own hands. Our people have a tradition known as the Je'tai, which translates roughly to 'Blood Duel.' In a blood duel, two zo'rhan fight hand to hand to the death. I made the challenge in haste as Kindel was preparing to leave the planet in search of advanced weaponry and technology that he could use against the Ma'tuul. I didn't want to kill him, and through the whole battle I kept trying to persuade him to reconsider his intentions. In the end, I was victorious, but I couldn't bring myself to kill my own brother. After how vocal I'd been about my feelings regarding his methods, it would've been hypocritical of me to murder him."

Kindel snorted with crossed arms. "Instead, you brought shame to both the Thorus family name and the honor of the Je'tai itself!"

Damien's eyes narrowed. "For someone who values strength over everything, I find it odd to hear concern from you regarding honor."

Kindel took a dangerous step toward him. "True honor comes in making the necessary sacrifices to ensure that the greater good prevails. That is why you hide behind that alias of yours. That is why you deny your true heritage. Because you think you can run from the burden of shame you must now carry for the rest of your life."

"I do not deny my shame," he replied, shaking his head. "And I see it every time I look in the mirror in the morning. But the reason I refuse to carry the Thorus name is the association it brings. I will not allow myself to be connected to you in any way, regardless of what dishonor it brings to me."

"Then, the zo'rhan race agrees with Kindel?" Arus asked. "Do they also value power over honor?"

"No, not at all. I tainted the Thorus name by refusing to complete the Je'tai, not because I disagree with Kindel. Though there are some who follow him, the zo'rhan race, for the most part, acknowledges his actions as unnecessarily violent and not in the true spirit of our people."

"They will see things differently once I have exterminated threats like the Aeden Alliance, the kyrosen, and any other factions that seek to disturb the peace. I will not stand by and let—"

"You have said yourself that the Aeden Alliance is weak," Damien interrupted, stepping to meet Kindel's angry stare. "If we are so weak than why do you view us as a threat?"

"In the wrong hands, weakness can be just as dangerous as strength."

"He's right, Arus," Vultrel said, stepping around sensor terminals. "The Aeden Alliance cannot offer you proper protection. There are a number of groups out there who could easily overpower the _Refuge_ and force you to follow their orders. Kindel won't allow that to happen to you."

But Arus could only shake his head in disdain. "I can't believe what you've become," he said, his voice nearly a whisper. "You were my brother, Vultrel. I used to think I could count on you for anything. But now, I don't even know you. Master Eaisan would be disgusted with what you've done."

Anger flashed in Vultrel's eyes, mixed with something that almost looked like hatred. "Our fathers were blinded by humanity's isolation from the rest of the universe. They knew nothing of what went on amongst the stars, and thus their ideals of honor and nobility worked for them. But things are more different out here than they could've possibly known. It takes more than a simple moral vision of right and wrong. It takes a willingness to do whatever is necessary to win. You have to have the _will_ to win, Arus, and I'll do _whatever_ it takes to see that what happened to my father never happens to anyone else again!"

It was like speaking to a complete stranger. How Vultrel could've ever allowed himself to submit to such ideology was baffling, but regardless of how hard it was to believe, there he was, standing against Arus alongside the very man who sought to control him. He and Arus had faced off in battle many times before, but it had always been in a friendly competition of skill. Now, however, Vultrel was ready to stand beside the enemy in a fight to the death. _So be it, Vultrel. If this is the path you've chosen, so be it. But I cannot follow you._

With a split-second motion that would've been missed by a blinking eye, Arus yanked his small hunting knife from its holster at his waist and sent it sailing toward the white-clad man that held Kitreena. Her captor was forced to take a hand away from her shoulder in order to catch the blade, but that gave Kitreena all she needed. She violently yanked an arm free and thrust her palm up into the face of the black-masked man, stunning him long enough to pull her other arm loose. Snatching her whip from the floor beside her, she leapt over the communications array and dashed to Arus' side. "Thank you," she said quickly, snapping her whip against the floor angrily. Damien joined them near the lift while Vultrel and the two masked fighters surrounded Kindel.

"You're not going anywhere," Thorus said with a laugh. A shimmering light outlined his body as he clasped his hands together against his chest.

Damien's eyes widened as he stepped in front of Arus. "No!" A blazing ball of fire burst from his palm and crashed into Kindel, knocking him back several paces. The flames incinerated his shirt and scorched the flesh underneath, but the pain never reached his eyes. "We have to attack! He's going to try to teleport Arus back to the _Black Eagle_! We can't allow him to complete the teleportation technique!"

"You're outnumbered," Kindel gloated, clasping his hands together again. "The deed will be done before you even manage to lay a finger on me."

A blip on Arus' sensors indicated a life sign rising through the lift shaft. A quick scan brought a smile to his lips. If his suspicions were correct . . . "Don't be so sure!" he said confidently. "The odds are about to even themselves out."

Before any of them could question him, the lift doors began to slide apart. A large man carrying an enormous sword ducked through the doorway, clad in blue pants and a matching vest. His muscular physique heaved as he hoisted the weapon over his shoulder, flicking long strands of blond hair from his face as he did. An emblem depicting a wild boar was fixed to his vest. "Kindel Thorus, I presume?" Muert growled, his voice like a rolling thunder. "I have business with you."

The sudden fear that Muert may not have come to help struck Arus like an arrow through the chest. His loyalty to his family had been made clear, and there had been no effort to hide his feelings about Kindel. Still, if Muert could somehow iron out a deal with the Armada to ensure the safety of his family . . .

"Either you return my family to me, or you will die here and now."

The smile returned to Arus' face in a flash. Whether or not Muert had decided to ally himself with the Alliance was irrelevant now. At least they had a common enemy. The rest could be sorted out once Kindel was dealt with.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Kindel said, eyeing Muert sideways. "I don't believe we've met bef—"

"You have the remains of the kyrosen race in your custody, yes?" Muert cut him off, ominously shifting the enormous sword on his shoulder.

The Vezulian Admiral looked as though he was about to laugh. "A kyrosen? I've long suspected that the Alliance was in league with your kind! Now I have all the confirmation I need! Not only will your family not be returned to you, but all the kyrosen be exterminated when I return to my ship!"

Muert set his jaw, and a brilliant sphere of electricity surrounded his body. "You fool!" he shouted, his voice resonating throughout the bridge. "Your selfish ambitions will be the end of you!" He dashed forward with the agility of a cat, speeding between Arus and Damien with his sword held high. The electrical streaks slithering around his body drew toward the blade, crackling and popping with each arc of light. Vultrel stepped in front of Kindel with his own sword drawn, and the two weapons clashed with a furious thunder that sent violent reverberations through the floor.

"You take Scimitar, and I'll take Kalibur," Kitreena whispered into Arus' ear.

"Right . . . Wait, which one is which?"

"Scimitar is wearing black," she told him, lunging toward the fighter in white. With careful snaps of her whip, she lured him to the right as Muert and Vultrel's battle shifted to the left. That left the man in black, apparently known as Scimitar, to guard Kindel alone. For whatever reason, Thorus did nothing. He simply stood back and watched, his eyes seeming to weigh and consider each fighter. _Why doesn't he send us to his ship if he has that power?_ It would've made sense, but Kindel instead watched quietly.

"Arus," Damien whispered in his ear, "you've got to get Scimitar away from Kindel so that I can attack."

With an acknowledging nod, Arus readied his sword and stepped toward the dark-clad fighter. Scimitar wielded two finely polished blades of his namesake, twisting them in a whirling flourish around his body as he prepared to meet his challenger. "I have stood against some of the most feared men in the universe, boy," he said in a raspy voice. "None have been able to best me, and I doubt that a human child will be able to achieve what they could not."

"Perhaps not," Arus admitted as his sensors displayed a diagnostic of Scimitar's strengths and weaknesses. He was nimble and quick, with strong legs and endless endurance, but whatever advantages he possessed in speed were lost in strength. Not a weak fighter by any stretch of the imagination, but his agility outclassed his power by far. "Then again, I'm told that there are no other fighters out there quite like myself. So prepare yourself, because you're about to be pushed like you've never been pushed before!"

Scimitar crossed his two weapons as Arus attacked, bringing his blade down hard on the intersection. The instant he did, Damien rushed past them and began his own assault on Kindel. Scimitar shot a quick glance at his master as he pushed the weapon away, but Arus gave no time for recovery, spinning and winding the sword around in a fluid sequence of attacks. Every strike was deflected with ease, bringing soft chuckles from Scimitar with every blow met and each thrust returned. Arus casually inched back as the fight raged, drawing Scimitar away from Kindel so that Damien had more room to maneuver. His sensors analyzed his opponent's movements and anticipated each attack with ninety-eight percent accuracy, but Scimitar's arms darted about with the speed and fluidity of a viper, swords coming within inches of flesh before being knocked away. If Arus' mechanical arm had possessed the ability to sweat, it would've been dripping. As it was, he could feel beads of perspiration soaking his forehead and causing his shirt to cling to his back. It took only a blink of his eye at an inopportune moment to gain a bloody gash on his knee, and the subsequent wince of pain rewarded him with another on his left side. _Even with the implant fully activated he's managing to remain one step ahead of me!_

When an awkward twist forced Scimitar to spin his body in a full circle, Arus brought his sword down with all of his might, not really caring where it landed so long as it connected with Scimitar's flesh. It did, slicing through the sleeve of his right arm and drawing a thick stream of crimson. He grunted angrily, dropping his sword and clutching the open wound. His black glove darkened further as it absorbed the blood, but seconds later he was back on the attack, pounding away at Arus' weapon with recharged fury. He showed no signs of slowing down—his endurance was indeed impressive—but Arus forced himself to remain optimistic. _I hope you're watching, Vultrel. Scimitar's defeat will only be the beginning of the downfall of the Vezulian Armada._

*******

The two stones clacked together in Kindel's pouch as he shuffled backward, preparing to repel the large kyrosen's attack. To his surprise, Vultrel stepped between them, his stony gaze meeting his attacker's without so much as a twitch. Their swords met with a loud pop of electricity, and the boy immediately began to draw the kyrosen into a duel to Kindel's right. Their fight had barely begun when Kitreena attacked, pulling Kalibur into a battle on his left side. That left only Scimitar to protect Kindel from Aldoric's onslaught. _I should've teleported the boy back to the ship when I had the chance,_ Kindel thought, cursing himself silently. _There's no way I can risk it now, not with two fights in progress so close to me. If any of them were to bump into me while performing the technique . . ._ He shuddered at the thought. Teleportation was risky in the first place. If someone where to be shoved into him during the process, the two could reappear as one mangled and mutated being somewhere. The threat of such a disaster was too great during a skirmish, but if he could bring a momentary halt to the fighting, it may be possible.

The boy called Arus was certainly an awkward sight to behold. The implant wasn't nearly as large or bulky as Truce's schematics had made it out to be, though Sartan had warned that the Alliance would probably try to modify it. Still, seeing child and machine coexisting in the same body was startling, to say the least. He seemed to move and act naturally—something Kindel had wondered about—and his words were clear and intelligent. There had been no indication of the alleged advantages Arus supposedly held over others in combat, but judging from the way the boy was staring down Scimitar, they were about to get a glimpse of what the device could really do.

As if answering to Kindel's unspoken request, Arus brought his sword down on Scimitar's weapons with impressive force. As soon as the clash rang out, Aldoric darted around Kindel's assistant and lunged forward with his fists clenched. Kindel sidestepped his brother and drove a stiff punch into his ribs, followed by another that Aldoric managed to knock away with his forearm. A powerful kick connected just above Kindel's hip, missing his belt pouch by a hair. _If you damage the Lephadorite or the amulet, Aldoric, I'll make your death more painful than you can possibly imagine._ They fought back and forth, twisting and flailing in the elegant style of the warrior race, each punch thirsty for blood, each kick intended to kill. Zo'rhan strength was something humans often underestimated; their primitive bones were like twigs to zo'rhan fighters.

A grunt of pain behind Aldoric attracted Kindel's attention, and he was rewarded with a punch to his jaw. Angrily, he directed an open palm toward his brother and unleashed a stream of magical fire into his chest. Aldoric was knocked onto his back with a dull thud, clutching at the smoldering wound. Kindel looked to the source of his distraction and froze. Scimitar, now holding only one of his swords, was clutching his free arm as a stream of blood trickled though a slash in his sleeve and soaked into his gloved fingers. _No one has ever injured either Scimitar or Kalibur!_ Arus' sword met Scimitar's remaining weapon with a smooth precision and strength that even the most skilled swordsmen trained for many years to obtain. Kindel had pushed both of his assistants far beyond their limits before they began to show such quickness and accuracy. Now, of course, they were two of the most experienced and deadly warriors in the universe, but it had taken many years to bring them to that point. To see such experience come from a child was unimaginable!

Aldoric had risen to his knees, his dark eyes narrow over bared teeth. "Nothing short of death will stop me, Kindel. I won't let you win!"

The crack of Kitreena's whip drew Thorus' gaze. Despite the fresh blood dripping from her nose and the streams of red that ran from her forearm and gathered at the tips of her fingers, the girl's weapon was lashing from side to side in a violent rage. But that wasn't what made Kindel gape openly. A purple light consumed her eyes, and smoke seemed to be rising from her body. _She's learned to Morph!_ Not only that, Kalibur was hunched over in pain, gripping his middle where Kitreena's whip had apparently connected. _Both of them? How could two children have broken through the defenses of my best soldiers? How can it be possible?_ Surprisingly, the only thing that seemed to be going in his favor was Vultrel's battle with the kyrosen. With movements faster than Kindel had ever seen from a boy of his age, Vultrel spun his sword in a blur much too quick for the bulky man to defend against. Bleeding gashes dotted his arms and legs, and while the kyrosen was panting heavily, Vultrel looked like he could continue fighting for days. _Who_ are _these kids?_

A series of explosions rumbled in the distance, followed by a crackling transmission from the communicator at Aldoric's belt. "Aeden reinforcements reporting for duty. Sorry for the delay, Damien. We got held back there longer than we'd anticipated."

Kindel craned his neck around as one of the two carriers blocking the _Refuge_ exploded in a massive ball of flame, sending a shower of debris clattering across the bridge's viewport. Two Aeden battleships emerged as the flames dissipated, accompanied by a sea of starfighters and assault transports. The force of the blast knocked everyone to the floor, though the loss of the carrier was the last thing on Kindel's mind. Around him, the fallen warriors were shaking their heads and slowly pushing themselves up. Aldoric groaned loudly and held a hand against his charred chest as he rose to his knees. The others were recovering as well, but the momentary break in battle was all that Kindel needed.

Leaping to his feet, he clasped his hands in front of him and extended his energy toward them. At first, his intention was to return only himself, his allies, and Arus to the _Black Eagle_ , but he couldn't pass up the opportunity to eliminate Aldoric and Kitreena as well. The kyrosen would come too; there was no sense in leaving him behind so that he may strike back at another time. Teleporting so many people required quite a bit more concentration and slightly more time, but only a few mere seconds. The icy warmth of the white glow surrounded them, the floor shifted beneath his boots, and the light dissipated to reveal the hangar bay of the _Black Eagle_.

The hangar was largely barren. Most of the fighters had been launched long ago, leaving nothing but abandoned fueling hoses and inactive maintenance arms littering the floor. A few damaged starfighters sat in the far rear of the hangar awaiting repairs alongside several passenger transports, but for the most part, the room was wide open. Kindel grinned proudly as he shifted his eyes to Aldoric, who was practically snarling with rage. His voice boomed in the expanse of the hangar. "I have won, brother. You can resist to your hearts content, but your refusal to resort to the measures necessary to defeat me guarantees my victory over you and your pathetic Aeden Alliance." Arus raised his weapon threateningly, joined by Kitreena and her whip, eyes still encompassed by amethyst, but Kindel merely laughed at their courage. "Boy, what I offer you today is a greater honor than any soul across the universe has been given. You shall be the guardian of peace for years to come, driven by the power of that wondrous device in your head."

"I will never serve your vision of peace," Arus shot back. "You make a mockery of peace and justice."

Kindel smiled warmly. "In time, you'll understand." Especially once the implant was reprogrammed. "You'd be a fool to pass up this opportunity." Kitreena said something under her breath, and Arus nodded in return. "I want to make you into the ultimate soldier, Arus. Why doesn't that sound appealing to you? Why do you insist on mediocrity?" The girl's fists were so tightly balled that her knuckles had turned white. _Is that mist swirling around her body?_ "And what has you so angered, my lady? I would be happy to give you a spot alongside him, if you so desire. Fitted with an implant like his, you could—"

The air suddenly grew cold as ice, and slithering streaks of electricity wrapped around Kitreena's hands. Her hair whipped violently as she threw her head back, and the scream she unleashed sent an icy chill down Kindel's spine. _What in the name of the Maker is she doing?_

*******

A burning sensation rolled through Kitreena's chest as she fought to maintain control of her senses. There had to be a way to wield her power while preserving control over her actions. _How can he speak of enslaving Arus so casually? How dare he even consider the thought?!_

"And what has you so angered, my lady?" Kindel asked through that infuriating smile. "I would be happy to give you a spot alongside him, if you so desire. Fitted with an implant like his, you could—"

The power welled up in her like a surging volcano, rushing down her arms and flooding through her chest. An oddly thrilling pain shot up and down her spine like jarring shocks of electricity, and she threw her head back with a blood-curdling scream. Vivid red light blinded her vision as she rose into the air, teeth clenched so tightly that she thought they might shatter. A tugging sensation drew her arms and legs toward her chest as all of the pain and warmth and anger and hatred gathered in the center of her body. It almost felt as though she was being torn apart and crushed into a ball at the same time. She was vaguely aware of the voices shouting below her, but their words were muddled beyond recognition. Finally, just when she thought her skull was going to burst, she threw her arms and legs out in an explosion of searing hot air and fire as the built up pain and raging emotions were replaced by an energy so pure and so powerful that Kitreena felt as though she could lift the _Black Eagle_ itself onto her shoulders.

When she opened her eyes— _I don't even remember closing them_ —she was hovering close to the ceiling of the hangar, nearly twenty paces above the floor. Every inch of her body down to the last strand of hair on her head was shrouded by a brilliant white light. In her hand, she held her whip, surrounded by a fire so intense that the weapon may as well have been _made_ of it. Energy pulsated in her veins with such purity and sweetness that she felt more invigorated and renewed than ever before. With the power she held, she felt nearly sure she could destroy every ship in the Vezulian fleet with a mere glance.

And that was the problem.

Though it had initially seemed that her furious rage had subsided, the truth was that it had become stronger than ever. However, it now manifested itself in the form of an arrogant ruthlessness that she was eager to unleash upon her enemies. The thought of tearing Kindel Thorus limb from limb brought a grand smile to her face. Anyone who sought to hurt the innocent would pay for what they'd done. Those that stood against her would suffer and perish at her hands. _No, I can't think that way._ But it was the only way. _No! I have to control myself!_ Kindel, Scimitar, Kalibur, and even Vultrel would have to die. _NO! I must keep my composure!_

It all happened in a matter of seconds. Scimitar and Kalibur, who'd drawn themselves up on either side of Kindel like regal soldiers defending their king, were on the ground before Kitreena even realized she'd moved. She could feel the anger pulsating through her, driving her fists forward as she streaked like lightning toward Vultrel. He, too, fell in a flash. That left Thorus alone to defend himself, and waves of pure energy radiated from her body as she shot toward him.

It took only his firm hand around her wrist to bring her to a sudden halt.

"My dear," he cooed mockingly, "you overestimate your strength. Aldoric may be able to stand toe-to-toe with me in battle, but our power dwarves your insignificant Morpher's talents." He twisted her wrist with a sudden snap, wrenching a shriek of pain from her lips. Bones shattered in his grip, bringing her to her knees as she frantically clawed at him with her free hand. How could he have such power? The energy that had driven her so strongly only moments earlier faded under the throbbing pain in her wrist. Damien had built her up to believe that she was almost invincible in her transformed state. _I'll have to kill him, too._ No! The power that came with Morphing was tainting her perception of everything! _But he lied to me. How could he—?_ The power was fading.

"Kitreena!" Damien's voice echoed in her brain. Or had it been Arus? One or the other, or perhaps both, they were calling to her. Footsteps raced across the floor, pounding in her brain like a blacksmith's hammer against the anvil, and were silenced by a brief explosion of light that Kitreena couldn't make out. Her vision was wavering, she realized.

A new sensation formed in the pit of her stomach, like the feeling one experiences just before vomiting. The room began to spin and heave, and she squeezed her eyes closed, still hammering helplessly against Kindel's grip with her good hand. Her breaths shortened to quick gasps as the rocking in her stomach shifted, spreading to her arms and legs so that her body felt like it was full of jelly. No, it was _made_ of jelly. Bones of jelly, surrounded by surging water that sloshed back and forth. It rocked higher and further with each passing moment, daring her to empty her stomach all over Kindel's boots. _He certainly deserves at_ least _that._

The glowing light that made up her body solidified and faded, reverting Kitreena to her true form. Kindel finally released his hold on her wrist and tossed it away, and she barely sensed the floor smacking her in the face before everything went black.

*******

The steel joint of Arus' shoulder was warm to the touch, but thankfully, it had withstood the force of Kindel's attack. Beside him, Damien was groaning through his teeth as he pressed a hand against the fresh wound on his shoulder. He seemed to be in no hurry to get up, perhaps aware of little besides the pain. Combined with the large burn on his chest, Damien had taken a good deal of abuse during the fight, though everyone had certainly shared in the bloodshed. Kitreena lie in a heap beside Kindel, blood still fresh on her chin and arm, wrist twisted in an unnatural way. To see her power reduced to nothing had been more than discouraging. When she had Morphed at Cathymel, she had downed _everyone_ in seconds, even Sartan Truce. But Kindel had not only withstood the explosion, he'd also tossed her aside as little more than a doll. Could _anything_ hurt him? Damien had managed to land a few punches, but Kindel seemed almost unaware of the dried blood smeared below his lip. The only thing that gave Arus any hope was the knowledge that the man did, in fact, bleed. If he hadn't seen it for himself, he may have thought Thorus to be invulnerable.

Besides Kindel, the only one still standing was Muert, who seemed to have a better idea of what he was up against. His confidence had long vanished, replaced by an uneasy determination. Whether he still thought he could win or not was irrelevant. He was certainly ready to die trying. _It may come to that if you're not careful, Muert._

Kindel made his disinterest with the Mage clear. "I have no time to deal with the petty problems of a kyrosen," he said. "Had you approached me in a civilized manner about being reunited with your people, I may have been able to arrange something. As it stands, however, I'm afraid I have no choice but to dispose of you." His hands rose before Arus could even get to his knees, and a thick band of electricity shot from his palms, sending Muert's huge body sprawling across the floor. A rapid series of twitches and spasms rolled through his arms and legs before he stilled, hands going from clenched to limp in an instant.

Seething, Arus tightened his grip on his sword as he rose to his feet, ignoring the pain of the gashes on his side and knee that Scimitar had opened. "It doesn't have to be this way," he growled. "It's not too late for you to turn away from this path. Don't allow pride to prevent you from making the decision you know is right! Stop this mindless violence right now!"

Kindel sighed heavily, his hands dropping to either side in apparent resignation. He turned from Arus and stepped away, glancing toward his motionless assistants as he did. "You certainly have picked up much from my brother." He sounded tired as he spoke, and he wiped his forehead before facing Arus again. "He doesn't understand the universe as I do. I realize you've been raised with values and morals similar to those I was taught as a child, but like me, you have been confined within the boundaries of a planet where you could not see the real danger that waited amongst the stars. The zo'rhan knew of interstellar travel, possessed ships, and even had some trade agreements with a few neighboring worlds, but we didn't go out of our way to interact with the galactic community. As a result, we were very sheltered people. In that way, you and I are the same."

Arguing wouldn't get him anywhere; Arus knew that. Perhaps a sympathetic ear, an understanding tone, a friendly voice of reason might prevail where force had failed. "That may be so," Arus conceded. "But just because there are heartless and violent people out there doesn't mean that I have to use the same tactics to battle them."

Kindel's eyebrows rose questioningly. "You think I am heartless?"

"You want to exploit the implant so that you can control me. I don't see much compassion in that."

Surprise of surprises, Kindel laughed at that. "No, that is what Aldoric told you. He is convinced that I am trying to follow Sartan Truce's footsteps. I assure you, I am not. My intentions are pure as snow. I simply wish to protect you from the _real_ criminals out there. I want to protect you from Sartan Truce. From the kyrosen. From the Alliance. From yourself."

The last words registered as Arus opened his mouth to defend the Aeden Alliance. Instead, he furrowed his brow. "From myself?"

Thorus' smile took on a warm look now, one that somewhat resembled a father's concern for his son. "My boy, you are exceedingly young, and you don't know how to properly handle the power you've been given. I intend to rewrite your programming so that you'll have better control over how you use it."

Arus' lips tightened. "I will _not_ be programmed," he said. "I am a living soul! I will not have anyone telling me how to—"

A rolling sequence of explosions rocked the ship. Garbled voices came from Damien's communicator, but he made no move to respond. Kindel's own comm device came to life with a panicked male voice. "Sir, we are sustaining heavy damage. The Aeden reinforcements are overwhelming us! We've already lost five squadrons and four starships! What do you—"

"Take care of it," was all Kindel said. "I have important matters to tend to. I leave it in your capable hands."

"But Admiral, we are losing—"

With a click of a button, the voice fell silent. Kindel returned the communicator to his belt as another series of blasts rattled the _Black Eagle_. Turning his eyes back to Arus, he shook his head with a solemn expression. "Arus, you don't understand. I do not intend to control you. But a living brain has never existed side-by-side with a machine before. Imagine! A mechanical device that coexists with a living organism! Each depending on the other for survival, unable to exist independently! It is mind baffling, and though I'm sure you _feel_ as though the two are functioning properly right now, I'm willing to bet that certain tweaks could be made to improve your consciousness, speed, reflexes, and a number of other characteristics, all which could significantly strengthen you, both as a fighter and as a man. Arus, you are living a flawed existence, but once I am through with you, you will be _perfect_. Between the implant, your natural talent, and this . . ." He pulled a shining golden amulet from his pouch, followed by a round purple stone of some kind. "Arus, you could be unstoppable. No amount of evil will be able to stand up to your power."

Using his mechanical eye, Arus magnified his vision to get a closer look at the objects. The stone was something his scanners didn't recognize, a molecular structure unlike anything on record. The amulet was made of pure gold, embedded with jewels of varying color and cut. He was almost hesitant to ask what Kindel had up his sleeve. "What . . . is that?"

Thorus' eyes shifted from him to the stone and back again before he spoke. He almost seemed to be reconsidering whether or not he wanted to explain. "I have named this stone 'lephadorite,' derived from the zo'rhan word for power, _Lephad_. Through extensive and exhaustive research, I have determined that, when fitted in the center socket of this amulet, this stone will grant the wearer access to a vast array of supernatural abilities." A dangerous thing. "To a human, this stone would open up a whole new world of senses and talents that they might never have experienced before. What's more, I've devised a way to clone it." He pulled another stone, about as big as a pebble, from his pocket. "My scientists are hard at work perfecting the process, and when they are finished, I will be able to give one to every soldier in the Armada! And you, Arus, are to be the first!" A dangerous thing, indeed.

Far too dangerous to be left in Kindel's hands.

"All I must do is surrender to you, and you'll give me the amulet?" he asked, stepping forward casually.

Kindel's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Not quite," he said, clutching the stones in one fist and the amulet in the other. "Once I have reprogrammed the implant to . . . receive the new abilities the lephadorite grants, you will have it."

"So . . ." Damien's voice startled Arus. He had managed to make it to his knees, though he was still holding an arm against the wounds on his chest. "You intend to make an army of implant-fitted, magic wielding, battle-programmed cybernetic soldiers?"

"We will be unstoppable, Aldoric," Kindel said flatly. "No conquering savages would dare challenge us then."

With a stifled grunt of pain, Damien forced himself to his feet. "Then I will do what I have to do." He clasped his hands together in front of him, and a white glow surrounded his body.

Kindel recognized the glow immediately; his eyes grew nearly as large as teacups. "Aldoric, what do you think you're doing?! You don't possess the strength of body or mind to perform the teleportation technique!"

Damien grinned as the light grew. "Desperate times, brother."

Driven by the timing and precision of the implant, Arus could only watch as everything seemed to move in slow-motion. The light surrounding Damien began to expand, encompassing the bodies of the allies he intended to transport back to the _Refuge_ with him. As it did, Arus made a desperate lunge toward Kindel, slashing the hand that held the two lephadorite stones with his sword. Kindel recoiled in shock, instinctively releasing his grip on the rocks in the process. The light grew brighter and brighter, but the cybernetic eye gave Arus a clear view of them as they fell. He dropped to the floor alongside the lephadorite and scooped them up in his free hand, then shoved his blade through the dangling loop of the amulet's chain and violently yanked it from Kindel's grasp. Just as it had when Kindel initially teleported them to the _Black Eagle_ , the world winked out momentarily, and when it came back, he was sitting on the floor of the bridge onboard the _Refuge_. How it had all happened, he couldn't explain, but a message blinked across the sensor report that read "Visual Perceptive Functions Offline" just before the _Refuge_ reappeared. Regardless, he was safely away from Kindel Thorus for the time being.

And he held the two Lephadorite stones in one hand while the amulet was looped around the blade of his sword in the other.

Groans of pain grabbed his attention. His scanners indicated three life signs, two of them faint. Pushing himself up, he stuffed both rocks and the amulet into his pouch. What he saw filled him with a mixture of relief and terror. Kitreena was lying on her stomach beside the sensor array, whimpering with each breath. Muert was on his back near the communications terminal, though his chest rose and fell at a dangerously slow rate. Damien was the worst of all, crumpled on his side by the lift doors, motionless as a corpse. His signal on the implant's radar was the weakest, and it was fading with each second.

Arus grabbed his communicator and pushed the intercom button. "Help! I need help on the bridge! Damien and Kitreena have been seriously injured, and we have another wounded man up here! Please, whoever can hear me, send help right away!" The plea was not exactly the embodiment of protocol, but that was the last thing on Arus' mind.

"Ugh . . ." Kitreena's moan grabbed his attention. "It . . . hurts . . ."

Arus sheathed his sword as he rushed to her side, ignoring the pain from the bloody gash in his knee as he knelt beside her. "I'm here, Kitreena," he told her. "Help his on the way. Please, just hang in there." He lifted her into his arms as best as he could, trying not to jostle her wrist too much. "You did well out there today," he said in soothing tones, trying to keep her calm. He ran his fingers through her hair as he talked to her, eyeing the sensor readings of Damien's life signal. _Come on, come on! Why doesn't someone—_

The lift doors slid open to admit Doc Nori and at least five other medical technicians, four of whom immediately dropped at Damien's side. The other headed for Muert. Nori himself took a look at Damien before coming to Arus. Despite the carnage scattered across the bridge, the old man was his usual jovial self. "You all look like you tried to jumpstart the engines with your teeth while standing in a pool during a lightning storm!" he said, bursting into laughter. When Arus gave him a wry smile, he waved his hands and flashed an assuring grin. "Don't worry, Son. We've been handling this stuff all day long. Seen much worse, to tell you the truth. They will be fine."

Kitreena moaned again, squirming weakly in Arus' arms before collapsing against his chest. "Feel . . . sick," she murmured before promptly emptying her stomach all over his shirt.

Arus couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, this tops off a perfectly wonderful day."

Chapter 2-9

For a man who'd focused his studies on planetary ecosystems and indigenous species, rescue and repair operations may as well have been a different language. Lieutenant Petreit looked over the damage reports again and again, trying to decide where to begin. His training in tactical operations had been limited, but with the fleet facing as much devastation as they were, every available body was called upon to assist with the recovery efforts. It wasn't that Petreit objected to helping; he simply didn't know where to begin. One of the battle commanders had dropped a packet of papers detailing a portion of the damages in his lap and told him to calculate the resources needed to complete those repairs. Following that, he was to gather the manpower necessary using as few men as possible. What kind of equipment would be needed to do repairs in space? What would have to be done first? Where would the supplies come from? Petreit couldn't help but feel a bit overwhelmed.

Outside, the battle wore on. Starfighters wove through jagged debris, looping up and down in pursuit of their prey, most of which was Vezulian. The flaming wreckage of several starcruisers created a ring of destruction inside a perimeter of Aeden battleships and carriers. Blasts shook the _Black Eagle_ on a near-constant basis while Treage Nardale rattled off damage reports from the sensor terminal. Sixty-two percent of the Vezulian forces had been lost, and that number rose with each of Nardale's reports. Damage to the hull of the _Black Eagle_ had sealed off at least twenty decks and destroyed nearly twenty-five of her forty laser turrets. It was not going well at all.

"How long is this going to go on, Captain?" young Aarn Goldsyn asked. He had made less and less of an effort to hide his unease as the battle wore on.

"Until Admiral Thorus says otherwise," Tiras responded flatly. "He knows the situation better than us. We must trust his judgment."

That was an idea that didn't sit too well with Petreit. Although the Vezulian Armada had gained the upper hand almost immediately, the advantage had all but vanished once the Aeden Alliance reinforcements arrived. The tide of the battle had turned as quickly as a page of a storybook, and the Vezulian forces had been on the defensive ever since. Complicating matters was the admiral's sudden silence, leaving the entire fleet to fend for themselves. Most men were smart enough to recognize a lost battle when they saw one, but without Kindel's order to retreat, they had no choice but to press on with the fight and pray for the best.

Thorus' voice exploded over the intercom like a thunderclap, startling Petreit so that the pile of papers in his hand nearly spilled across the floor. "Captain Tiras, this is Admiral Thorus." He didn't sound frantic or even worried, but he was clearly furious about something. "Transmit the orders to the rest of the bloody fleet to retreat and rendezvous at the nearest planet. I don't care what it is." His voice rolled like the crashing of a mighty tidal wave. "Just get us out of here. I am returning to my office, and I am not to be disturbed by _anyone_ for _any_ reason. Failure to comply will result in _harsh_ penalties. I hope I've made myself clear." There was a shift in the tone of his voice at the end of the message that set butterflies loose in Petreit's stomach. Certainly his anger was due to the massive losses the Armada had sustained, but Kindel rarely lost his composure under pressure. And in the few times that Petreit could recollect where the admiral had allowed his temper to slip, he hadn't come anywhere close to the furious anger that his voice now held.

"Lieutenant Petreit, report to my office at once!" Kindel's booming order nearly made Petreit lose control of his facilities. The last thing the soldier wanted to do was face Kindel while he was in such a vile mood. Better to be sent out alone in a starfighter to take on the entire Aeden fleet.

"You heard him, Soldier!" Tiras shouted, pointing toward the lift. "Get moving!"

Petreit's teeth chattered as he made for the lift, face whiter than the paperwork he'd been studying. His brain desperately worked to find some way to excuse himself from the meeting, but there was rarely a good reason to ignore a summons from a superior commander. Especially when that commander happened to be Kindel Thorus.

He was standing outside Kindel's office before he knew it, finger quivering with fear as he pressed the visitor alert button. The door slid open almost instantly, revealing the face of a man whose jaw was so set with anger that he looked as though he might explode in a rage of madness at any moment. He stood in front of his desk with his arms crossed and teeth bared little more than five paces away from the entrance. Narrow eyes locked onto Petreit as soon as the door opened, and Kindel was questioning him before he'd even gotten a foot into the room.

"Have you discovered the origin of the lephadorite yet, Lieutenant?" he nearly snarled.

There was no right answer to that question, Petreit knew. None that he could give, anyway. "Uh . . . I'm afraid not, Sir." Kindel's face darkened. "That is, you see, every lead that I came up with brought me back to the same conclusion. The Lifestone theory, I mean."

"You've learned nothing more?" The admiral's disgust mixed with rage in his voice, creating a tone that almost sent Petreit scrambling away in a frightened panic. "What in blazes have you been doing all of this time?"

Horrified, Petreit heard himself begin to make excuses. "You see, with the battle and all, it has been impossible to really focus on research. I mean, because we are all needed to help recover and—"

Kindel seemed to lose control of his temper for a moment as he clenched his fists and let out something between a growl and a scream. Then, with Petreit's eyes nearly doubling in size, he raised an open palm. "I have been too lenient with my soldiers," he sneered, shaking his head. "But that will soon be remedied."

The lieutenant collapsed to his knees, no longer concerned with which words tumbled through his lips. "No, Sir! Wait, I'll do anything! Let me show you that I can—"

"Yours will be the first of many sacrifices today!" Kindel shouted over him. "The universe will learn not to incite the anger of Kindel Thorus!"

Petreit's pleading wail was muted by the sound of the blast that burst from Kindel's hand. Blue light drowned his vision, bombarding his body in a searing pain like none he'd ever experienced. Flames incinerated his clothes instantly, burning through his flesh as though coming from within. How could a commanding officer do this to his own soldier? For centuries, Kindel Thorus claimed to pursue peace and harmony for the galaxy. How could this kind of senseless murder further that agenda? Why had Petreit, even after seeing fellow soldiers meet a similar fate, continued to follow the Vezulian Armada?

For Lieutenant Petreit, those questions would never be answered.

*******

The corridors of the prison level were relatively quiet compared to the rest of the ship. The hum of the engines and dull whirring of the climate control systems were occasionally broken by distant clatters and clangs where early repairs were already underway and bodies were being exhumed from areas where furniture and equipment had buried them during the battle. Rumor had it that an overheard report to Captain Tiras had assessed the damage to the _Black Eagle_ to be quite extensive, and the overall impact to the Vezulian Armada to be nearly disastrous. It wasn't that the Alliance had been stronger or more skilled; they simply summoned enough reinforcements to overwhelm the Armada. To everyone's shock, they'd allowed the Vezulian fleet to withdraw without putting up a fuss. Probably Damien's work. That soft spot of his that led him to show mercy on his opponents would come back to haunt him one day.

Vultrel exhaled heavily has he passed through the rows of empty cells. His chest throbbed with every breath, thanks to Kitreena. The last time he'd looked in a mirror, half of his face had been a swollen shade of purple, though one of the nurses in the infirmary had run an odd blue light over it and told him that the treatment would heal him up in a day or so. Odd medical practices these people had. It was a wonder they hadn't learned how to resurrect the dead. He ran his fingers through his hair and winced as pain rolled across his chest like a galloping horse. Damien's girl packed a mean punch.

No doubt Kindel had been disappointed that Vultrel was unable to lure Arus away from the Aeden Alliance. Whether or not that was really necessary anymore was a question that Vultrel had been grappling with since waking. True, the implant would be better utilized by Thorus, and the benefits to Arus would be great, but he could no longer question whether or not the Alliance could properly protect him. Arus himself had been greatly underestimated, it seemed. The big news going around the ship was that both Scimitar and Kalibur had been injured, something that had never happened before. Some of the Vezulian soldiers had even complimented Vultrel on his own abilities. He wasn't surprised by that, however, as nonstop training for a week against both of Kindel's assistants had taught him a great deal. And as soon as he healed, he intended to resume that training. _Do we really need to pursue this quest to capture Arus?_

_Of course,_ he answered himself silently. _If the Armada doesn't go after him, the kyrosen will._ Better for Kindel Thorus to get his hands on the implant than Truce. Kindel had a much more ideal vision for the universe, one without pillagers or conquerors. Truce simply wanted money and power to propel the kyrosen back to their former glory. _I won't let you see it happen, Truce. That dream ends for you tod—_

He stopped short at the sight in front of him. The door to Sartan Truce's cell was half-open, and he was nowhere to be seen. Vultrel slipped inside and took a look around, searching for what, he wasn't sure. The bed was cleanly made; the floor was spotless. Upon inspection of the lock, there were no signs of tampering that would've suggested an escape. Nothing indicated a struggle; in fact, his cell now looked like all the other empty cells of the prison.

"He's gone," a woman's voice came from behind. Vultrel looked back to see the Belvid woman, sitting serenely on the bed in her own cell. "He left during the battle."

"How?" Vultrel asked, closing the door behind him as he exited. "How did he get out?"

"One of his comrades came and released him," she said, her blue lips twisting in disgust. "He dismissed the two guards with the authority of Kindel Thorus, and they obeyed without question. Curious that Kindel would suddenly decide to trust the man."

Kindel Thorus had ordered the release of Sartan Truce? Highly unlikely, though if it were true, it had to relate to Arus; it was the only thing that even made a remote amount of sense. "Did either of them say anything?"

She shook her head, flowing locks of maroon swaying as she moved. "I am but a lowly prisoner. They had no reason to speak with me."

"No, I don't mean that. I wanted to know if you may have overheard anything that would explain this."

"Just that the battle had taken a turn for the worst, and that no one could get in contact with Kindel Thorus," she told him.

If Truce was released by one of his own men at a time when Kindel was unreachable, then it was likely that he didn't know that the Mage was free. Truce could be lurking about anywhere, watching and waiting for the right moment to strike. The very thought made Vultrel shudder. He looked back at the Belvid for a moment, and her head jerked up as if something on his face had caught her interest. Standing, she walked to the cell door and reached her hands through the bars. "Your eyes," she murmured softly. "Let me see them."

The sudden request startled him. "What? Why?"

"The eyes hold a great deal of insight into a person's soul," she replied, reaching for his cheeks. "And yours . . . trouble me."

_I don't have time for this. I have to warn Kindel about Truce._ "Maybe another time," he said curtly. "I have important business to attend to at the moment."

A moment later, he wished he'd have stepped backward. She forcefully gripped his face between her hands and pulled him toward her. "It will only take a moment." Teal eyelids lowered slightly as she focused on Vultrel with a penetrating stare that made him feel like a child about to be scolded. "You have been deceived," her voice was barely audible. "There is an enormous confidence in your eyes, yet the truth is hidden away behind it. You know what is right, yet you've nearly forced yourself to forget it so that you can justify your actions. That arrogance in your eyes has blinded you to what you know to be true, and it will lead you down a dark and dangerous path."

Vultrel finally forced himself free, rubbing his aching cheeks, particularly the left. Apparently that bruise hadn't healed as quickly as the nurse had predicted. "Don't make assumptions about me," he said in as firm a voice as he could muster. "You don't know what you're talking about." Who was this woman, a prisoner he'd met once and whose name he'd forgotten, to tell him about the path he walked in life?

"Deny what you wish," she shrugged, returning to her bed. "Even if you do not wish to see the truth, it will still be there."

Rolling his eyes, he headed back the way he'd come as fast as he could. _The truth I once believed in is dead. The universe doesn't respect those ideals, and so a new truth must be formed to overcome the destructive nature of society._ Not that any of it mattered at the moment. The most pressing task was to warn Kindel about Truce's escape.

The lift was inoperable due to the damage incurred during the battle, leaving the emergency stairwell as the only method of traversing between floors. The twisting tower of stairs was dark and cold, illuminated only by the dim lights on the dull grey walls. Unlike the rest of the corridors, there where no carpets or viewports here, creating an incredibly isolating feeling that compounded with each echoing stomp of Vultrel's boots. The bruise on his chest ached with each leap and bound, but there was no way that he was going to let Sartan Truce get the upper hand on him again.

When he finally stumbled into the hall just doors away from Kindel's personal room, his legs burned, and sweat rolled down his cheeks. Using the back of his hand, he wiped his forehead as he hit the visitor alert button. The doors didn't budge. Again, he pushed the button, silently pleading for an answer. No response came. Perhaps Kindel wasn't in his office?

The next option was the bridge, but Captain Tiras and the rest of the crew were the only soldiers there, minus one of the cartography officers. Tiras checked the prisoner logs from one of the computer terminals, and the readout showed that Kindel's authorization codes had been verified before Truce was released. The man who had dismissed the guards before opening Truce's cell had been Olock, who claimed he was simply following Thorus' orders. There was no way to verify that, however, as Kindel had apparently threatened anyone who disturbed him with a fate that would make even the toughest man plead for death. That left Vultrel with a very uneasy feeling in his stomach, but Captain Tiras was more optimistic.

"Don't worry," he assured. "If the admiral's authorization codes were verified with the guards, then he must have ordered the release personally. He probably sent Truce over to the _Falcon Mist_ with the rest of the kyrosen. I'd heard rumors over the past several days that the kyrosen were going to be sent to battle ahead of Vezulian soldiers to minimize our own losses going forward. Given what happened during our skirmish with the Alliance, I can't say I disagree with the idea. My guess is that this is a part of that restructuring plan."

The explanation didn't sit well with Vultrel at all. The kyrosen could've been reorganized without Truce, unless they'd decided on a mutiny against Kindel and his orders. Perhaps it was a diplomatic move to gain the kyrosen's trust. Truce would know his people's strengths and weaknesses well; maybe he was sent to help assign soldiers based on their skills to ensure that their talents were best utilized.

Or maybe Kindel's authorization codes hadn't come from him at all.

Whatever the case, it meant that Sartan Truce was a free man, and if he was released by Olock, he was likely back under the protection of the rest of his people. "Where is Olock now?"

"Likely onboard the _Falcon Mist_. The admiral did put him in command there, after all."

And if Truce was with him, that effectively put _him_ in control. After seeing what Sartan had managed to create with the limited resources left over from the wreckage of his ships back on Terranias, Vultrel didn't even want to imagine what the Mage would cook up with an entire starcruiser at his disposal. He was a threat too great to be left alone, too dangerous to be left alive.

The way forward was crystal clear. The _Falcon Mist_ would have to be destroyed.

*******

Watching the stars glide by was once a soothing sight, one that helped Kindel to relax and temporarily forget about his troubles. It was nature at its finest, a visual wonder of the Maker's Grand Design where greed and power and war meant nothing. To one star, the strength of another meant little. It continued to shine its own light without concern of whether or not it was the brightest in the heavens. To a planet, the size of another planet was irrelevant. Each continued to float peacefully through the black abyss of space regardless of the properties of the other. There was something admirable about those of the Maker's creations that lacked consciousness or intelligence. A planet would never seek out and conquer another. A star would never murder another. Sure, two planets sometimes collided within their own patterns of flight, and stars sometimes collapsed and exploded, but such an event always brought about something new; a new planet emerged from the rubble of two, new stars from the dust and gases left behind by old. There was always something beautiful happening, always a positive future to look forward to.

But now, as Kindel stared through the viewport, endlessly grinding his teeth in anger, comfort was nowhere to be found.

_Curse that boy! I offered him everything, and he spat it all in my face!_ He paced the floor as his hatred bubbled within, forcing his fists to clench ever tighter. After everything he'd gone through to ensure the safety of the lephadorite, everything he'd done to keep the information classified, all of his efforts were blown by his own catastrophic blunder. No, it _could_ be salvaged. If the _Refuge_ could be destroyed, then the lephadorite could be recovered from the wreckage. Or perhaps they could be forced to surrender. One way or another, they would _not_ win. _He will pay. Aldoric, too. He's been poisoning the boy's brain from day one. With any luck, the teleportation has left him a mutated mess of a creature._ Aldoric had never had a gift for teleportation; it was a skill shunned by most. But he had shown a new depth to his power by invoking the technique, an act Kindel never would've expected. _They're stronger than I anticipated. More determined. More skilled._ And with the lephadorite and implant both in their hands, they were more powerful as well.

"No!" Kindel snarled, whirling away from the viewport. "I will not allow your power to exceed my own, Aldoric!"

There was only one option left, one that Kindel had resigned himself to using as soon as the stones had been stolen. There was great risk involved, but if he wanted to secure his position as the most powerful man in the universe, he would have to rise to the challenge. Strength never came easy, especially not the kind that Kindel sought. Then again, if he couldn't overcome the danger, if he couldn't handle the pressure, if he couldn't muster the strength to control the power necessary to defeat Aldoric, then he didn't deserve the distinction of being known as the greatest to ever live. He would never have considered resorting to such drastic measures if he didn't believe it to be truly necessary, but the threat the Aeden Alliance was now imposing on the universe was too great to be ignored.

Taking a deep breath, he slowly drew back the cloth that kept the shimmering sword concealed atop his cabinets. The sparkle of the diamond azure hilt was complimented by the equally exquisite twinkle of each gemstone embedded within it. The blade, clear as glass yet stronger than titanium, reflected Kindel's face with startling perfection. He was a man out of options. A man struggling and clawing for whatever advantages he could get. Images flashed in his mind, memories of the day he'd first touched the hilt of the weapon, memories of being brought to his knees by the intense energy that had radiated throughout his body. How could he even be sure he could harness such power? What made him think he could do it now when he couldn't even bring himself to lift it back then?

Aldoric's words surfaced in his brain like a shark's fin piercing the ocean waters. "Desperate times, brother."

_I won't hold it for long,_ Kindel told himself. _Just long enough to reclaim what is rightfully mine._

Hesitating, he realized his hands had come dangerously close to the weapon, and he drew them back as though bitten by a viper. According to the ship's trajectory readout, they would reach the nearest planet in another hour. It was a forested world called Arynias, a planet populated by intelligent—if underdeveloped—creatures called the Ayaans. They were thus far unaware of the existence of the other life forms throughout the galaxy, though they seemed to be in no hurry to explore space. Similar to Terranias, they possessed the intellect required to pursue wondrous technology, yet they didn't seem to have any interest in it. Such a primitive culture would make for more than suitable bait to bring Aldoric and his companions running.

His hands floated too close to the weapon once again, and Kindel yanked them away. Tearing his eyes away from the sword, he returned to the viewport and gazed at two blue auras glowing faintly in the distance. They seemed to be billowing azure smoke, though he couldn't quite make them out. _No matter, I have more important things to concern myself with._ He tried to visualize himself hoisting the sword, controlling the incredible power with ease. In reality, he knew that much more focus and determination were going to be required, but if he could manage to convince himself capable of wielding such a weapon, perhaps the actual act would be a bit easier to handle. Even if Aldoric had discovered the secrets of the Lephadorite, and even if Arus turned every function of the implant against him, both would pale in comparison to the strength of the sword forged by the fires of heaven and wielded against the might of Kuldaan himself. _My intentions are pure; I only seek to destroy legitimate threats to the universe. I shall hoist the sword with the blessings of the Maker as Azriel once did, and evil will crumble at my feet._

#######

### END OF VOLUME TWO

EYE OF THE TORNADO

Chapter 3-1

"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 3-2

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 3-3

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 3-4

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 their 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 due to your childhood pain threatens to consume you. Turn away from that pain, discard it, flee 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 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. What you would call 'matter' in its most basic form. When the Maker first set out to form the heavens and the lands, He began by creating a large stone He called the Lifestone." 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. It is 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. "As 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, as well."

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 these 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 he who touches it, the blade will devour him just as it is 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 do you harm."

"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. The flow of time has been broken before, will break 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 while 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 3-5

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 3-6

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 3-7

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 with both 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 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 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 3-8

"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 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 man. 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 3-9

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. 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 Vermillion 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 Vermillion 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 Vermillion 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 behind his back. " _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. "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 a royal curtsey. "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.

"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 3-10

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 headband 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."

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"Let us think of ways to motivate one another to acts of love and good works."

Hebrews 10:24

Special thanks to my family for all of their support, and to my beautiful Laura 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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