 
Secrets of Silverwind

Richard L. Sanders

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012, Richard L. Sanders

Smashwords Edition License Notes: You are not only licensed to enjoy this ebook, it is highly encouraged. DRM has NOT been attached. The reason for this is that I, the author, profoundly don't believe in DRM. That means you can make copies of this work and share it with your family and friends so long as you are not selling them for money. Just try to remember that, as I write this, I am an indebted student haunted by the specter of student loans hovering over me and any actual purchases of my ebook through the ebook store would be greatly appreciated.

Dear Reader,

Thank you for downloading Secrets of Silverwind. This book holds a dear place in my heart because it is, I believe, the best story I've yet told. Others have been easier to write and perhaps, at times, more exciting. But there is something special about this one, a certain je ne sais quoi that haunts me every time I read it or think about it. I hope you will share in that experience as you join Caythis, Kira, and all of the others on their transformative adventure.

For more information, including the free audiobook download of The Phoenix Conspiracy (my best-selling book), please visit www.richardlsanders.com.

Happy Reading!
Chapter 1

He just wasn't fast enough, no matter what he did.

Caythis leaned forward on his jetbike as it zipped above the rough, sandy terrain. He went into a hard turn and pulled the throttle wide open as he came out of it. A storm of dust flared up in his wake.

He was out of the canyon now, and the wind hit him in full force, buffeting his bike. The chill couldn't pierce his thick combat armor, but the gusts were strong enough that it was difficult to stay on course. He wrestled with the controls, refusing to slow down. He'd lost too much time already.

A wide sea of rocks and hazards could be seen in the distance, rushing toward him. He flipped down his visor, and the computer in his helmet selected what it thought was the most appropriate spectrum. A heartbeat later, the sandy world around him was a stagnant green with nothing too bright or too dark, enabling him to see easily. Even the brilliance of the sun had been dimmed to a gentle level.

He continued his breakneck pace, ducking low. Leaning hard to avoid the first boulder. A spray of pebbles struck him in the head but bounced meaninglessly off his helmet. After a few minutes of deft, reckless maneuvering, Caythis blasted between the final two obstacles and into the open.

Andar City was in plain view now. What was left of it.

His heart broke at the sight through his visor: a burning green image of intense heat, masses of clouds rising from the molten ruins, and the skeleton of a once great city ablaze like a funeral pyre. He flipped open his visor and stared wide-eyed at the blackened sky. The air reeked of smoke, and ashes flaked onto his bronze armor as he hovered forward.

Andar City was lost. . . .

Caythis had expected Andar to be on its knees, like Skyhaven City, wounded but fighting for its life. Not so. Andar was gone. And so utterly wasted it could probably never be rebuilt. Countless thousands of people lost along with it. Innocent people. People who had never known the full spectrum of Antares's wrath. Not even Caythis was aware to this extent. Men, women, and even children. Burned to death in an unpitying and unflinching firestorm. An annihilation of this scale hadn't been seen since the End of the World.

Caythis's grip weakened as he realized, as fast as he'd come, the wrath of Antares had been faster. That meant Caythis, and all of the others, had deserted Citadel City in vain.

It was very dark now as he flew deeper under the blanket of thick smoke, which made a wall so dense even the sun couldn't penetrate it. His bike skipped over some small hills, and Caythis considered turning back. Thought about returning to Citadel to help its citizens make their desperate stand against the revolution that was sweeping the four cities, one at a time. If they would even have him . . .

He did not turn around though. Somehow, as the dying fire-lit city drew closer, he simply couldn't find the strength to direct the bike otherwise. Instead he hovered, thoughtless and stiff, unable to look away from the horror.

Until nearby gunfire caught his attention. He turned sharply to his left and blasted toward the fighting. Knowing it must be his own men—soldiers he'd convinced to desert Citadel, soldiers who had now engaged Antares's rebels. Perhaps even Antares himself.

Caythis welcomed the chance to destroy Antares.

The popping of gunfire grew louder as his bike screamed closer. Caythis flipped shut his visor and took in the scene as best he could. His allies' skirmish line had already been broken, and many were rerouting; the rest had dug in for better cover but were about to be flanked by a large force swinging around their southeast quarter. In the enemy's ranks, the Fallen enforcers could be seen blasting elemental magic. Sprays of water slammed like tidal waves, guided by enforcers in blue armor, and others armored in pearl-white shifted the winds. Together, the dozens of amateurs were constructing a makeshift hurricane.

Caythis gripped the sword behind his back. The handle stuck to his glove like glue, and he whipped it out. With his other hand, he pressed the ring on his middle finger against the sword's activation chip. Sparks flew down the coil and charged the rods, and, after heating for a few seconds, the two rods forming the blade lit up—charged with plasma. The visor blinked, adapting to the sudden brightness of the heat source, and the blinding blade was dimmed to his eyes.

He held the sword battle-ready, just like he'd trained for, then sharply pushed the bike toward the glowing green lights which he knew were his enemies. As he zoomed closer, he steadied himself and, at the right moment, twisted hard to the left. The insurgents turned in panic as he blasted through their ranks, his blinding sword cutting them down stroke after stroke.

Dozens fell, and those who didn't—who lacked armor—were poisoned by the intense radiation.

After a few seconds of this, Caythis took fire. Guns were turned; orders were screamed down the lines, and a storm of bullets slapped against his chest and helmet with enough force to almost throw him from the bike. The slugs bounced off his advanced armor, leaving only bruises, but he was forced to abort his attack halfway through.

He withdrew about forty meters and held up his left hand. Raising his palm flat toward his enemies, concentrating his mind. The ring around his middle finger burned, and, on his hand, an orb of fire formed. It glowed bright green through his visor, and he braced himself for the intense pain.

In an instant of sudden agony, a jet of fire leaped from his hand and downed the enemies before him. The people in his range scattered for cover but didn't find much. He moved the stream from left to right, aiming at them, and, in moments, around two dozen rebels were scorched to death. But the process took a toll on Caythis, weakening him from the pain and draining his energy to the point of fatigue. Unable to continue the use of his magic, Caythis dropped his palm flat toward the ground, and the fire dissipated. He felt limp and spent, but the pain faded quickly.

He brandished his sword once more and brought his bike around the battle in a wide circle, searching for a target.

Caythis ignored the Fallen enforcers. They were amateurs—dangerous only when working as a group. The best way to deal with them would be to find their leader and eliminate him publicly. Chop the head off the snake. So Caythis looked for Antares, dodging attacks sent Caythis's way, hunting and hunting for his target. And eventually, in a storm of flames, Caythis spotted Antares.

Antares stood on the top of a nearby cliff, wasting Caythis's allies who'd tried to set up a sniping position. He was a dull dark green, much dimmer than the other people's bodies who leaked more heat. Antares had coated his crimson armor with some kind of black tar meant to limit the amount of body temperature he gave off. It helped conceal him from the superior eyes of an enforcer's helmet, but it wasn't enough. Caythis found the path up the cliff and moved in for the kill.

The disfigured dead burned at Antares's feet by the dozens, and the white glow of his sword bounced off Antares's black visor like the shadow of a wraith. Caythis brought his bike down to bear and raised his sword, aiming for Antares's head.

His enemy held his ground and faced the attack with perfect confidence—his own sword raised and magic hand ready.

Caythis braced himself and closed in.

Antares raised his palm, and a spray of unstoppable fire flew toward Caythis like a web of a billion candles. Obeying instinct, Caythis jumped from his bike just before it exploded in a marriage of fire and fuel. He was blown hard into a wall of stone, landing in a crunch of cracked bones and damaged armor. With an outburst of pain, Caythis looked up.

Antares loomed over him, walking closer with slow steps.

Caythis, being a Fire enforcer himself, was impervious to the flames, but the force of his dismount left him bleeding inside, and every breath was agonizing.

With trained discipline, Caythis put aside the pain. He had what he wanted—Antares alone.

Caythis rose to his feet, holding out his sword which had stayed firmly stuck to his glove.

Antares stopped his advance. "You too?"

His voice cracked over the speaker in Caythis's helmet. It was a familiar voice, making it that much more painful to hear.

Caythis didn't reply. He didn't know what to say. And for a moment they just stood there, facing each other, surrounded by a ring of scorching fire, and the sounds of gunfire and screams. But, despite his pause, Caythis knew what he had to do.

"You shouldn't have come here," said Antares.

"You shouldn't have started this."

"Sierra, this was for Sierra!"

Caythis was sickened. As if she would have wanted this destruction . . . "How dare you hide your evil deeds behind her good name."

"Please . . . don't be my enemy, Caythis," said Antares. "No one understands. I need you to understand. . . ."

Caythis dismissed Antares's plea. "There's no going back, Antares. I can't let you leave this place alive. We both know what you deserve." Caythis looked into Antares's visor, as if peering into his soul, and was not surprised to see that it was blank. Lifeless. Empty. Antares was dead inside, just like the bodies at his feet.

"It's not my fault, . . ." said Antares. "It's not true. It isn't true! I've only done what was forced upon me!"

Caythis steeled himself, tightening his grip around his sword. "Antares, you bring this upon yourself!"

At the perfect moment, Caythis sprang forward, the flare of his sword trailed by sparks like a hot white echo. Their swords clashed hard. Hate and plasma locked against each other. Swinging madly, blow after blow, fueled by passion, disciplined by skill, a furious dance.

Their hits crashed with so much force that the flashes pierced the protection of their visors—which refreshed constantly to adjust for the changes. Tears soaked Caythis's stinging bloodshot eyes, but he pressed his attack. Forcing himself to forget the memories they'd shared together. Forgetting that Antares had once been family. Now all Caythis could see was his enemy. A mass murderer. That's all Caythis was willing to see.

Their blurry movements were like glowing scribbles in the night sky, echoes of light. To any onlooker, their battle had an overwhelming intensity, like a massive collision of two stars. And, in that final desperate moment, whatever friendship they had once acknowledged was erased forever.

A few surviving witnesses claimed they saw Antares guide his sword into his friend's heart. Others insist it was Caythis who slew Antares. Some still believe both of them live on. Even now. But whatever the lost truth might be, Antares never returned to lead his rebellion, which marched on without him. And Caythis never returned to defend Citadel, the city he had sworn to protect, which fell three days later.

Five years have passed since then, and their bodies have never been found. And whatever became of Antares and Caythis remains a mystery.
Chapter 2

She should have been here by now; something must have happened.

Zero paced the cement corridor for the thousandth time. A dirty yellow lightbulb hung from the ceiling, shining a long way in the underground. He squinted as he passed under it again, his arms fidgeting like a nervous tick.

"I'm sure she's fine," said Dave. He stood guarding the door; his smile stood out in contrast with his oily clothes and submachine gun. Despite Dave's grim attire, Zero knew Dave for what he really was: a plumber, barely able to use the weapon in his hands. And certainly not fit for combat; almost none of the cell was. All were civilians-turned-vigilantes. Zero was one of a few who knew how to handle himself. And he only intended to stay with them until he could find the people he'd lost. The people he belonged with.

Dave continued, "If Raven were incompetent, she wouldn't be our fearless leader."

"What makes you think I'm waiting for Raven?" asked Zero.

"Please, I've seen the way you look at her. And who can blame you?" Dave whistled. His eyes searched for a response, but Zero showed nothing.

Of course he had feelings for Raven; she was the best of them. Her very soul seemed to radiate passion, loyalty, and a fighting spirit that rallied them all, time and again, in their desperate struggle. No matter how bleak things always were. The others fought for their cause, but Zero fought for Raven. And he believed she and her cell were his only chance of finding his way back. Which was why it was imperative that she was all right.

He slipped his hand around the polished steel of one of his handguns, withdrawing it from his thigh holster. Making sure it was chambered and ready to fire. He kept both eyes on the farthest door. If the terrorists were coming, or the police, they would enter through there. That was the only way into the belowground warehouse they used as a base. There were two other ways out, but no other way in.

"All I'm saying is that, if I were single, I'd be all over that," Dave rattled on.

Zero didn't give him a second thought.

The door burst open, and Zero raised his pistol. Lowering it instantly as Raven hurried through. Long dark hair that matched her name, thin, stunning, with a confident stride, and head-to-toe covered in camouflage, knives, ammo, and bullets.

"Welcome home," said Dave.

"What's the word?" asked Zero. Raven had gone to see one of their best informants—the kind of visit that never seemed to bring good news.

She turned to him, her eyes sharp and piercing. "It's much worse than we thought," she said, hurrying through the next door.

Dave, her self-proclaimed second-in-command, was at her heels.

Zero followed at more of a distance. Trying to guess what the newest crisis was.

"Okay, everyone, listen up," Raven said firmly. Her eyes were steel like the carbine strapped to her back, and her soft angular features were a sharp contrast to her powerful presence and passionate personality. She stopped in the center of the room, and all eleven of them clustered around her.

Carpenters, janitors, technicians, even a psychologist. Not at all suited for the deadly hardware they packed, and it killed Zero to see their eagerness. These weren't soldiers. And every single one of them would die, sooner or later, if they continued this fight. Yet if they didn't, what chance did Silverwind City have?

"They're going to bomb a school," said Raven.

Her words had sounded calm and impassive, but Zero knew it had taken deliberate effort.

"We don't have a lot of time. We have to go to Irons Borough."

"That's the poorest section of Silverwind," said Alice. "The police have almost no presence there as it is."

"Which is why we can't tip off the government and sit this one out," said Jakob.

"If that were our style, none of us would even be here," said Raven. "We don't have much time. They're going to strike from underground."

The Rigilian terrorist cult—like Raven's cell—was one of several groups to find the network of underground structures a useful maze to hide in and to navigate the city with very little restraint. Designed for industrial reasons, the tunnels and other belowground structures had become a no-man's-land, with police and civilians rarely setting foot underground except in secure locations. Which were becoming fewer and fewer all the time.

"Why?" asked Alice. "Why would they do such a thing? I don't understand why anybody . . . They're just children. How could this possibly help anything?"

"Because we're dealing with very sick people," said Dave, grabbing some ammunition. "They believe their god has appeared. That he wants them to create chaos by any means, so he can take the city. Damned cultists."

"Don't worry," said Raven, looking Alice in the eyes. "We're going to stop them. You hear me? Those children are going to be all right." She pulled the carbine off her back and clicked a magazine into place. "These underground warehouses connect to a series of rooms that have furnace pipes running to that part of the Labor District. We think there are only six places where they can plant explosives that would do the job. And we're closer to all six of them than they are. They have a head start, but, if we move fast, we should get there before they do."

The dozen of them broke into teams of two, and, in a matter of a few seconds, they'd coordinated which paths through the underground storage catacombs they'd each take. Zero pressed seventeen brass bullets into each of his extra magazines. It was a tricky process with gloves on, but, as always, he wore them to protect his identity. It was better for everyone—even the other members of the cell, his friends—if the truth about what he really was remained a secret.

He didn't have time to arm to the teeth, but, as he slid a metal clip into each of his handguns, he felt ready for a fight.

He wasn't quick to find a partner, distracted by his preparations and by the concern he had boiling inside for the people he'd lost. Wondering where they were and if today would be the day he'd finally find them. Thinking about who he really was, he glanced at his own reflection in a glossy puddle of leaking water. The person staring back at him didn't betray any of the anxiety he felt so strongly. So much depended on him—more than anyone realized.

He and Raven were the last to leave, pairing them by default. Her eyes narrowed, and he spotted the hint of a smile at the corners of her lips. Their affection had evolved by accident and had remained as secret as possible, out of necessity. But Zero found it difficult to keep his eyes from following her, and, when she was out there alone, which was often, he always worried about her.

He took point, and she followed wordlessly behind him. They worked best together and often didn't need to communicate to know what the other was thinking.

Zero squeezed the cold steel of his pistol grip, steady and stealthy, creeping along the wall. The lower level wasn't well lit, and they often crossed through large areas with no electric lighting at all. Hiding in the shadows was easy, but it gave Zero a nasty twist in his stomach every time he was forced blindly into the open. Hating that it was impossible to tell who could be waiting.

He continued along, cornering as carefully as he knew how, shifting from room to room, Raven covering his back. Everywhere they went, shelves and boxes sat derelict, and thousands of crates were stacked high on thousands of pallets. The air was stale from minimal ventilation, and every breath tasted like dust.

As they neared their target, Zero slowed to a stop and crouched, perfectly silent. He pressed an ear against the cement wall and waited, sweat beading on his forehead. Nothing could be heard. He hesitated, heart beating like a steel drum, then made a hand signal that meant "Now!"

He entered the room with his handguns held high. It was a large storage unit, filled with tables stacked high with machinery and a few large piles of girders. The lights were on, but dim, and on the left wall was a narrow alcove—probably leading to the gas main. The perfect place for a bomb.

He snuck to the nearest table but spotted something extremely out of place.

Max's disembodied head was on the ground, only a few feet away.

Zero felt sick, terrified, and immediately concerned that, with Max dead, Zero would never find those he was looking for, despite Raven's help. Max had been the only person in the cell who'd known who Zero really was and how to find who he was looking for.

Zero muffled his disgust and looked away. He crouched down defensively and raised a hand to alert Raven that something was wrong.

Approaching footsteps caught his attention. Someone appeared in the far doorway: the grim bearded face of a man wearing a thick brown jacket, holding a basic submachine gun. He held the weapon roughly, like he didn't know how to use it. On his right hand Zero could barely recognize the blue alpha tattoo. The mark of Rigil—a follower of Antares who had gone rogue and had started his own revolution.

The terrorist stepped into the room, glancing from left to right, then dashed his way toward the alcove with a bomb strapped to his back. When no more of his friends entered, Zero aimed one handgun and fired twice.

The shots rang loudly in the enclosed space, and the terrorist collapsed, seemingly struck in the shoulder and back. He rolled down into the pallets.

Zero moved deeper into the room, following the shadows around some cover of his own, meaning to finish off the bomber.

The room exploded with noise. Four other Rigilians stood up from their hiding places, and the room was lit up with gunfire. Zero rolled to better cover, waiting for them to drain their magazines as they peppered the room with bullets. Slugs plinked, bouncing off the cement walls all around. Zero dared a glance behind him, but Raven was too well hidden to see.

The noise faded, and he heard the clicking of clips being replaced. He popped up from his cover and strafed several rounds of covering fire to allow him access to a better position behind a pile of industrial machinery. He managed to kill one of the Rigilians. Zero dropped his own magazine, squeezed in another clip, and cocked the gun. Behind him came the distinct whine of Raven's silenced carbine, followed by the heavy thud of a body just ahead.

That left two alive and the one wounded; the playing field was almost equal. Zero prepared to spring to his feet again, looking carefully at how best to flank his enemies.

An enormous wave of heat spread through the room with a bright, blinding flash. Zero moaned, rubbing his eyes clear as a splash of concentrated energy landed nearby. When the brightness faded, he saw that most of the industrial machinery he'd used as cover had been melted into a sizzling, molten ooze. Plasma weapons.

"Enforcers!" Raven called from behind.

The guardians-elite were the last people anyone wanted to see right now. Zero abandoned his ruined cover while plasma scorches began to scar the room. The pounding of submachine gunfire had changed directions. Zero wasn't at all surprised; he knew the Rigilians feared the enforcers even more than he did. But, after a few more flashes, and even fewer seconds, the submachine guns were silenced forever.

Zero stood and sprinted for the back door. The whole operation was a complete disaster. Raven was crouched next to the exit, and her rifle blazed yellow, giving covering fire at huge personal risk to herself.

"Run!" Zero yelled at her.

She ignored him. Raven's stubborn loyalty was legendary.

Just then she lit up like a candle, charged with an overwhelming dose of pure energy. Then she was gone. A charred mark on the floor, a bit of burning hair and clothes, ashes next to a liquified metal carbine. Leaving only him. Zero. Alone.

His insides burned, and his jaw popped as he ground his teeth together. He'd lost her; he'd lost her! And he'd lost Max and his information. He'd lost his only connection to the people he belonged with. He'd lost everything. . . . Nothing felt real anymore. And in an outpouring of fear and vengeance, he spun around, staring death in the face, channeling his fear and loathing.

There stood the two enforcers, each in full green combat armor.

Zero clicked his handguns into automatic mode and sprayed his enemies while standing his ground.

The bullets bounced pointlessly off their armor, and the enforcers ignored his efforts. They could vaporize him. Why didn't they? Why didn't they just kill him? Why didn't they just end it? Zero didn't want to die, but he could not accept the reality of what had just happened. It couldn't be real. He felt so much rage inside him that he almost charged his enemies, wanting to tear them apart with his bare hands. He felt the urge to tear off his gloves and unleash hell upon them—or try.

They did not vaporize him. Instead Zero heard a deafening ring, and his vision blurred bright white. He fell blindly to his knees and tried to cover his stinging ears. Someone grabbed his head and pressed a rag against his face. Zero held his breath and struggled valiantly, knowing, better than they did, what effects the drug would have on him. He broke free for a moment, arms swinging madly, but even more hands gripped him, and continued to press the rag against his nose and mouth even harder. In complete desperation, Zero spasmed violently with all of his strength, energy, and hate, but their combined grip was unbreakable.

At last he choked and breathed in deeply, with no choice but to submit, knowing as he drifted off to sleep that his life, as he knew it, was over.
Chapter 3

His view was like an ocean of lime. Everything clear as crystal. A bright circle glowed around him, like burning emerald fire. He swung his sword against an unseen enemy, feeling the recoil of every blow. And, in what became a twisting whirlwind of black and white, he remembered only the fleeting words, "You bring this upon yourself."

***

Zero awoke. It was a bright room, white and barren. His first thought was an overwhelming sense of déjà vu.

There was a bottle of water that held several gallons, a table with some bread and meat, and a toilet in the corner. He felt like he'd seen this place a thousand times, but, as he looked it over, he was sure he'd never been here before.

He sat up on the cot and stretched. His arms and legs were sore, and he was light-headed but otherwise felt fine. He rubbed his head, trying to figure out what was going on.

The only thing he remembered was being dragged off a cold metal table. A lot of noises all around him, but they were muffled by a ringing in his ears, and he hadn't been able to see.

But that memory was empty and didn't explain where he was now. And it felt more like years ago, not hours.

He stood up to examine the room more carefully, brushing his hands against the firm walls as he walked. Searching for clues, an exit, anything. But the place was sealed tight with only one door and no windows.

Opposite him was a mirror that encompassed half a wall. He was certain it was one-way glass. He looked past his reflection and imagined who might be staring at him from behind the mirror. Observing him. Keeping him prisoner.

Of course all he could see was a pale face and familiar disheveled black hair along with sky-blue eyes that were piercing and mature. His twentysomething-year-old face had subtle creases, lines of worry that had hardened over time. The character of his skin told a story, and in his eyes burned a purpose that matched a sharp, passionate feeling deep inside him. Like knowing he had to do something important, and soon, but not remembering what.

The feeling withdrew, fickle as an emotion, with no more substance than the wind from the vent. And, try as he did, Zero couldn't remember anything about the man in the mirror. But something in those tortured blue irises gave him a chill. They seemed dark and capable of anything.

His stomach rumbled, and he lost his train of thought. He tested the lock on the door a few times and eventually sat down at the table in resignation. He picked up the plate of food and sniffed suspiciously at it. It seemed fine. His stomach burned with hunger, and, since he was in no position to argue, he cleaned his plate, perfectly aware that, if his captors—whoever they were—had wanted him dead, he'd be dead already.

The meal didn't satisfy, but it sustained him for now. With nothing else to do, he sat and pondered, head in his hands, wondering exactly who he was and why he was being held. It was both painful and dull, and he quickly tired of squeezing his brain for answers he didn't have. Eventually he returned to the cot and stared up at the blank ceiling. It was a miserable place, made much worse by a lack of information. He wasn't tired, but eventually sleep overtook him.

***

The girl was his twin sister. Her midnight-colored hair exactly like his, but she was much smaller. And she seemed younger, though the darkness made it difficult to see her clearly. He watched her from the shadows, too scared to talk to her. Not wanting to be caught out of bed.

She wore rags as she scrubbed the floor. A soapy bucket next to her. She kept a tiny smile on her face, but he knew she was unhappy. Her eyes gleamed in the moonlight, spilling through the broken window. Glistening with melancholy.

The wind tousled her hair playfully, and she lowered her head, closing her tired eyes for a moment. Before long, one of the attendants rushed in and scolded her.

***

When Zero came to his senses, he was sitting up on a cot, like he'd been awake for hours but had only now achieved awareness.

He was in a strange white room. There were no windows and only one door. One of the walls was mostly covered by a large wide mirror. There was a table with simple food and a toilet in the corner. The whole situation struck him as familiar, even though he was sure he'd never seen this place before.

Something seemed off, however. Aside from being trapped here like a prisoner and not knowing who he was or what was happening, it all felt out of place. Like he was so close to realizing something and yet just far enough away not to.

He rose to his feet and walked around the room, searching. Wondering who his captors were, and why he was a prisoner. He combed his memory, which was limited, and found more questions than answers.

He remembered noises. There was a shrill ring that made everything hard to distinguish. There had been shouting and gunfire. He hadn't been able to see. Several hands had grabbed him. He remembered struggling. But that was all. Now he was here.

The situation bothered him, especially his lack of memories, but his first order of business was survival, and his attention very quickly turned to his growling stomach. He went to the table and examined the food they'd left him. It was a bowl of mixed fruit. He ate some, finding it unsatisfying. It didn't taste good; the melons had contaminated the other fruits, so everything tasted exactly like melon. He hated melon. But he ate it anyway, starving as he was.

Just as he finished and stood up, he spotted a crumb on the floor. He knelt down and picked it up, holding it between his fingers. It was bread and not very old. It sparked a memory; he had eaten bread recently. As his brain struggled to put together the pieces, he couldn't resist the urge to return to the cot. Lying down, puzzling over his situation, he felt strangely tired and slept.

***

He was running. His head hurt. His soul tortured. He dropped, lurching in agony. The betrayal was impossible to bear, especially now that she'd left him. He'd failed. And that failure ate him inside like a rabid animal eviscerating its prey. He'd endured it until now. But this news was too much to bear. He would make him pay. He would make them all pay.

***

Zero realized he was muttering something over and over. Blood rushed to his head, and he felt a severe headache. Then, just as quickly, the blood rushed out of his head, and blackness covered his vision. Blinding him with darkness until his body recovered a moment later.

He took several sharp breaths and soaked in his surroundings.

He was in a simple white room. The place was barren, like a prison cell. It looked oddly familiar, but maybe that was just the commonness of it. . . .

At first he was sure he'd never been here before. But, as he looked around, something connected. And he remembered. He'd been held here for some time.

The lights snapped off, and Zero stood up defensively.

After a minute, the door creaked open, and a bit of light spilled in. A silhouetted person in full armor entered, a female enforcer. She beckoned for him to come nearer. He approached cautiously, feeling his pulse quicken. He was automatically afraid of her, because of what she was, but at the same time glad that something was finally happening.

She guided him into a stark hallway where they met another enforcer, a man in white armor.

Zero walked between them, and they brought him down a long hall and into a makeshift office. There was a table and a few chairs, but otherwise it was totally barren. He took a seat, as directed, opposite one man in green armor.

He wore no helmet and looked middle-aged. "What's the matter? Don't you recognize me, old friend?" asked the green enforcer. His hair was flat brown, and his reddish eyes were unique.

Zero said nothing. He didn't recognize the man and wanted to be careful about what he said, knowing that any one of the three enforcers could kill him without a second thought.

"I'm Almach," the enforcer said. "Is that name familiar to you?"

"No."

"What do you remember?"

Zero thought back. He had a vague sense of who he was. At least what he liked and disliked, and how he viewed the world. He knew places, historical events, and had some general knowledge but couldn't remember much else, like where he was from. And certainly not how he'd found his way into lockup. He recalled a few faces, a few names, mostly just blips. And he certainly didn't recognize anyone in the room.

He did remember, however, what enforcers were capable of, and that was what mattered at the moment.

"I don't remember anything," he said.

"I see," said Almach. He looked Zero straight in the eyes.

Zero didn't look away.

"So you don't even know your own name?" asked Almach.

"My name is Zero," he said. The name was crisp and familiar, and it hung to him with as much attachment as anything else he remembered.

"I mean your proper name. Do you remember that?"

"No," he said, fully aware that Zero was a code name.

"You acquired the alias 'Zero' when you began working for the CTC. How long have you been with the Counter-Terrorist Cell?"

"I don't know what that is."

"Of course you do. Do you remember Max?"

"No."

"Dave?"

Zero shook his head. Almach was playing some kind of game with him.

"Jakob? Alice? Scarlet?" Almach spat the names out rapid fire.

"No."

"None of these names sounds familiar to you?"

"Not one."

Almach looked pleased. His gaze was firm, and he held his tongue for a few seconds, like he was savoring his next words.

Zero looked into Almach's eyes, searching for something to recognize. Almach had the look of a killer about him. His face lacked compassion and, something about him made Zero think Almach had murdered quite a few people. Probably unarmed civilians for some kind of "greater good." The enforcers did terrible things in Silverwind.

"And what about Raven?" asked Almach.

There was something about that name. But Zero wasn't sure what made it significant, so he shrugged. "What about Raven?"

"Do you recognize the name or not?" Almach leaned forward.

Something tugged inside Zero's mind. He chased the thought, but it was just beyond his grasp, leading nowhere, a flicker of familiarity, then nothing.

"No," said Zero.

"Very good," said Almach. He opened a folder and passed a criminal record across the table. It was a profile of a wanted felon named Raven, a young woman who looked purposeful, confident, and dangerous. She was also beautiful despite the low quality of the image, probably snapped by a security camera.

"Read it," said Almach.

Zero raised an eyebrow and picked up the profile to skim it over. "Between fifty and sixty kilograms, black hair, dark eyes, about 170 centimeters . . ."

"Turn to the next page," Almach ordered.

Zero obeyed and froze up suddenly.

Subject Terminated

COD: Concentrated Plasma Energy

There was another picture; it looked like a black stain on the ground. Burnt remains of a person, clothes, hair, and smoke.

In his mind's eye a memory flashed of this beautiful person being lit up like a candle, then erased forever. Raven . . .

The image wounded him deeper than he could have expected, bypassing all his defenses. He wasn't entirely sure why, or even how, he'd known Raven. But she was extremely familiar. Blips of her surfaced in his mind. An underground warehouse, cement corridors, guerilla weapons. An urgent sense of purpose and a compelling attraction buried underneath everything else. Whoever she'd been, Zero had cared about her a great deal. He grilled his brain to remember more of who she'd been but drew only frustrating blanks.

"It seems you do remember," said Almach.

Zero had made no effort to mask his reaction. He looked up suddenly, into Almach's condescending eyes, and felt a tremendous wave of hate.

"I was worried we wouldn't get through to you after your reaction to the drugs. How long have you had your allergy? Forever?"

The man rambled on, but Zero tuned him out. He memorized every detail of Almach's face. Eyeballing the man's size and girth, Zero engaged his mind to match the green armor, with its unique scuffs and wear, to another fleeting memory. Three enforcers entering a dark room, each with plasma glowing at their palms. An urgent sense of fear mixed with violence and chaos. Zero connected it to the death of Raven and was certain Almach had been involved in the deed.

"Focus," said Almach.

Zero's silence had not gone unnoticed. "I'm listening." He tried to hide the amount of pure hate that was filling him.

"Good, let's continue. What else can you tell me about yourself?"

"Nothing you'd care about," said Zero. He was no longer interested in placating the enforcers simply because they were dangerous. They had taken Raven from him. They were holding him prisoner. Because of them, he had nothing. So he wanted them to suffer. And, if the only way he could hurt them was to not cooperate, that's what he would do.

"Then perhaps you can explain to me why you're a victim of recent radiation poisoning."

"What–?" Zero was thrown off. He looked down at his arms and legs; he felt fine.

"Don't bother. You're healthy," said Almach. "But you carry some of the remaining symptoms. You have scars from internal bleeding, and you're the recipient of a few bone-marrow transplants. And you seem to have had some kind of head surgery within the last several years."

Zero found himself involuntarily stroking the back of his head, tracing a long thin scar buried under his thick black hair. It felt familiar. Something he'd gotten used to already.

Zero stared back at Almach, wondering how many lies were mixed into the truths he chose to tell Zero.

"Unlike you, we do know who you are," said Almach. "And you aren't part of the company of terrorists we found you with."

Zero thought of Raven, connected the memories. Wondering what he'd been doing when he'd seen her die. He remembered spending a lot of time underground. And there had been civilians armed with banned weapons. Trying to fight a menace called the Enforcer Combine, the collective group of enforcers allowed to operate without restriction.

"Raven, the others, . . . who are these people?" asked Zero.

"The so-called CounterTerrorist Cell. A group of civilians engaged in acts of terror and vigilantism. They were all recently caught engaged in an unsanctioned violent interchange with level three weapons. You were with them."

"CounterTerrorists?" asked Zero. "So we were fighting the Rigilians." He remembered that a certain pseudoreligious political movement had been growing in the city. Feeding off the public fear that Antares and Rigil, two of the world's most hated men, would somehow rise up again and turn their wrath on Silverwind.

"CTC's motives are irrelevant. Vigilante justice is against the law. And, in Silverwind City, taking the law into your own hands is a capital offense."

"So why capture us? Why are some of us still alive?"

"Not some of you. Just you. Everyone else in the CTC has been terminated."

Zero felt like he should be angrier over this. That he should feel the deaths of his alleged friends much more heavily. But, in truth, the only death that affected him was Raven's.

"So why am I still breathing?"

"Because you were our inside man," said Almach. "How else could we have succeeded so perfectly at neutralizing a gang of terrorists that has eluded detection for over a year?"

That information felt wrong. But Zero wasn't completely sure, so he chose not to respond and withheld his emotional reaction as best he could. He was alive, after all, and Raven had died for certain. Probably the others too. He couldn't remember why he'd been in their company. Perhaps some of the facts lined up in favor of Almach's story, but that didn't explain why Zero felt such a powerful connection to Raven. And why her death, if he'd been involved in it, would have affected him so negatively. And most of all . . .

"Why, then, am I being treated like a prisoner?" asked Zero. "If I work for you?"

"There was some concern that you went native. That you forgot about your mission and became too involved in the small politics of the group you were sent to infiltrate. It's rare, but that sometimes happens. In any case, while you may have forgotten us, we have not forgotten you. And it is still our duty to see to it that you get the help you need. It is my job to assess your condition, so you can be properly, culturally detoxified."

"You want to brainwash me?"

"No. The opposite is true. Our only concern is for your welfare. You have to be healthy, mentally and physically. Which brings me to our next problem. The revival stimulants we gave you had a nasty reaction with your immune system. You can thank your damned allergies for that. It's damaged your memory. That's why you're all mixed up. But the doctors say your memories will clear in time."

Zero looked into Almach's eyes, trying to judge if Almach was lying. There was nothing in his face that showed deceit, but Zero couldn't shake the feeling that Almach was evil. Maybe it was simply his enforcer armor and the negative association it had in Zero's mind, but he doubted that was all. If he did know Almach, if anything about him was familiar, it was that Almach was a sick and malicious person.

As the fullness of what Almach was saying sank in—that Zero's relationship with Raven had been artificial and that he'd taken a primary role in her death—he became terrified that it was true. Logically the dots seemed to connect. It made a kind of sense. But emotionally, some deep, desperate part of him rejected it.

"This—seems wrong," mumbled Zero. He felt like he was forcing together pieces from different puzzles. And something else nagged at the back of his mind, something uncomfortable. He chased the thought furiously, but it shrank further from his grasp. Like he almost understood the situation but didn't.

"You're one of us," said Almach. "You always have been."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means you're an enforcer. We are the same."

Zero's reaction was intense, but he held it inside. That was the revelation he had most feared. He wanted to shut his mind, forget the possibility, forget Almach. But, at the same time, he was desperate to know how far their story went. And, if it wasn't true, why they were trying so hard to deceive him? How was he useful to them?

He knew the dreaded power of the enforcers, sometimes for order but often for abuse. Part of him loved them, or what they were meant to be. But now he mostly remembered them as dangerous cowards. People who raped, stole, and dominated with unilateral force and total impunity.

"I've seen what you do, and what you don't do. We are not the same," said Zero.

There was a moment's pause. "And you've had that scarring on your left hand for how long?" asked Almach, smiling wickedly.

Zero looked down at his hands. True enough, his left palm was slightly disfigured. His hand's shape was perfect, and it functioned normally, but it had dark marks on it, like inerasable radiation burns. And on his middle finger was a thin white scar exactly the shape of a ring. The kind of markings that proved one was an enforcer. "And just who am I supposed to be?" asked Zero.

"Why, you're Caythis Ceteris, of course."
Chapter 4

He remembered her a little better now. And it hurt worse.

The details were still foggy: who she was, how he'd known her, what they'd been trying to accomplish . . . Piecing that together was like trying to read a book full of blank pages. But the feelings, . . . they were undeniable, and coming back more and more.

He recalled her safe presence, the way she looked at him, her beautiful face, her passion. Without her, his sense of purpose evaporated, and loneliness consumed him. That was the proof that he'd cared about her. That he couldn't possibly have been complicit with her murder.

Or could he have? The very idea was repulsive.

"Am I Caythis?" Zero asked himself. The name was familiar, of course. Everyone knew about Caythis. Knew how he'd risen to the top of society, a champion of the people, one of the greatest enforcers who'd ever lived. Knew how five years before he'd confronted the world's ultimate menace, the Fallen One, Antares.

But, to know about a character from history was one thing, to believe himself to be that character was something else entirely. Something Zero found difficult to accept. It would be a strange thing to only know about oneself from what others have said and not from firsthand memories.

Or did he have Caythis's memories?

The name did mean something. The moment he'd heard it, several memories started floating back. He recalled vague details, like the color of a particular carpet in some room, the sight of marble pillars, gleaming armor, and buildings he recognized even now. A crisp, cold morning on a mountain peak. The sight of faces. Glimpses that were all familiar.

Clearest of all these images was the stone tower looking down on Skyhaven City. The Enforcer Academy. In his mind he could almost touch it. It wasn't like seeing a photo or looking at it from the distance, as a tourist would. He remembered looking up at it from its base, from the sacred grounds. And he remembered being inside. Knew what it looked like. Not well. But he did remember. And knew it was a place forbidden to all who were not enforcers.

What if he were Caythis?

As he puzzled over these garbled memories, Caythis's story felt increasingly familiar. The overseer of Citadel, a stranger who had given up everything to prevent the Battle of Andar, to stop Antares from burning Andar City to the ground. But Caythis had arrived too late. A feeling of regret turned inside him. And in the back of his mind he was sure he could see the city burning.

That had been five years ago. And both Antares and Caythis had vanished in the night fog. Had Zero been there?

The more he thought about it, the more he could see glimpses of the violence in his mind. Hear dull whispers of screaming and gunfire.

He even thought he saw the image of a man in armor, holding out a sword, his visor staring him down. But the figure was almost like a silhouette in his mind. None of his features could be seen, not even the color of his armor.

The majority of the details were still lost, but enough of the picture was clear. He was Caythis. Strange as that seemed right now. That didn't explain why he was working with the enforcers of Silverwind. And it didn't mean he was complicit in Raven's death. But he was Caythis; that much they were being honest about. He was equally convinced, though, that he would never have let Raven die. So it was a matter of sorting out the truths from the lies. Perhaps then he would completely understand who he was.

He looked up at the mirror hanging on the wall and recalled something Raven had once asked him. Zero, when you look in the mirror, what do you see?

That had been over a year ago. They'd been in some kind of familiar-looking warehouse basement, probably part of the CTC's hideout. It had been his first day with that group. His first time alone with Raven. She'd meant the question as a measure of his character, but he'd made a joke out of it.

"I see a damn sexy man."

She'd laughed at that, and that had been the end of it.

At the time he'd thought nothing of it, but now he held the memory like a treasure, one of the few he had.

The mirror in the CTC's hideout had been modest and existed only to help a person see down the hallway from the south side of the room. The mirror here, where he was now, served no such tactical purpose. It was large, elegant, and existed only for narcissism and vanity. He felt lost gazing into it.

The man he saw reflecting back at him had a grim face and piercing blue eyes and a head of midnight-colored hair. He recognized his face, but, for the first time since he'd been here, he attached it to his real name. Caythis Ceteris. The legend.

"What do I see now?" he asked himself, echoing Raven's original question. He stared into his own forever-blue eyes but had no epiphany.

"Emptiness," he said. His reflection felt like the echo of an echo. And something about the man bothered him. Like the reflection gazing back at him knew things about himself that he didn't. It made him uneasy.

He held up his left hand, deciding that it was time to embrace the fact that he was an enforcer. Time to remember what it felt like to have magic spring from the flat of his hand, to feel it pour through and to mix inside him. Remember how painful it was to create. Feel, once more, what it was like to control.

He did not have to concentrate as hard as he'd expected. Once he wanted to light his hand ablaze, it was only a matter of demanding that from himself. He reached deep inside his heart, not his mind, and threw his frustrations, fears, and grief into the task. The fire came to life instantly, consuming his hand. He felt horrible pain. Not from the flame though. It licked him harmlessly, because he was a fire enforcer. The pain came from inside and was much more severe than burning flesh. The fire burned his innermost energy, eating a very tiny piece of his soul. An agonizing process. But he embraced the agony and watched the fire grow in fury.

Yes, I am Caythis Ceteris. I can summon my element without wearing my ring. Only the truly powerful could do that.

He let the fire die and felt instant relief.

Knowing who he was calmed him, but he still lacked clarity. Still hungered to know everything. But he was content for now, believing it would all come back to him. Promising himself that he would remember.

He relaxed on the bed they'd given him. It was too soft to be comfortable, and far too elegant with its beautifully carved headboard and brilliant handmade linens. Everything about this place was ostentatious, flashy, and superior. And he didn't care for that.

He'd spent the last two days living in this suite, perusing the local complex as much as they'd let him. The place was called the Elite Quarter, a sort of luxury barracks for Silverwind's enforcers to live in. Its lavishness and extravagance was rivaled only by the royal palace itself.

He found it distasteful. Especially when he caught glimpses through the windows of the poverty around them. He remembered that the socioeconomic situation in Silverwind wasn't good. Seeing so much wastefulness and wanton displays of wealth in the face of such need made him feel cheapened in his soul. As if, by living here, he was flippantly ignoring the neediness of the world around him.

He'd been left mostly alone, no armed guards, no escort. After Almach had finished his story and they'd had another doctor examine Caythis, he had spent a day listening to their propaganda about his "dutiful role" as an enforcer. He'd chosen not to argue, and they'd released him. Simple as that, giving him housing in the Elite Quarter where he was free to roam. Even though he liked this freedom, it alarmed him that it came so easily. He didn't want further convincing that he was one of them.

He accepted that he was Caythis. And knew Caythis had been an Enforcer Overseer, though from a different city. Which left him wondering how the events of the past five years had brought him to work with this Silverwind detachment.

Yes, it made sense for him not to be in Citadel where he belonged. It was under hostile control. But to be here, among the seediest and worst enforcers in the world, . . . how had he sunk so low? Or was he trying to accomplish some greater purpose? Perhaps he had hoped to convince these enforcers to change their ways. To take an interest in the public need. To serve the people the way they were originally intended to do.

He refused to accept any responsibility for what they did, especially for their role in Raven's death. And he promised himself that he would never forgive them. That, once he understood the situation better, they would pay. And pay dearly.

After a time he got up and wandered the complex again. The masonry and furnishings were captivating in their own strange, beautiful way, but, despite the elegance, it felt empty and barren to him. There was no soul here.

He'd spent many lonely hours gazing out the windows, watching the city life. Swarms of people, mostly poor. Urchins, whores, the starving, the homeless . . . Some people were on the edge of death out there, living only feet away from a glorious mansion with more than enough to clothe and feed hundreds of them.

Especially interesting from his view was the lack of police. Usually men-at-arms kept the peace throughout Silverwind, commissioned by the king, but there were no blue-and-silver-clad soldiers patrolling the streets in this borough. Crime, violence, and chaos went unchallenged, so long as it didn't run afoul of the Elite Quarter's territory.

Once Caythis saw a fight break out that had snowballed into a small riot just outside the Elite Quarter proper. In the presence of such extravagance and faced with their own poverty, the starving rebels had demanded food. The situation had been quickly squelched by green-clad enforcers whose reputation for ruthlessness and unilateral power had proved well-earned.

The conflict had been one-sided and had turned bloody immediately. Those who hadn't scattered quickly enough had become charred ashes on the asphalt. Burnt remains. Like Raven . . . Caythis almost couldn't believe the cruelty. The enforcers' merciless brutality extended to anyone and everyone, even children. And Caythis could do nothing. It had sickened him. He had promised himself once more that their leaders would pay a severe price.

There was one door in the Elite Quarter that the other enforcers kept locked, a place Caythis wasn't yet allowed to go. He always tested the handle when he walked by, but it never budged. Until today. Curious and unintimidated, he entered.

An electric light snapped on, detecting movement. It was an extremely simple room, with gray brick walls, no windows, no other doors, completely sparse except for artifacts covering several tables. Bits of technology, gadgets mostly, and broken ones at that.

What caught his eye the most was a set of shiny black enforcer armor sitting on the nearest table. It seemed complete with breastplate, backplate, greaves, helmet, boots, and bracers. All of which sat atop a thin, flexible bodysuit that was worn underneath.

He walked closer to examine the items more carefully. Their size was just small enough not to fit him. He picked up the breastplate and found it was very light. The advanced flexible polymer was able to repel bullets yet hinder the wearer only slightly. And some models, when completely interconnected, could enhance the strength of the wearer. Amazing technology. This particular unit seemed coated by a slick black substance. He scratched off some of it, revealing crimson armor underneath. The owner had probably coated it to limit its heat signature—make the armor less visible to the superior eyes of an enforcer's visor. A tactic that would probably work, so long as the wearer wasn't holding an active sword or casting fire magic. It was the kind of clever thing Caythis would probably try, if he wanted to avoid detection.

Unfortunately, even if it had fit him, the armor was not functional anymore. A large crack had split along one edge, so it wouldn't protect the wearer from radiation. There was other damage too: scorch marks and smaller cracks. Worst of all, a piece of what would've protected the lower abdomen was completely gone, ostensibly burned off by a plasma sword.

"You did that, you know," a woman's voice said from directly behind him.

Caythis whirled around, startled that he hadn't heard her enter.

She was an enforcer and wore lavender armor. The unusual color marked her as an overseer of Silverwind, probably the person in charge of the whole Silverwind enforcer detachment. She wore no helmet, and her silver hair was tied behind her head. She had dark eyes, like unreadable opals, and looked older than he was. Probably in her mid-thirties. She was thin and tall, and probably intimidated most people. But not Caythis.

"I did what?" he asked, puzzled by her statement.

She moved closer, looking pleased with herself and smug. Like she were the queen of Citadel.

"You damaged that armor." Her alto voice was smooth.

Caythis brushed the melted cavity with the tip of his finger; it did seem oddly familiar. He set down the breastplate and looked her in her eyes. "Who are you?"

"Lucida Selona, overseer of Silverwind City. Not that you could ever forget."

Was this another game? Or should he remember her? Doubtless he'd dealt with her before, but she did not seem familiar at all. "And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, we were together, Caythis. You and me." She advanced another step. "First at the academy and later here. Don't tell me that you don't remember."

Her smile gave him the chills. "I don't think so," said Caythis drily. She was beautiful, in her own spooky way, but she was ten years older than him, maybe more, and not at all his type. He felt no attraction to her now, and so doubted he ever had. Especially since she was the person most responsible for the atrocious behavior of the local enforcers. And, Caythis believed, ultimately responsible for Raven's death. Almach had done the deed; Lucida had ordered it done. Or, at least, approved of the idea. That made her Caythis's enemy.

He almost attacked her, right then and there. Wanted to scorch her to death with his fire. But, somehow, he held it in. Didn't let himself lose control. He still didn't have enough information to exact his revenge and knew acting on such dark impulses, without thinking twice, was not something he should do. He was Caythis. He was better than that. So he pretended he felt nothing.

"Do you remember destroying that cuirass?" she asked.

He thought back. Tried to imagine his fight with Antares, believing that was Antares's armor on the table. He saw a cliff. Remembered gunfire. And a dark figure in armor coming toward him, almost like a silhouette. But he did not remember killing him.

"No."

"Do you know who the armor belonged to?"

"Antares."

"That's right. You killed him. Are you sure you don't remember?"

He closed his eyes and saw the shadow of armor standing opposite him. He and his adversary were both surrounded by fire and corpses. But his memory was still unclear. "How are you so sure that Antares is dead?"

She pointed to the damaged part of the armor. "That's from a plasma sword. Your plasma sword."

"Did you see his body?"

"I didn't have to. You're the one who told me that he was dead. You said, in no uncertain terms, that you'd killed him with your own two hands. That the world's cries for justice had been heard and answered."

It was plausible, but Caythis did not trust her. And he wasn't going to let himself be taken in. She was his enemy; nothing changed that.

"I told you that?" he said. "Why would I tell you?"

"I think we both know the answer to that question." Lucida's eyes glowed with passion, and Caythis felt nauseated. "Because I meant everything to you. We met at the academy. We studied together. We fell in love. You were named champion-elect. You were given the station of overseer of Citadel, and you took it and left me. You said it was the hardest decision you'd ever made, and that you'd regretted it ever since. I took my place here in Silverwind, where I've remained. And now, at long last, we're together again."

No. That wasn't right. She was older than him; they couldn't have studied at the academy together. Not in the same group. Perhaps their time there had overlapped some . . . He looked her over, deeply into her dark eyes. Tested her for sincerity. And . . . he just couldn't believe any of it. There was no chance he would have been romantically involved with this woman.

A part of him wondered if he doubted her story only because he wanted it to be false. Because it made it easier for her to be his enemy, and he needed an enemy. Someone to blame. But he silenced that line of thinking and convinced himself that her story was patently false.

"I've never even seen you before," he said. "You mean nothing to me."

She looked hurt. Or was she acting?

Her eyes went to the floor; her smile faded.

Perfectly realistic. He even felt a stab of guilt. What if it was true?

No! It wasn't! She was trying to deceive him. Manipulate him. She was the person who refused to order her enforcers to help those around her. She allowed, or commanded, her enforcers to perform atrocious acts of violence against unarmed civilians. She hoarded resources others desperately needed. And, most damning of all, she must have been complicit in Raven's murder. Caythis would not show her weakness.

"Why else would you be here?" she said, looking up at him once more. Her eyes pleading. "Why do you think you came to Silverwind at all? After defeating Antares you couldn't go back to Citadel. That city fell. In part because you abandoned it in order to slay Antares. A noble effort but that deed alone couldn't stop the revolution from seizing the capital city. So you couldn't go there.

"And you couldn't stay in Andar. It was destroyed. However, you could have gone to Skyhaven, but you didn't. You came here. To me. You brought Antares's armor with you too. Why else would we have it? Don't you see?

"You came here, and I've kept you a secret ever since. Which is why the world doesn't know the outcome of your battle. This was all your idea. Why don't you remember? Can you see any other explanation that makes sense?"

"No," he admitted. As he added it together in his head, it all seemed to fit with everything else he knew. Everything except for his involvement with the CTC. If he weren't so certain of his feelings for Raven—that he would have wanted to protect her—he might have believed everything Lucida told him. Instead he doubted her. Believed she was telling lies spun around partial truths. Taking advantage of him because of his condition.

He turned his attention away from her and felt drawn to a sword on the farthest table. He went to it, picked it up. It felt comfortable in his grip. The handle connected two joined rods which formed the blade. A thin coil above the sturdy handguard allowed the weapon to be charged with furious amounts of energy. It was the traditional weapon of an enforcer. Only someone well protected from radiation would ever use one, and it allowed a spare hand for summoning magic.

He swung the sword deftly, gliding into form without much thought. The blade swished harmlessly in a perfect rendition of K-style, which he'd learned at the academy.

"You invented that form," said Lucida.

Caythis stopped midswing. What? He turned to face her. "I learned it at the academy." He remembered standing in the sparring room, being taught by a gray-bearded man, . . . but the memory blurred as he pressed it. Suddenly his teacher seemed younger and beardless. Then he was gone completely, and Caythis didn't remember how he'd learned it. On second thought, he did remember spending countless hours trying to craft the perfect counter to the T-form. Maybe she was right.

"No, you definitely invented that form. A pity you don't recall, considering how tirelessly you worked on it, but at least you seem to remember your sword."

That too felt wrong. As he handled the sword, it was comfortable in his grip. But it seemed strange to him. He set it down when he spotted another sword, on another table. "No, this one is my sword," he said, picking it up. He knew it, he recognized it; even the scratches on it were familiar. But as he flicked it around, it felt all wrong. The weight wasn't balanced to his arm, and it was a little too short. Making it clumsy. So he decided it must not be his sword after all.

"You are more confused than I'd thought," said Lucida, "but you will remember everything in time. Perhaps getting back into the rhythm of things will speed your recovery."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I'm ordering you to accompany Almach on a mission tomorrow. Being on the job again might jog your memories."

"I don't take orders from you."

Lucida raised her eyebrows. "Oh no? I am the ranking enforcer in this city, and I have given you sanctuary. Of course you take orders from me."

The thought of working for Lucida was unacceptable, and he decided that, whatever his role used to be here—if any—he wasn't going to be unilaterally complicit with anything she did. That said, he needed more information about her and her operation before he could decide what to do and where to go. So that meant playing along for now and waiting for the opportune moment to escape, take her down, or both.

"What's the mission?" he asked.

"Do you remember the Code of Coalition?"

He did. He'd never read it but knew it was the primary governing document; it had been written by the Founders after the End of the World a hundred years ago. Now that humanity merely existed on a small continent of only four cities, it had been necessary to frame a new legal structure to assure humanity's future. But no amount of rules or guaranteed freedoms had proven enough to prevent the rise of Antares, who had once again threatened the existence of humanity.

"What about them?"

"Do you recall the beginning of the last article? The enforcer clause?"

"Sounds familiar."

"In it is written the purpose of the enforcers. It's effectively our mission statement. You and everyone else had to memorize it at the academy. We recited it every day during our first year."

He did remember. "To enforce justice and peace by any means necessary, so that our hopeful future shall survive."

"That's right," she said. "And so it has fallen on us to use any and every means to defend that future."

"What are you talking about?"

"The capstone of our mission, our very purpose, is to protect justice so the people may live in peace and be preserved."

"Okay . . ." said Caythis carefully. Thinking how Lucida obviously didn't believe in that.

"With the rise of Antares, the old order became outmoded. Our society is crumbling into anarchy. Each city stands separately. And each will fall separately. Look at what happened to Andar—wiped completely off the map."

"Where are you going with this?"

"The people are not united in Silverwind. Small factions are common, and groups band together, promoting violence. The nobility have pressed their power too thin, and they've lost their grip on the city. If we do not take over, total anarchy will."

Caythis raised a curious eyebrow. Was she really suggesting the enforcers usurp control from the government?

"There is a major division, and, without the king's soldiers, order will be impossible. We're simply too few. I have asked the prefect to work with our plans or to submit his troops to our control. He has refused. Things are getting worse every day, and now the hour has come to take the city."

"You can't be serious."

"In the absence of the prefect, the troops fall to the command of the lieutenant prefect. After him, they fall to the command of the Enforcer Overseer. My command. They'd be ours, Caythis. And it just so happens that the prefect and lieutenant prefect are father and son. Jonathan and Jaden Turk. Living together under the same roof."

"I don't like where this is going."

"Tomorrow you will help us eliminate them," said Lucida eagerly. "Two stubborn, worthless men is a small price to pay for peace."

"What you're suggesting is murder. Seems a strange way of bringing about peace and justice."

"Remember that, in the enforcer clause, peace comes after justice. That is their proper order. And the Founders wrote the article to reflect that! This is our finest hour, Caythis! We must reconstruct our society. It is our duty. When you deserted Citadel to face Antares, you abandoned your post. You ran from your duty. Now is your chance to redeem yourself!"

Caythis felt stung inside. Ran from duty once before? He shook away the thought; he wasn't about to bend to her manipulative tactics.

He pointed to the table next to her. "A table is a table. The floor is the floor, and the murder of government officials is murder. Looking at something from a different angle doesn't change what it is."

"Acceptable collateral damage, Caythis. Can't you see the bigger picture? With those two men in the way, hundreds of thousands of people will keep suffering and dying. Orphans die in the streets every day, and for what? So the prefect can keep his men marching around his precious mansion and ignore the chaos?"

He doubted that was the real situation, but it did seem to be true that the men-at-arms had no presence here in this borough, even though they should. Was that because the prefect turned a blind eye to the needs here? Or was there some better reason? Perhaps he expected the enforcers to maintain order here, something Lucida was wantonly not doing.

"The ends justify the means, Caythis. Cut off one slice of the pie to spare the rest!"

"Interesting how the rest of the pie is yours."

"And yours!" she said frantically. "You certainly had a different attitude before we sent you off to track down those CTC criminals!"

An icy reminder of Raven.

"And we agreed we would unite this city together. Our city. The Founders wanted the world to stay united. They didn't care who was in charge or how it was ruled, just that we, the enforcers, were the glue that held it together."

"The Founders are dead," said Caythis. "They don't get a say here. They molded together the best government they could think of, trying to prevent a second apocalypse and the total extinction of the human race, but they were just people. And they lived a long time ago."

"Are you telling me that you'd rather sit idle, again, while another city throws itself to the gutter? Breaks apart? Will you watch as the little children suffer and die?"

All he could think, as she spoke, was of the abuses he had seen the enforcers do to the children. And he knew any kind of "order" which Lucida dreamed of would only make things worse for the people, not better.

He could not talk sense into her. She was too far gone. So arguing with her served no purpose. What he needed to do was get her to loosen his leash, offer him a window to frustrate her plans and escape. That meant kissing Lucida's ass for now. But she would pay for what'd happened to Raven, and for what Lucida was trying to do to this city.

"I see I have a lot to remember," he said. His voice was calm, even pleasant, and he sounded utterly defeated.

Lucida's face remained tight for a moment. "So you'll do it?"

"If that is what you order me to do," said Caythis.

"Even if you don't agree with my order?"

"Responsibility for an order lies with the person who gave it, not the person who followed it," he said. That was something he did not believe. If Lucida had given the order to kill Raven, and Almach had done the killing, they were both still responsible. And they both deserved to pay. But he knew this was the kind of rhetoric Lucida wanted to hear, so he put on his best acting face.

Lucida smiled. "Then it is time Caythis's armor was returned to him." She pointed to a set of bronze armor on another table.

He played along, realizing his time at the Elite Quarter was about to end.
Chapter 5

There was a pounding on the door. "Main hall, ten minutes!" said Almach's muffled voice.

Caythis was already awake. He'd scarcely been able to sleep in this luxury prison, especially now that he'd planned to betray them. They were bad people, he reminded himself. Selfish enforcers who terrorized and preyed on the weak. They were plotting to overthrow the government, and they were responsible for Raven's death. Keeping all of that in mind, he knew what he had to do. There was no other way.

He fastened the bronze armor, snapped the bracers into place over the long sleeves of the black suit, and, with a tug, pulled the right glove on tightly. There was no left glove. He instinctively wanted to strap a sword to his back, but they hadn't given him one. Probably wise on their part. He picked up the helmet last.

He hesitated before putting it on, feeling its weight in his hands, realizing the moment he wore it and flipped down the visor that he'd be one of them. Completely covered in the armor of the Enforcer Combine.

No! I'm not one of you. We aren't the same.

He pulled the helmet over his head; the foam inside it pressed against his ears, and the world became silent. He activated the helmet's power, and the crisp buzz of the room was picked up by the mic and routed through the internal speakers. He flipped down the visor. Instantly his vision was filled with staticky waves, but the visor blinked, configuring to his needs, staying in the visible light spectrum but adding a touch of extra contrast.

He looked again in the mirror and saw a fully armored enforcer looking back at him. He moved a bit, and the suit felt light as a feather. His armor responded to his motions, amplifying them. He couldn't lift a car over his head, but his strength had much more bite than before.

He raised his left hand absentmindedly and examined the scarred tissue under the light. The ring-mark could be seen clearly. He wondered what had happened to his ring. With it, he would be so much more powerful.

He met up with the others in the main hall, seven in total. All fully suited enforcers and all were big and broad and probably male. Everyone but him wore dark green. A strange color for armor, one Caythis did not understand. The academy issued white armor for air enforcers, red for fire, and blue for water. There was no green element. Only overseers and masters wore different colors. So why the green? And why so many? He assumed this was one of Lucida's twisted ideas. Perhaps she used green to identify the enforcers she favored above the rest.

One of them was talking animatedly, using his hands. Caythis's armor automatically adjusted the volume so he could hear everything clearly.

"This has to be quick. We meet back here in two hours. Is that clear?" asked Almach.

The others voiced agreement. Caythis remained silent. Almach faced him. They stared at each other for a minute. Neither able to see the other's face. Caythis noticed a handcomputer strapped to Almach's belt and thought instantly about how it would help him. Once he took it from Almach.

Each enforcer was given a specific task. They would travel to an entry point, go into the underground, infiltrate the Manors Borough—which housed the government and the wealthy—and then resurface near the prefect's mansion. They would confirm both prefects were inside and secure all the exits. At that point, there would be a controlled flame, and the whole building would go down along with everyone inside it.

Almach explained the exit strategy and extraction procedures, and Caythis couldn't help but imagine the scene. A family, probably with children, plus a few servants. All sleeping in their beds only to find themselves locked in their own house. Unable to escape. Burned alive with everyone they loved. It made him sick, and yet . . . it felt oddly familiar. . . .

"Since he is the fire enforcer here, Caythis will start the fire," said Almach.

Caythis didn't let himself react. That had been the plan. He had to pretend to go along with them. Of course he would have made his move long before.

"Isn't that right, Caythis?"

"Yes, sir," said Caythis. "For the greater good."

"For the greater good, indeed."

Almach dismissed the others, and they filed out. Caythis remained in place.

"What is it?" demanded Almach.

"I haven't been able to perform magic since you revived me," Caythis lied. "I might not be able to torch the house. We should bring along an incendiary device, just in case."

"Very well," said Almach. "Come with me." He led him down the hall to a set of stairs.

Caythis expected the incendiary devices to be stored somewhere along with other weapons and hazardous materials. Hopefully something that could penetrate the few weak points of enforcer armor. If not, . . . he'd have to hope he could summon more magical fire than he gave himself credit for.

They descended a few flights of stairs and ended up at a metal door. Almach unlocked it, and they entered.

The room could only be described as an armory. The walls were dripping with weapons and ammunition of all levels and varieties. Much more than the enforcers who staffed the place could hope to use. Especially since, as a rule, enforcers preferred swords and magic to firearms. Lucida could only be planning a revolution with such a stockpile. Either that or she was going to sell them to Rigil, the despot whose iron grip had squeezed the life out of Citadel.

Class two weapons and armor, including bullet-resistant synthetic fiber clothing, rifles, shotguns, and similar tactical equipment seemed to outnumber everything else. Almach strode meaningfully toward the far side of the room. While he was busy collecting an incendiary device, Caythis looked around for something that could punch through enforcer armor. There wasn't much, but he settled on something. He picked up a shotgun, loaded a metal slug, and walked up to Almach, whose back faced him.

"The others will get there before we do. Their van will have left by now. We'll take our own ride. Do you remember how to drive?" Almach was saying, still not facing him.

Caythis walked closer, now only feet away.

Almach finished securing the incendiary device and stood up, turning around.

Caythis pumped the shotgun.

"What the hell are you doing?" asked Almach. He dropped the incendiary device and tapped his helmet, trying to enable a wideband voice message.

Caythis wouldn't let him. He pointed the shotgun at Almach's knee, where the armor was the weakest, and fired.

There was a loud report, and Almach crashed to the ground, the lower part of his leg partially severed. The armor around his gunshot wound was blackened and torn, and blood seeped through the shredded undersuit and painted the cement floor.

Caythis came closer, watching Almach struggle.

His screams were lost inside his helmet. Again he tried to send a message, desperately reaching for the wideband transmit switch on his helmet.

Caythis bent down, tossed aside the shotgun, and gripped Almach's helmet with both hands.

Almach resisted weakly, but he was no match.

Caythis pressed the release and ripped the helmet from Almach's head. Revealing his agonized face—he seemed dazed now, perhaps on the verge of unconsciousness, and in so much pain. Caythis grabbed Almach's head and forced him to look into his eyes.

"That was for Raven."

Wanting to put Almach out of his misery, Caythis took Almach's sword, pressed Almach's ring against its activation chip, and watched it glow furiously to life. Without hesitation, he guided it firmly through Almach's armor and into his chest. Any life left in Almach's eyes faded.

Satisfied, Caythis deactivated the sword, strapped it to his back, collected Almach's handcomputer, and took Almach's ring. It was cold to his touch because it wasn't his and didn't recognize him, so it could not enhance his magic. But it would still activate an enforcer's sword which was his weapon of choice. He placed the ring around his left thumb, since it was too wide for his middle finger, and ran.

An alert sounded in his helmet. Probably was sounding in everyone's helmet. Damn! How had Almach gotten it off? Maybe someone had heard the gunshot?

"All units commence alpha sweep," a voice crackled over the helmet's speaker; it was a priority message picked up by every enforcer in the building.

He raced up the stairs but avoided the main hall and primary exits. He was sure he'd seen a more subtle backdoor that led to the complex's garage. He darted around another corner, cut through a side hallway, and dashed for the exit.

It was unguarded and unlocked. He opened it and rushed inside. It didn't lead to the garage unfortunately. It was just a storage room. With yet another exit on the far side. He ran for it but ducked and hid behind some boxes when he heard someone enter from behind. The way he'd come in. He snuck to a better position, wanting to assess the threat.

It was a single enforcer, dressed in white armor. His sword was out, but inactive, and he was definitely searching for something. He walked through the room, checking things over, and approached the boxes where Caythis was hidden.

Caythis could probably incinerate the man with his magic or else defeat him in a swordfight. But he didn't want to kill the man if he didn't have to. He only killed those who deserved it and even then didn't relish the task. The man probably didn't deserve it. He was an enforcer, but his white armor seemed to showcase that he was not favored by Lucida. Perhaps he'd been coerced by her somehow?

Caythis snuck around some more stored equipment and came up behind the man. He snapped his hands around the man's helmet and twisted it hard, clicking the release button in the process. It popped off, and Caythis tossed it aside.

"What the hell?" said the man.

He was older than Caythis had expected, his hair and mustache already turning gray. He reeled to face Caythis, who was all too ready. With a firm shove the enforcer was knocked onto his back. "I don't want to fight you."

The man's palm glowed.

Caythis had to act quickly. He snatched his inactive sword from behind his back and swatted the blunt metal against the man's head.

Miraculously the man stayed conscious and held his concentration. A jet of magical air exploded from his palm.

Caythis leaned forward, trying to brace himself. But was blown off his feet and thrown into the wall. He collapsed onto his hands and knees. He rebounded quickly—his armor having absorbed most of the impact.

By now the enforcer had climbed to his feet as well and had strapped back on his helmet. He drew his sword and activated it.

Caythis activated his too.

The flow of charged plasma lit the room brightly, and both their helmets adjusted accordingly.

"I'd rather not kill you, but I will if I have to," said Caythis.

"It's too late. They already know you're here," the man's voice crackled back over the speaker. Just then the doors on both sides slammed shut and sealed, due to some kind of automatic switch.

"How?" asked Caythis.

The enforcer pointed up to a camera on the ceiling.

Caythis hadn't spotted it before. Interesting that Lucida kept her own people under surveillance . . . "I can carve through the door," said Caythis. "So stand aside."

"Not fast enough. Even if you killed me, these are reinforced doors. Only an enforcer's handprint can open them."

Caythis ran to the exit and palmed the plate with his left hand. It didn't budge.

"You don't have clearance."

"But you do," Caythis guessed, pointing his sword. "Open it for me. Don't make me kill you."

"I . . . can't." He almost sounded disappointed.

"What do you mean, you can't? Don't you have clearance?"

"Yes."

"Then do it! There are people's lives out there that depend on me. Lucida has ordered the execution of two government officials. I have to stop it. Don't you remember your duty is to the people?"

The man was unreadable behind his visor. Caythis debated attacking him. This man was old enough to remember how the enforcers used to be, if only Caythis could jog that memory.

"Do it," said Caythis. "Open it."

"I want to—you have no idea how much I want to! But I can't. I have no choice." His words were grim.

"There's always a choice," insisted Caythis.

The man seemed to visibly tremble for a minute. Grappling with some deep internal conflict. Then he lowered his sword and looked up at the camera. Defiantly. "All right." He marched to the door and pressed his palm against the plate. The door whisked open. Then he collapsed facedown.

Caythis had no time to lose. But instead of bolting through the exit, he ran to the enforcer, had to see if he was okay.

The enforcer was unresponsive.

Caythis shook him. "Talk to me, friend."

Nothing.

Caythis unsealed the man's helmet and pulled it off. Blood streamed from the man's nose and squirted out around his eyes.

Caythis let go and took a step back. Repulsed and confused. It was like a small explosive had gone off in the man's head. Nothing else made sense. He looked up at the security camera and realized Lucida was a truly sick person.

He dashed away, through the exit, and down a narrow hallway. Unfortunately there was no access to the garage, but he found a rear exit. There was only one problem with it.

Lucida stood in the way, fully clad in her lavender armor, facing him. Helmet and all. Her inactive sword at the ready.

"You are a heartless murderer." Her voice crackled over his speaker. "You killed Almach, your own friend, in cold blood."

He wasn't about to let her play mind games with him. "You're the heartless murderer," he said. "You put an explosive in a man's head, and, when he disobeyed you, you terminated him."

"Don't make this about me," she said. "This has always been about you. About you trying to prove something to yourself. Let go, for once. Accept what destiny has offered you. Even now I am willing to take you back. All can be forgiven. Let yourself see the whole truth."

"I've seen enough."

"You've seen nothing! You close your eyes to the truth. No one is blinder than the one who refuses to see."

"I can't let you murder those men. I can't let you take over the government, no matter how bad things are in Silverwind. You can only make them worse."

"Those men will die. You're too late to stop them. I've already personally ordered their deaths by any means necessary. Wheels are in motion that you cannot stop. All you get to decide is whether you're on top of those wheels or under them."

He took a step closer. "Out of my way, Lucida."

"You think you're some kind of hero?" she said, also taking a step closer. "You think you're a good person? Then you truly remember nothing."

He ignored her, refusing to let her undermine his confidence. "Tell me one thing, Lucida," he said. "Did you order Raven's death?"

She activated her sword, and it roared to life. "Goodbye, Caythis. We could have been great together."

He activated his own sword and attacked. She met him halfway, and their blades collided.

A lot of slashes, quick jabs, and thrusts were exchanged. He tried to keep her on the defensive. His style was extremely aggressive but sloppy, and yet she quickly turned things around. Driving him back the way he'd come with sweeping stroke after sweeping stroke, each time her attacks came closer and closer to cutting him.

He saw his window before long and ducked her attack. Rolling to the side, he regained his footing and plunged his sword toward her.

She flew out of the way, narrowly, and with incredible finesse. Before he could attack her again, she came at him wildly. Driving him back down the hall, pressing her advantage with extreme prejudice.

He found her strokes easy to parry but difficult to keep pace with. He would not relent though. So much fury boiled inside him. He was desperate to avenge Raven, and even more desperate to escape this luxurious hell and thwart Lucida's plans.

They fought vigorously, both going for the kill. It was exhausting, and he was tiring faster than she was. A jab sizzled just an inch from his chest. But he refused to die, and that fear gave him energy.

Instead of a parry, he sidestepped, a gamble that paid off. He swung an aggressive stroke upward at her, which she hadn't expected. She stopped her attack short to block his, and he charged. Throwing powerful blows that threatened her chest and jolted her arms with extreme recoil. He gained momentum and pushed her against a wall, utilizing his superior strength. Ready to strike her down once and for all. His sword carved through the marble wall but missed her somehow. His brain couldn't figure out how she'd escaped. Her finesse was astonishing.

And that left him somewhat exposed. She raised her palm, and it glowed blue. A huge tide of water materialized and slammed into him with the blunt force of a truck, knocking him off his feet. His sword sizzled, boiling whatever water it touched, but the tide carrying him didn't let up. It poured across the room and broke through the glass window, throwing him outside. He landed in a crumpled heap against the hard stone stairs of the back of the building. The armor protected him from injury, but it still hurt.

He groaned as he fought to stand. Water poured through his air filters and into his mouth, nose, and eyes. He coughed violently but the water continued to pour over him. He deactivated the sword and tossed it aside. Hands free, he struggled to his feet and removed his helmet.

The water spilled out into the street, the flow having stopped. He was on the outside steps, streetlights shining down on him. He stood in a daze, completely drenched. He coughed and cleared his airway then stumbled over to his sword and plucked it from the ground.

He stared back at the exploded window, millions of glass shards glistening atop the many water puddles. He saw Lucida standing superior, looking down at him.

He wanted to beat her so much, to take his revenge. To stop her from doing any more harm to the public, to the government, and even to her own enforcers. But he didn't have time for that. She'd given him a chance to escape, and he had to take it. Had to rescue the prefects. But he promised himself that someday he'd be back. And she would answer for all she'd done.
Chapter 6

At Fifteenth Station he waited for the next train. Thunder rolled deeply as he stood under the covered canopy. He wasn't at all surprised to see a few homeless people had fallen asleep here, taking advantage of the cover.

He pulled out Almach's handcomputer, which fortunately had survived Lucida's soaking, and studied the path to the prefect's mansion. It revealed the positions of the other enforcers. They had a sizable head start on him, but they weren't there yet. In fact, they were only now entering the underground. That gave him just enough time, maybe, to get there first. So long as he stuck to the surface and didn't use the underground.

How he'd get inside Manors using the surface entrance would be a problem, since the borough was off-limits to most people, especially enforcers. And guarded. The underground was definitely the safest way to sneak in. But also the slowest, since it was effectively an indirect maze.

Eventually the train arrived. It glided to a stop on the rails, lit by a blue headlight that pierced the light fog. The air-brakes hissed, and the doors whisked open. Caythis stepped inside and took his place, standing near an exit. The few people on the train gave him a wide berth because of his enforcer armor. Soon they were on their way.

He began brainstorming how to get past the guardgate that protected the borough. But, without seeing it, he couldn't really plan what he would do, so instead he enjoyed the view out the window. Trying to soothe his nerves.

The train rounded a sharp corner, followed by a jolt as it pushed up the ramp and onto the Silverwind Bridge. Through the dirty plastic windows, he could see the massive Silverwind River flowing. Its glassy surface gleamed as the torrent broke over the large boulders. A powerful wind was roaring through the pass, splashing huge waves below. He found it a peaceful sight . . . until an argument distracted him.

"No, he isn't—that's ridiculous!" said one young man with a book bag to another teen.

The second wore ragged clothes, torn pants, and had greasy hair, but most striking of all were the blue alpha tattoos on the backs of his hands, which, quite unusually, he made no effort to conceal. That meant the Rigilian movement was gaining in power if not popularity.

"I swear it! How else could he have done it all? Because he isn't human, that's how!" the second boy said.

"Look," the student replied. "Nobody knows exactly why it happened, just like nobody knows exactly why magic works. Just that it does, and that—"

"Of course we do! It's the gods! Antares and Rigil are gods! They created magic. They came down to our world. Just look what happened to Andar City. You think that was some kind of coincidence? That was the second apocalypse! The scourging of the wicked!"

"Oh, I see. And thousands of people, all in the same city, conveniently, just happen to be the wicked ones. So he comes, straight from the academy, and torches the city, and that's that?"

"And disappears back to his heavens where he came from," the greasy-haired boy said. "That's why nobody knows what happened to him. He left the world. And told Rigil to rule in his stead. We must embrace Rigil's leadership. Only when Silverwind bows to Rigil will Antares return."

"First of all, we don't want him to return. Second, spare me your religious bullshit. You cultists are all the same, always trying to bend reality to fit some sort of impossible mythology. Maybe, before you swear yourself to something stupid, you should try studying it first."

"Antares was eighteen." The boy's tone remained darkly calm. "Only eighteen. And he had more power in one finger than all of the masters combined! Killed them all. Then wiped out Andar City. And you say he was just some mere mortal?"

The student looked out the window and didn't turn back.

"I'm talking to you!" the greasy-haired boy said. "Don't you know what happened to Caythis?"

Caythis's ears perked up, but, at the same moment, the greasy-haired boy made eye contact with Caythis, noticed his enforcer armor, and jumped from his seat. The boy ran for an exit and got off at the next stop.

Caythis felt slighted that he didn't get to hear what kind of god or devil he supposedly was—but, interesting as it might have been, it was profoundly stupid. Serving only to give him some insight into the Rigilians. Their movement was just one manifestation of the fear that held everybody hostage day to day. That Antares, the menace who'd disappeared, would return someday.

And his wrath would pour out onto Silverwind this time. The Untouched City. The only place that had escaped the effects of Antares's violent revolution five years ago.

Eventually the train arrived at the edge of Manors Borough. Caythis exited and marched directly toward the guard gate that processed people trying to enter. Housing the government and the upper class, it was the most secure borough in the city.

Most of the borough was hidden behind walls, but some of the taller buildings could be seen peeking over it. Magnificent glass edifices, huge displays of wealth, it really was a whole different world. A world that someday would have to wake up and take responsibility for the inequality that plagued the rest of the city. That allowed groups like the enforcers to plunder and the Rigilians to terrorize. The day of reckoning would come eventually, but it wasn't for Lucida to bring about. It wasn't her place to shatter the small amount of order that existed here and proceed to oppress the people even more.

He approached the guard gate, and a guard tried to stop him.

"What business do you have here in Manors?"

Caythis kept moving.

"Hey, stop!" the guard said, scrambling to get around. Two other guards came running out of the guard station to block Caythis's path.

Caythis ignored them.

"I said, what business do you have here? Don't make us resort to violence."

Mistrust between the enforcers and the legal government was very common in every city, but legendary in Silverwind. Caythis reasoned that nothing he told them would be taken seriously. The guards' orders were firm. Keep out the riffraff, especially the enforcers. Still it was worth a try, Caythis supposed.

"Your prefect is going to die, if he isn't dead already," said Caythis. "I'm here to save him."

To his credit, the soldier didn't laugh. But he did crack a smile. "We have the situation under control. Move along."

They didn't believe him. Caythis wasn't surprised. He kept moving toward the gate; he was only meters away now.

"Unless you have proper authorization, you are ordered to turn around and leave."

"Here's my proper authorization," he said, drawing his sword. He activated it and carved it into the gate's locking mechanism. Very slowly cutting in. He didn't want the radiation from his sword to injure any of these guards, so he kept his body between them and his blade, trying to limit their exposure.

Gunfire sounded behind him, and slugs plinked against his back. The armor protected him valiantly. After a few seconds, the locking mechanism was destroyed. With the assistance of his powered armor, he pushed open the gate enough to slip through.

"I am going to the prefect's estate," he said very clearly, turning off his sword.

He then set fire to the guard station with magic. It was a tame-enough blaze that anyone inside could escape but severe enough that it would take effort and equipment to put it out. That would keep the guards off his tail for now. They would no doubt call for backup, alert their organization, and scramble the TAC teams to try and contain him. He was counting on that.

Once inside, he bolted for the prefect's estate, glad it was close by. It was the dominant mansion on the southeast side and only minutes away at a jog's pace.

There was no industry presence here and very little commerce, restricted mostly to fine restaurants, cinemas, boutiques, and the like. Marble pillars and sculpted shrubberies were popular, with gardens and lawns perfectly manicured and landscaped.

He took a moment to glance at the handcomputer again. Most of the other enforcers had stopped about a hundred feet north of the estate, but one or two were approaching the house.

Caythis put away the handcomputer and sprinted along the west side. He hopped a fence and jogged up to the side entrance. He kicked in the door and stormed into the house.

"Everybody out now!" he said, after adjusting his suit to amplify the sound of his voice twenty times.

People started coming out of bedrooms, looking confused. One of the maids saw him and screamed. He ignored her and kept moving through the house, toward the north entrance. Ready to pull his sword but hoping he wouldn't have to until the last minute, since the people here were even less protected from the acute radiation than the guards had been.

"Everyone leave! You're in danger here!"

Fortunately he didn't have to say it again. The family and servants were running helter-skelter, giving him fearful looks and scrambling to get out of the house. He hoped he wasn't corralling them into the arms of the enforcers, but there was nothing he could do about that except hope the police had arrived. They were due any second—since the guard-post soldiers must have reported his whereabouts.

When he reached the north kitchen, he caught sight of two enforcers in green armor. They were heading for the east wing. Where, perhaps, the prefect's room was. Caythis ran to intercept them and shot a small blast of flame to get their attention. It caught a table on fire. He didn't want to burn down the house, but he had to fight. He drew his sword and activated it. The two enforcers did the same.

He blocked the path leading to the east wing and stood his ground against both of them. He was an excellent swordsman and felt fortunate that his skills were more basic than his other memories and had stayed with him, but he couldn't fend off two professional enforcers for long. Especially when they felt uninhibited with their own magic.

A rush of air slammed into him, throwing him against a wall. Before he could recover, the second enforcer raised his hand and fired a burst of plasma at him. His ring, somehow, was modifying his magic into something new and deadly. Caythis had seen that before. All of Lucida's enforcers seemed to have the ability. Probably a weapon of her own design. Something that translated their magical energy into something even deadlier.

He ducked the blast, which incinerated the bottom part of the stairs, and fired back with more of his own magic. Feeling less restrained now, he tried to melt the enforcers, but they scurried apart.

Fire was spreading wildly, consuming most of the kitchen and some of the entry into the east wing. Caythis hoped there were other exits. As he threw himself back into the fray, with aggressive sword strokes, he was surprised to see the green enforcers take fire from behind. Bullets bounced off their armor, and a few extremely powerful rounds sunk in, though none deep enough to crack their defenses.

Their concentration broke, and they turned to see the new threat. This gave Caythis a chance to carve into one of the enforcer's shoulders, wounding him severely.

The injured man turned and fled, assisted by his friend, and the two of them escaped through the inferno that was roaring in the kitchen, back the way they'd come. Smoke was filling the air thickly now, making it difficult to see. But he had little trouble breathing, thanks to the air filters on his helmet.

On the far side of the room he saw a man in a red radiation suit. It wasn't enforcer armor, and Caythis doubted it would stop any bullets, but it did protect him from radiation and probably helped him breathe in the smoky environment. The stranger appeared to be male and held a high-power carbine in his hands. He aimed it at Caythis but lowered it suddenly. "Caythis? Is that you?" a voice came over his helmet.

"Yes," he replied.

The building was becoming structurally unsound, and parts of the ceiling were falling as the flames of the fire consumed it.

"We have to get out of here, now!" said Caythis.

"I don't think Jesse made it out yet," the stranger replied, trying to get through the roaring fire and debris to Caythis's side of the room.

"Where is he?"

"I think he got scared and ran to the east wing."

Caythis didn't know who Jesse was but, based on the stranger's description, Jesse sounded like a child. Caythis looked behind him. The stairs were gone; the entrance was furiously ablaze. Smoke choked the rooms. If some child was in there, he'd be dead soon. If he wasn't already. Part of the upper floor suddenly collapsed, crushing the south part of the building.

"Get the hell out of here," said Caythis. "I'll get Jesse!"

Without waiting to see if he'd been obeyed, Caythis turned and leaped through the fire, climbing awkwardly up what was left of the metal railing to the east wing's entrance. He was impervious to fire, but he still felt the heat. And he still choked on the increasing smoke that was leaking into his helmet, despite the valiant efforts of his filters.

He kicked open a burning door and charged through the fire. The closest rooms were torched, but the fire hadn't spread to the end of the hall yet. If Jesse were smart, that's where he'd be.

Caythis sprinted to the end of the hall and shouted "JESSE!" His suit's external speakers boomed.

He thought he heard a faint reply behind the door to his right. He tested the handle, but it was locked.

"Stand away from the door," he warned, then charged into it, breaking it down.

He entered an inelegant guest bedroom. Smoke had already penetrated it, but nothing was on fire. The window had been shattered, and that seemed to be helping keep the air clear. In the distant corner, he saw a young blond-headed boy kneeling down, coughing. His eyes were red, and he looked terrified. Caythis ran to him, scooped him up, and then jumped out the window.

The fall was farther than he'd expected, but his suit's reinforced knees helped him absorb the impact. Once on the ground, he let go of the boy.

The stranger in red was nearby; the boy ran to him and hugged him around his knees. The stranger knelt down and hugged the boy in return, then sent him running toward the street where emergency vehicles could be seen arriving.

"Thank you for saving him," the stranger said.

Caythis nodded. "The prefect and lieutenant prefect are the targets. There are other enforcers here north of the building." He pointed. He checked the handcomputer to see if their positions had changed. Unfortunately the smoke and the heat had affected the device, and it didn't seem to be working anymore.

"I'll follow you," the stranger said.

Caythis tossed aside the broken handcomputer and led the way around the house. To the side the police hadn't surrounded yet, thinking that's where the enforcers would probably be. If they hadn't escaped already. If Caythis could delay them, maybe the TAC teams would arrive and take them out. Specialists designed for only one task, handling enforcers.

On the side of the house, not far away, were several small structures. They looked like storage buildings, a greenhouse, and maybe a guesthouse. He approached them quickly since they were the only hiding places left.

An explosion rocked the street; the force of it blew him forward. He crashed facedown on his hands. His armor scraped across the blacktop a few feet, and he cut his hand. Behind him the garage had been blown completely apart; the skeletons of a few vehicles were barely discernible. Other debris was spread over the lawn and road.

Caythis knew there hadn't been nearly enough fuel in the vehicles' tanks to explode the whole garage. He looked from left to right; men-at-arms and the fire brigade were rushing over. Another deafening boom shook the house, sending Caythis back to the ground while the west wing collapsed on itself, crumbling apart. Many of the emergency responders were injured by flying debris. Caythis stood up and looked around.

There was a lot of shouting and panic as the men-at-arms pulled their line inward, tearing away people—hysterical servants and employees, family members, and many onlookers—from the scene. A patrol of soldiers snaked through the street, trying to lockdown the whole property.

"Come on," said Caythis.

The stranger in red seemed almost unresponsive as he soaked it all in. "Right. Let's find these bastards."

As they entered the first building, a storage garage, Caythis saw several objects thrown to the floor and arranged into a makeshift cover. There was a lot of blood on the floor, and, from behind the cover, he could hear someone groaning.

Holding his sword ready and activated, he charged around to the other side and ran into a band of ragtag rebels. They were dressed like Rigilians, but something was wrong. . . .

"Oh, my god," he said. Only one was alive; the rest were dead.

The stranger in red leveled his rifle at the only survivor.

"Hold your fire!" said Caythis, deactivating his own sword. He bent down and tried to apply first aid, but the woman seemed dazed and too far gone. There were five of them, and they'd all been recently shot.

"Zero," she said.

"Stay with me," said Caythis, supporting her neck. He recognized her face. Recognized all their faces: Scarlet, Jakob, Dmitri, Dave, and Kumar. They were members of the CTC. The enforcers had kept them alive after all and had planted them here. Waited to kill them until now. Leaving them to take the blame for the attack tonight. They'd been dressed in Rigilian clothing and had fresh alpha tattoos on their hands now. It was sick, turning them into the very thing they had given up everything to fight against.

"Max . . ." Scarlet coughed up blood. "Wanted . . . you to . . ." She struggled to get out the words. "Was sorry. Max . . . sorry. Sorry he never told you. He knew . . . but never told you . . ."

Caythis had the vague sense that he'd been looking for something, and that Max was supposed to be helping him find it. "Is Max alive?" he asked.

Scarlet's eyes looked very sad. And she tried to speak, yet she wasn't able to before she died. But Caythis knew what she had been trying to say. No. Max was not alive. She and Max had been lovers, and she probably had been shown his deceased corpse. Perhaps the enforcers had even made her watch as they had killed him. Lucida's Enforcer Combine was full of very sick people. He closed Scarlet's eyes for her, then stood up.

"If these people were your friends, I'm sorry for your loss," said the red-clad stranger.

"Thank you," said Caythis. "These people were good people. They risked everything to try and make Silverwind a safer place. They deserved better."

"I take it this means the enforcers are long gone," said the stranger.

"I'm sure it does. These people were left behind to take the blame for the attack. To slow down any pursuit. By now the other enforcers are somewhere in the underground. Maybe even outside of the borough. We won't be able to catch them. But we know where they're going. Those bastards will still get what's coming to them."

"It's been a hell of a day, Caythis. But I have to say, I am glad to see you again. It's been too long. I thought you were dead. We all did."

"What?"

Just then men-at-arms stormed the building with weapons raised. "Drop your weapons. Hands on your head!"

Caythis complied, setting down his sword and raising his hands.

"It's okay," the stranger in red said. "He's with me." He then took off his mask, revealing a young face about Caythis's age and some furious red hair. "At ease."

"Yes, sir, Lt. Prefect," the men-at-arms said, and they lowered their weapons.

"Caythis Ceteris, . . . I know some people who will be really happy to see you."
Chapter 7

He felt distant, like an echo. It was very dark and hazy, and he couldn't open his eyes.

He was on his back, arms and legs bound. His swollen head felt like a giant melon, and there was a pulsating pain, like a knife stabbing into his temples over and over. A lot of pressure had built up in his ears, making it difficult to hear. One of them popped.

"I'm not sure if it will set, but the damage is done," an anxious voice said.

"Is there any risk?"

"There's always a risk. But either it will set, or he'll die. Now what I need is . . . Wait, shh!"

Some time passed.

"Okay, she's gone."

"Don't you think she has a right to know the truth?"

"I have to protect her. That's the promise I made. The promise we all made. She's suffered enough. Let her believe one pleasant white lie. Besides, if this works, who's to say what the truth is? The truth will have changed."

Caythis made a colossal effort to open his eyes, and his eyelids peeled apart, just a hair. A flood of white light spilled in. He could barely make out the face of a woman in a surgical mask above him.

"He's conscious, quick!"

There was movement, and then all sensation dissipated.

***

Strange. He didn't remember going to sleep. But as he opened his groggy eyes, squinting against the bright lamp above him, he knew he was waking.

Around him some machines were beeping, and he could smell the dank odor of a poorly ventilated basement. The air was stale. Above him a gray-tiled ceiling seemed to be rushing down. Or was he falling upward?

He tried to sit up but felt restraints pinning him down. He grunted.

"Three milliliters midazolam, stat!"

He struggled for a moment, wanting to figure out what the hell was going on. But suddenly he became limp and relaxed. Happy even. Not caring at all.

***

The light above was intense, but it wasn't white, more of a blinding yellow. "Turn it off," he tried to say, but a ball of gauze was in his mouth. He blinked several times, adjusting slowly to his environment.

A young woman looked down at him. She had rich-chocolate-brown hair and penetrating dark eyes. It was impossible to miss the intelligence shining within them.

"Raven!" he tried to shout. The word was barely understandable through the thick cotton.

The young woman raised a curious eyebrow, her gaze a blend of sympathy and frustration. She looked away. "He's awake."

Caythis realized this beautiful young woman was not Raven. She seemed about nineteen; Raven had been older. Raven had also been a little taller, more intimidating, and wore her hair another way. Their other features were different too. Raven could stun a whole room just by entering. Not this woman. Her beauty was quieter, simpler, and more minimalist. Yet still elegant and wonderful. And, though others might disagree, Caythis found her no less beautiful than Raven had been. Much like a pearl compared to a diamond. Elegant and secure. Subtle. She had an almost regal confidence.

His memory was hazy, but he recalled Raven's death. It wasn't just a picture anymore. It was a scene he could play over and over in his mind. Reexperience the frustration, pain, and utter horror. It made him wonder if some things weren't better off forgotten.

"I thought he wasn't supposed to wake up yet," the young woman said. Her voice was higher pitched than Raven's had been but just as firm and commanding.

Caythis couldn't take his gaze away from her.

"I didn't give him the whole dosage," said a rough male voice, now entering the room.

Caythis couldn't see him, but he sounded middle-aged.

"Thank you, Kira," the man said, fighting a cough. "You're free to go."

Kira . . . Caythis would remember that name. She had reminded him of Raven, and he finally realized why. It was because she gave him that feeling. Just as Raven had. He didn't know the word for it, but he knew how it felt. Thrilling as a free fall, dangerous as a poison, and addictive as a drug.

The door closed.

Caythis sat up a little more; there were no restraints holding him down now. He looked the room over. It seemed like a simple makeshift bedroom with some additional medical equipment. A small privacy wall separated what was probably a bathroom. He had no idea how he'd arrived here. He felt momentarily dizzy and a bit nauseated.

"Easy there, friend," the bearded man said, standing nearby. He was now the only other person in the room. He held a black bag, wore a white coat, and looked in every way like a stereotypical doctor.

Caythis felt alert and defensive. He ripped the gauze out of his mouth and stood up. "Where the hell am I? Who the hell are you? And how the hell did I get here?"

The last thing he remembered was meeting with the stranger in red, who'd fought alongside him at the prefect's estate. That stranger had turned out to be the lieutenant prefect himself. A young man about his same age with bright red hair, plenty of freckles, and the name Jaden. He'd recognized Caythis and had spoken about their group. As if Caythis had been a part of their organization. After Caythis had cleaned up, Jaden had taken him to meet with some people over dinner. They'd eaten quite well. That was the last thing he remembered.

"Don't worry, Caythis. Everything is all right." The man smiled.

Caythis didn't. "Answer my questions." He noted that he still wore the black full-body undersuit of his armor but the armor itself was nowhere to be seen. Nor was his sword. But that didn't intimidate him; he could still defend himself—they couldn't take away his magic.

"Very well. My name is Dr. Erikson. You're in the Hiding Place of the District of Protection, and you came here of your own free will."

"Then why don't I remember?"

"Because you were drugged when we brought you here." Dr. Erikson folded his arms, as if this was not a surprising revelation.

"That doesn't sound like my free will at all."

"We had to make sure it was really you. Those were your own instructions." Dr. Erikson's eyes looked him over carefully. Scrutinizing. As if not convinced of something. "Tell me. Who do you think you are?"

"I'm Caythis Ceteris."

Dr. Erikson nodded. "And what is the last thing you remember?"

"I went with Jaden to meet up with some people for dinner. There was a woman in a military uniform there. I think she wore Citadel colors. There was another woman too. She had graying hair and wore a pantsuit."

"Did you recognize them?"

"No."

"And Jaden. Did you recognize him?"

"No."

"Is that all you remember about the evening?"

"We ate at a diner called The Setting Sun. It was a good meal. The food was drugged, wasn't it?"

"Just yours." Dr. Erikson unfolded his arms and began pacing. "Tell me, what makes you think you're Caythis?"

Caythis was surprised by the question. "Who else would I be?"

"It's not that you would be anybody else," said Dr. Erikson. "I know you are Caythis. I worked with you before. It's just that Lucida has a way of deceiving people and manipulating them. And it would be helpful if we could see things how you see them. Make certain that you're still our man, after all this time. And not loyal to her."

"I've only been with the enforcers a few days," said Caythis. "I was captured by them, and they tried to reeducate me. They told me that I'd been working for them all along, that my involvement with . . . another group of people was an infiltration mission. They wanted me to assassinate the prefect's family and take my place in their ranks. I refused. I fought against Lucida. I fought against her enforcers. And I killed her right-hand man. Trust me. I am not working for them."

Dr. Erikson nodded. "That's good. And do you remember slaying Antares?"

Caythis remembered the night it happened. The ring of fire. The silhouetted man coming toward him. But he didn't remember the fight itself or its outcome. "Yes and no. I know that I fought him. I can even see him in my mind . . . I think. But I don't actually remember killing him. In fact I don't really remember anything after that. The last five years is a serious blur. Lucida told me that I'd taken Antares's armor back to Silverwind. That I delivered it to her and have worked for her ever since. I know that can't be true. Because I know that I'm Caythis. And I know that working for her is something I would never do."

Dr. Erikson smiled. "That's reassuring. We've put a lot of trust in you. Now allow me to fill in the remaining gaps. I am part of the District of Protection. We're a small group of people, all from Citadel, who were charged by the late king of Citadel with the safekeeping of his daughter and son. Until the day that proper order is restored in Citadel, and then they can reclaim the throne."

"What about Jaden? He's not from Citadel."

"Jaden isn't a part of the District. He works alongside us, but he wasn't with us in the beginning. He can't ever be one of us because he's part of Silverwind's government. The District is operating in this city with King Talonis's blessing, but we are autonomous. He gave us sanctuary and resources, because he too hopes Citadel will be ripped free from Rigil's clutches someday. But we have to be free of any local political pressures."

"What about me? I know that I was overseer of Citadel. Am I part of this District?"

"Not officially. You technically lost your position when you abandoned Citadel to fight Antares. I know why you did it. We all know why you did it. But the city did fall after you left us, and the king was slain. There's no getting around that."

"So what is my role here?"

"The night you fought Antares, you killed him but were injured. Your tiny force routed the rebels but left you for dead. Our group wasn't far away when it happened. We waited out the fighting and, once it was over, searched the scene for survivors. We found only you. We rushed you to Silverwind for medical attention, and you survived. Ever since then, you've been working with us, helping us prepare for the day when Citadel can be liberated."

"All right," said Caythis. He wasn't sure if he believed Dr. Erikson or not. He did seem to recall wanting to find somebody and quite urgently. Perhaps it was this District. And the cause Dr. Erikson was advocating, what the District was fighting for, was something Caythis believed in. But there were still holes. "If I was working with you, then how did I get mixed up with the CTC and the Enforcer Combine?"

"This is not our original Hiding Place. That one was compromised by a double agent who leaked information about us to Lucida and the Silverwind Enforcer Combine. They attacked us and raided our hideout. Stealing artifacts—including Antares's armor and yours, various records, information, and pretty much everything they could get their filthy hands on. But what Lucida really wanted, she didn't get."

"The prince and princess," Caythis guessed. It would make sense for Lucida to be most interested in what was most valuable to the District. Perhaps to ransom them back?

"That's right. Thank God we were able to protect them. And you helped us with that. Helped us fight them. Unfortunately you were separated from us in the battle. We escaped and set up a new clandestine Hiding Place, but there was no way to tell you where it was. We had a contact in the civilian underground looking for you, but, when no news of you came, I'm ashamed to say we all assumed the worst."

"Who was your contact?"

"Max Steward."

"I know him," said Caythis, thinking back on his time with the CTC. He was able to think of Max's face and remembered that Max had been his informant as well. Max had promised to help him find something but never did. Suddenly the words Scarlet had said right before she had died made sense. Max had expressed regret to Scarlet about Caythis. About not giving him certain information. About not telling him where the District of Protection was.

"We haven't heard from Max in over a year. But it wouldn't surprise me to learn that he became involved in one of those vigilante cells popping up in the city," said Dr. Erikson.

"He did. He was a member of the CTC. He found me and brought me into his organization. Told me that he had information about the District of Protection." Caythis was surprised how much was coming back to him. "That he would help me find them, find you, in exchange for my services in the CTC. He gave me a few false leads and dead ends, and, in the end, he died before ever telling me how to contact you."

Dr. Erikson nodded. "I think I know why he gave you the runaround for so long. About fourteen months ago, the Rigilians hit a civilian target. A really messy bombing of a subway. Max's wife and children happened to be there and were killed."

"So Max had a revenge motive. And he decided that using me as a soldier in his personal war was more important than helping me find you or fulfilling any deal he had with you."

Dr. Erikson nodded. "I believe so. I knew Max. He was a good person. And I think that, probably, in his head, he planned on helping you find us eventually. But, considering what happened, how he'd lost everything, I'm not surprised that he forgot about the big picture and became consumed with his desire for revenge."

"If that is what happened."

"Of course we'll never know for sure. Has any of this jogged your memory at all?"

"Yeah, a little," said Caythis. "But you still don't look familiar to me."

Dr. Erikson nodded. "If you don't remember our past good memories, we'll just have to make some new ones. The fact that you're alive, and that you're you, and that we found you, all of it is cause for celebration."

"Don't bust out the cake and party hats just yet, Doctor," said Caythis. "Even if that's all true—and it probably is—none of that explains my current condition." He pointed to the gauze he'd spat out earlier, a bandage on his arm—where the sleeve of the undersuit had been rolled back—and the medical equipment in the room. "What were you doing to me? And where are my weapons and armor?"

"When we drugged you, we had to check your identity. We did that with fingerprints easily enough, but there was a more serious concern. One that required us to scan your brain. We put you under and prepped you for surgery just in case—we had to be ready to act quickly."

"Surgery? Scan my brain? What for?"

"We knew you'd been with Lucida. We didn't know for how long, and we didn't know if you were working for her. Some of the enforcers aren't helping her voluntarily. They've been coerced by a device called the Leech."

Caythis nodded. Thinking back on the white enforcer who'd dropped dead right in front him, directly after helping him escape. "The Leech wouldn't happen to be a tiny bomb they put inside your head, would it?"

"That's right. It's a microexplosive planted on the cerebellum. It has a transponder and can be remotely detonated by any signal that sends the correct command code. It's one of Lucida's many . . . improvements to the local Enforcer Combine. I imagine it ensures obedience quite effectively. We had to make certain she hadn't planted a Leech inside you. And, if she had, we needed to be ready to remove it delicately."

"Did she?" He couldn't help but think of the blood pouring out from around the old man's eyes and nose. Caythis imagined that happening to him. He had seen plenty of death in his time, but something about this kind of killing affected him deeply. A new twist in an already sick game of violence and control.

"You were lucky. There was no Leech inside your head. She either didn't have time to implant you or else chose not to put you at risk. Either way, you were clean."

"And the gauze?"

"That was your own fault. You bit your tongue in the CT scanner earlier."

"I see. And why is there a hospital's worth of equipment underground where nobody can access it?"

"How did you know we're underground?"

"Something about the air, I can just tell," said Caythis. "That and it would make sense for any Hiding Place to be in the underground. Whole families have disappeared down here."

"Very astute. To answer your question, we do have a lot of expensive equipment down here in the various rooms, including the aforementioned CT scanner. But it's far less than a hospital's worth. And why it's here instead of on the surface where people can find it is because it's a resistance hospital. It's a place for people loyal to the king's interests to receive treatment without being at risk of criminal reprisals or terrorist attacks. Expensive, yes. But worth the investment."

Caythis was surprised to find that most of his questions had been answered to his satisfaction. And that Dr. Erikson was incredibly forthcoming. There were no games with him; he just said things how he saw them. It was a refreshing change. Caythis still felt like a fish out of water, but there was something about this place, this situation, that felt right. Like he was a fish remembering he'd once had nonaquatic ancestors. That he could adapt and survive here. Evolve.

"So what's next?" asked Caythis. "What do we do from here?"

"That's the billion-credit question. There is nothing we can do to oppose Rigil directly without military support from Silverwind. And even then Silverwind alone would not be enough. We would need the support of Skyhaven."

Skyhaven . . . Caythis closed his eyes. Saw a majestic but quaint city, much smaller than Silverwind, perched in the mountains. He recalled the fresh air, the bitter-cold temperatures, and the stunning view. Looking out over the tiny world, what was left of humanity, and the endless dark oceans all around. A reminder that their small continent, all any of them had ever known, was just a fraction of what humanity used to possess.

"How do you expect to get Skyhaven's help?" asked Caythis.

"Skyhaven does not recognize Rigil's illegal government, and so it will not negotiate with Citadel. Technically they are at war and have been since Antares's rebellion, but there is no fighting. Rigil doesn't have the forces to spare to attack Skyhaven, and Skyhaven—on its own—could never breach Citadel's walls and capture the mighty city."

"They don't need to capture the whole city," said Caythis. "Most of the people, no doubt, are suffering under Rigil's heavy hand. All Skyhaven would need to do is help sponsor a coup or else perform an assassination."

"Easier said than done, but I digress," said Dr. Erikson. "Skyhaven has no incentive to launch such an attack. The feeling there is that Rigil's hold over Citadel is increasingly brittle, and he will be overthrown. They are merely waiting for it to happen."

"Is that your feeling as well?"

"No. I foresee many decades of oppression in Citadel, while the rightful prince and princess grow up in exile, always in danger, having no real freedom. Knowing nothing but fear. We have to act. We promised to."

"And you believe that, if we have assistance from Silverwind, it would be enough to persuade Skyhaven to support our cause? That we could create a force that would what? Invade Citadel directly?"

"Yes. Set the people free. Challenge Rigil's frail government—and, believe me, it is frail. But not frail enough to collapse on its own. We could be the unstoppable force that turns the city right side up."

Caythis nodded. It would mean something personal to him. Even though he remembered it very little, Citadel was the city he'd been charged to protect. The city of his failure. If he could possibly restore order there, free the people, . . . he needed to at least try.

"This is not a new idea," said Caythis. "It's been a few years since the takeover, so why haven't you tried yet?"

"Silverwind is in a state of chaos. I'm sure you know that a religiously fed revolution is spreading. Terrorist attacks happen weekly. And the enforcers, rather than helping us stem the tide of uprising, hide in their complex. Planning something. Waiting for the ideal moment to seize control of the city. They are as dangerous to our cause as the Rigilians."

"More so," said Caythis. "I think I understand. We must bring order to the city to get the support we need from the king. And we must use his backing as leverage to convince Skyhaven to join our cause. Then, united, the last free cities make a push to liberate Citadel. After that we either succeed or die."

"Yes. That is our aim."

Caythis nodded. "The Rigilian movement isn't just about religion, I think. From what I've seen, there is a terrible disparity here and a great deal more poverty than there needs to be. Yet the political elite live in veritable palaces. I believe that, for the king to gain control of his city, to stabilize it, he'll have to help his people eat.

"Even if it means ripping bread from the gold-plated thumbs of the superwealthy. Without some way for people to find work, or food for that matter, you get a lot of irritable, desperate people with too much idle time. It's a recipe for disaster."

"I don't want to comment on the political situation," said Dr. Erikson. "But, remember this, that we are here at the pleasure of the king. Talonis could throw us to the dogs if he wanted to, and we'd have no place to go. I don't think it's wise to criticize him."

"So where does that leave us then? The Rigilians are just the result of bad economic conditions. If not them, it would be someone else, some other desperate, grassroots movement. Something to challenge the system that is clearly broken. How can you expect to fight that?"

"I can't," said Dr. Erikson. "The Silverwind military is strong enough to keep the Rigilians at bay and still have reserve forces. But it has to keep those reserves near so long as there is a chance Lucida might attack the capitol and seize the city for herself."

"So we take her down. Then the king feels safer, doesn't need as many soldiers around, and owes us a favor. We collect by having him help us take Citadel."

"But how do we deal with Lucida? You know the power of her enforcers. You know what she's capable of. We're not many in number. Just a few survivors from Citadel, plus some minor assistance from Silverwind's government—including Jaden. What chance would we have?"

"Silverwind's government should assist in any military strike against the Enforcer Combine. Together we can wipe it out in one night."

"It's not that simple. There are conflicting interests."

"I don't see the problem."

Dr. Erikson shrugged. "It's complicated. Look, . . . let's forget about it for now and welcome you home properly. Behind that privacy wall there is a shower and a change of clothes."

"And my armor?"

"Your armor is elsewhere, but it will be returned to you soon."

"I want to know where it is."

"Go get cleaned up. We'll be waiting." Dr. Erikson left before giving Caythis a chance to object.

His mind was tired from the long conversation, all the new details, and memories coming back to him. It was a lot to process. Yet, despite his mental fatigue, he felt a great deal of satisfaction. Not peace, not yet. But satisfaction anyway. He now believed that, in time, he could remember it all. In the end, what he wanted most, sincerely and truly, was to know everything. Remember every tiny step on the strange ladder of fate that had landed him here. In this unknown underground hideout.

He followed Dr. Erikson's advice and found a toilet, shower, and freshly folded change of clothes. It would be nice to be free of the sticky, odorous undersuit. He washed his face and rinsed out his mouth, cupping his hands and drinking a lot of water as he did. In the reflection of the metal spigot, he stared at himself—a bit distorted and very unclean. Through the warped image he recognized his features, but the eyes of the reflection didn't seem to recognize him. They were lost still.

The shower was colder than an arctic storm, but it felt good to be clean or at least cleaner. And the white shirt and jeans fit comfortably, and felt great compared to the constricting enforcer armor. After tightening the second shoe, he noticed something. It was like a tiny crack in the near wall.

He walked up to it, almost wondering if his mind were playing tricks on him. He traced it with his finger, a hairline crack in the shape of a door. A secret entrance to something? There was no clear way to open it, and no indication as to where it would go or what it might be hiding. In fact, from almost any position in the room, it was totally invisible. He made a mental note to investigate this later and left the room.

***

Caythis arrived in some kind of main room. It was octagonal with four opposing doors and one other. There were a few desks, a table, and three people monitoring some computer terminals. They didn't acknowledge him. No one seemed to be waiting for him. He considered exploring but decided to take a seat on the lonely couch. Wait to see how things played out.

He stayed in the main room for some time, feeling stupid as he watched people move about, coming and going through the various doors. Most of the passersby were soldiers in full uniforms. Either the men-at-arms of Silverwind or else the soldiers of the District, in full Citadel fatigues.

Most people ignored him or else shot him a curious glance but nothing more. He fidgeted, eventually snatching up a newspaper from the small table nearby.

"Terrorists Kill Prefect" read the bold headline. Caythis's heart sank a little. Despite all of his efforts, he'd only saved the young lieutenant prefect.

A buzzing of angry voices floated in from the main hallway, growing louder as it neared.

"You're not seeing the whole picture," an older voice said.

"My father is dead!" a young man said, throwing a door open and stepping into the room. It was Jaden, though not in a red radiation suit. He wore a blue uniform, and a polished handgun gleamed from his shoulder holster. He seemed not to notice Caythis, too engrossed in his current argument.

"No one regrets that tragedy more than I do," the old man said. He looked to be in his late sixties, sported men-at-arms attire, and flashed the brass insignia of colonel. Elegant cords streamed through his uniform's epaulets, and several silver circlets surrounded his deep-blue sleeves.

"And yet you stand here, doing nothing," Jaden said. His arms had become animated, and his face an unflattering red. "Terrorists are running free in our city, raping and murdering. Starting fires. The enforcers refuse to take five steps outside of their complex to put down the chaos. And you won't authorize our soldiers to put a stop to it? You're not really a servant of the people, are you?"

"The situation is a great deal more complicated than you realize," the colonel said. The two of them had stopped walking and stood facing each other in a corner of the main room. The old colonel's eyes were heavy, and his face creased and wrinkled.

"Complicated? I may be young, but I'm not stupid. The Rigilian threat is stronger every day, and the enforcers, given enough time, will let the city crumble into ashes. It's like what happened to Andar City, except in slow motion."

"Son, I understand your frustration, and I respect it. You see a problem, and you want to do something, but maybe you should pause and think what effect it would have. What if you knew that, by taking such a course, it would lead to a horrible coup that completely displaces the entire government?"

Caythis tried to look inconspicuous but was far too interested to keep from eavesdropping. He turned another page and chuckled naturally as he feigned reading it, only to realize he'd turned to the obituaries.

"When I put this on for the first time," Jaden said, pointing to his insignia, "I swore to give everything, including my life, to protect the people of this city, and that is what I mean to do. The longer we wait, the worse it gets, and the less we can do. The more people are terrorized and murdered, and for what? Because we're afraid to even try?"

"If we move against the Rigilians, we violate the sovereignty of the enforcer territory, and that allows them to move against us, against the king. It also happens to leave the king undefended."

"Then we should arrest Lucida. She already killed my father! His blood cries for justice. This is high treason. Face it for what it is. The enforcers are broken. And they need to be dealt with."

"You've only traded one problem for another. If you move against the enforcers, then the Rigilians have the advantage. They are free to spread into Silverwind while the arms of the law in our city destroy each other. They could swallow the whole city in an uprising, like Skyhaven all over again, except worse.

"But if you move on the Rigilians instead of the enforcers, then the enforcers get the advantage. The golden opportunity to strike the king. And if we tried to strike against both, we'd be overwhelmed. We don't have enough forces. In a game like this, it is best to not make the first move. Either choice makes one threat stronger, and our strength protects the balance. We are the last line keeping this city from ripping itself apart."

"So our only option is to do nothing?" Jaden looked horrified. "I cannot accept that. What chance does Silverwind have if we do nothing? Everything only gets worse, not better. And if we won't help, who will?"

"You're a young idealist." The colonel was very calm. "Just like your father. I miss the old bastard, I really do. And I respect you, new Prefect"—he paused—"because you represent the kind of person we need in these Four Cities. Integrity and an unyielding sense of justice. But you just don't realize how rare you are. People don't think like you do. They see opportunities. They take advantage of others. They don't care about justice. They care about benefit—theirs. If we treat this like it's a black-and-white world, we only help humanity do what it proved a hundred years ago. That it was capable of destroying itself."

"The End of the World has nothing to do with this."

"It has everything to do with this. Why are we here now? Why were the Codes written by the Founders? Because people act in predictable ways, and history repeats itself. And when there is another apocalypse, or when another Antares appears, don't be so confident that humanity will find a way to survive. Remember, this planet used to be covered in people, billions of them. We're less than one percent of what we once were."

Jaden looked defiant, but at a loss for words.

"There is only so much a person can do. The rest we have to leave up to providence, or nature, or God, or whatever you happen to believe. But if you try to put the whole world on your back, you'll break. Yes, some people will die. Yes, some criminals will go unchecked and unpunished, but there is so much more at stake. Know your limits. Do what you can, but you have to let the rest go. Don't lose sleep over what you can do nothing about. Enjoy life whenever you can. That's what it's there for. Those little moments."

"I don't accept that rationalization. I can't just let it go. It's not a choice. It's a fact. And I can't simply ignore everything, not when I see it every day. I can't sleep at night. I can't look myself straight in the mirror. So much suffering. Look, if you're right, and we are destined to fail no matter what we do, then I'd rather fail knowing I tried something, and gave up everything, instead of wishing I had."

"A noble sentiment. But you're thinking with your heart instead of your head. Right now the enforcers keep the Rigilians at bay by just existing, because the Rigilians fear them religiously. If they were gone, the Rigilians would come out of the woodwork in numbers you can scarcely imagine. Do you want to be the one who enables that?"

"I don't want my father's death to be meaningless." Jaden was downcast. "His death begs for justice, and, if justice can't be served, then you're right. We truly have no hope."

"Our men collected Rigilians on the scene. The Silverwind government may decide to blame the attack on them."

"Unacceptable! There were enforcers there. I fought them. Caythis and I fought them together. Their remains were found in the rubble."

"But they had a scapegoat. An easy way out. A way that avoids challenging Lucida directly."

"As long as I control our forces, I promise you, I will not let that stand. I will take the battle to Lucida now that I am the prefect."

"You have a lot to learn about politics. You won't be able to act without the king's permission. Good luck getting it."

"It sounds like a good plan to me," said Caythis. He dropped the newspaper and stood up.

"Captain Ceteris." The old colonel saluted.

"I wondered when you'd get up, Caythis." Jaden smiled. "Sorry about yesterday, with the drugged food and all. But, you know, bygones and water under the bridge and all that. Now that you're here, what's important is that we can crack some heads together and finally make a positive difference in Silverwind."

The colonel respectfully excused himself and left, shooting one final salute at Caythis.

"You have something of a fan club," said Jaden. "Killing Antares has that effect on people."

"Even here? Antares never attacked Silverwind or sowed rebellion here."

"Even here. The whole world, all four cities, feared Antares. Why should the soldiers who would have had to fight him not be grateful to you for doing it for them? You know better than anyone what he was capable of, what kind of destruction he would have caused here."

"Indeed," said Caythis. "Do you think I could use that influence, their respect for me, to persuade them into attacking the enforcers?"

Jaden shrugged. "You heard the man. I'm a novice at politics. But I mean to go to war with Lucida, and I'll take any help I can get."

"The District will help," said Caythis. "And so will I."

"Good to know. Unfortunately I don't have time to keep chatting. I agreed to take a shift as sentry. If I make my men do it, I have to do it too."

"Sentry?"

"Yeah. The lookout. To alert the base in case an enemy is approaching. There are two ways in, from the surface and from underground. I'll let you guess which one needs guarding."

"Fair enough. You can go," said Caythis. "Only tell me one thing first."

"What?" Jaden said, somewhat defensively.

"Where can I find something to eat? Something that isn't drugged this time."

Jaden cracked a smile. "There's a small cafeteria through that hall, to the right, and to the right again. You can't miss it."
Chapter 8

The supposed small cafeteria was more like a large closet with a single metal table and a tiny cart of food, all lit by a lone lightbulb. The room was empty except for one person. He couldn't see her very well because she was silhouetted by the feeble light source.

He grabbed a plate, but didn't bother with a tray, and loaded it up with the only food left. Rice and beans. Cheap and uninteresting but technically sufficient.

"They say it's a complete protein, whatever the hell that means," he said.

The stranger didn't reply.

He reached for some pepper hot sauce to make his plain meal a bit more interesting but found only an empty bottle. "Hey, buddy, thanks for saving me a lot of hot sauce."

"I didn't have any."

The voice was familiar. He took a seat at the table and felt a jolt of electricity zap through him.

The stranger was Kira, the woman he'd seen the moment he'd awoken. She wore blue and white, and ate her food gracefully. Her posture was nearly perfect, her hair loose—it hung with a simple elegance, and, as she glanced up, her deep brown eyes were both pleasant and piercing.

Caythis looked away. He could stare down ten enforcers bent on killing him, but somehow this woman had made him look away.

He wanted to say something, but not anything stupid, so he kept quiet and ate.

"So, you're the one who ran away?" Kira said calmly.

Caythis's eyes darted up to see hers. Her face was perfectly calm and held a regal, almost intimidating confidence. But Caythis refused to be intimidated. "What?" he asked, choking down his food to get the word out clearly.

"You left Citadel," she said simply. Her eyes looked betrayed, but her voice was steady and soft. "You left us when Rigil came. I always hoped someday I could ask you why."

"Oh, that . . ." He knew that it'd happened, and he felt bad about it after the fact, but it was the same choice that had allowed him to slay Antares. He regretted what'd happened to Citadel. He wanted to make things right, but he didn't remember the city or the people in it enough to truly feel the loss.

"Yes. That." Her voice was even, perfectly steady, with just a subtle hint of powerful emotions buried deeply within.

"I'm sorry," he said, but the words felt empty.

Her eyes closed, and she relaxed, a supreme calm spread over her face. "What's done is done," she said peacefully. "I'm not asking you to change the past. I just want to know why." She was so beautiful, like a soft but persistent light in a very dark world.

He resumed eating, but she did not. He wasn't sure what to tell her, so he stuffed his mouth with food.

"Who's Raven?" asked Kira, one eyebrow slightly raised.

Caythis stopped eating and gingerly spat a mouthful of food into a napkin. "Raven?" he said with pause.

"Yes. You said it when you first awoke. Is that someone's name?"

He searched his mind for the right words. It was like poking a slowly healing wound with a needle. "Raven was my friend," he said. "But she's gone now."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"What's done is done," Caythis said, borrowing her own words though unable to borrow her serenity. He kept his voice calm, but inside he was still outraged. A brightness in Kira's eyes seemed to respond to this. Like he was transparent to her, and she could tap into his true feelings.

He continued eating, and before long his plate was empty. He drained the rest of the water bottle in one gulp and only then did he look up again. Kira was still there, her food long gone. She was staring at him, eyes narrowed, and Caythis felt defenseless. Like her perception could glide right through his exterior and see truths inside him that even he couldn't. It made him uncomfortable.

"I always imagined you would look older," she said.

"What?" He looked at her, a little confused. She was younger than him, but he could see hardships had given her face character. The seasoning of experience beyond her years. She glowed with confidence and energy.

"I always wondered what you looked like."

"Didn't you know what I looked like? I was under the impression that, as the Enforcer Overseer of Citadel, I was sort of a public figure. I mean, shouldn't I have at least been the guardian of the royal family? Your family?"

"Guardian," she said, showing a tiny but wonderful smile. "Oh, Caythis, you were more than my guardian. You were my friend. But I never saw you without your armor and helmet, until today."

"That doesn't make sense to me. The armor's not exactly comfortable. I can't imagine myself wearing it everywhere, helmet and all."

"That's always been the tradition in Citadel for the overseer," said Kira. "You used to tell me that it was to protect an enforcer's family. But it always seemed like more than that to you."

She looked like she wanted an answer, but he had none to give. He couldn't doubt her; she was so sincere. But that did not sound like him. Of course back then he'd been a different person and, perhaps, a much better one. Working alone, with and against the shadier elements in the city, and having to remember—now that he could—that he had betrayed this wonderful girl and her family by leaving them, resulting in the death of her parents and the loss of her inheritance, . . . he could understand why he no longer felt like the honorable person he must have once been.

"You were always very proper," she said with a gleam of respect. "And you made no exceptions. Not for me, not for anyone." She paused. "That was so long ago. . . . Everyone had given up on you, Caythis. But I was right. Somehow I knew you were alive. But now that you're here, it feels so surreal. So anticlimactic."

"Not living up to your expectations?"

"No, it's not that," she said quickly. "I just . . . I don't know what to think."

He wasn't sure how to respond to that. He looked into her beautiful eyes; they were so sincere and disarming. It made him all the more curious to learn more about this young woman. How could she, with the miserable situation that had been thrust upon her, have such a positive glow? He saw no bitterness in her. Sadness, yes. But not bitterness.

"About your question, as to why I left," he said tenderly. "I don't remember why. I'm sorry that I did it. And for what it cost you and countless others. But I must have seen Antares as my problem, and, whatever the outcome, you must understand that I was trying to do the right thing. Even if it might have been the wrong thing in the end. I just don't know."

She nodded. "Everyone else came to terms with it. I'm still trying."

Her eyes drifted away, and Caythis stared at her again. Wondering what their relationship had been. Clearly not romantic. She'd never seen him without his armor, and, though she was about his age, she was probably too young back then to pursue any relationship that wasn't platonic. Despite that knowledge, he felt so connected to her, and everything about her drew him in more and more.

"I need to know something," he said.

A loud crash filled the air, they both jumped at the sound of a dozen metal trays hitting the floor with a bang.

"Oh, man!" Jaden said, his face turning as red as his hair, and he started picking things up. Apparently the assault rifle in his hands had caught the stack, knocking it over.

Caythis was surprised he hadn't seen Jaden enter. He and Kira both leaned down to help.

"I've got it," Jaden insisted, snatching things up in a hurry.

"I thought you had sentry duty," said Caythis.

"I did, but I was called back." His glance darted from Caythis to Kira, then back. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and stepped over to Kira, offering a hand up. "Caythis, the District wants to meet with us right away."

Kira seemed to resist the gesture, frowning at Jaden's offered hand, but she hid her disdain instantly and accepted his help.

"Meet with us about what?" asked Caythis, his attention still on Kira.

"Not sure, but it seems pretty important," said Jaden. He put his arm around Kira, and his eyes met Caythis's gaze. Jaden's eyes carried a sense of ownership. Kira snuck out of his arm and handed her tray to him. He took her tray for her and put it in the stack awaiting cleaning.

Only then did Caythis notice the small silver pinkie rings they both wore on their left hands. A Citadel tradition. It meant they were engaged to be married. A feeling pricked Caythis, but he ignored it. Telling himself he didn't care.

"Then we shouldn't keep them waiting," said Caythis. He marched toward the door.

"Wait," said Kira from behind.

He turned around.

"What were you going to ask me, Caythis?"

He had wanted to ask her about their friendship, how close they'd been. But now he didn't want to. Not with Jaden here. "I was going to ask what there is to do around here. But it looks like they're already putting me back to work. I'll see you later."

"It was really nice seeing you."

He nodded and left, Jaden at his heels.

"See you in an hour, love," Jaden said to Kira before catching up with Caythis.

Caythis tried to tune it out. He didn't want to mess with what Jaden and Kira had, but there was no escaping the fact that she had affected Caythis emotionally and to a deeper degree than made sense to him.

***

Upon arrival at the conference room, Jaden was dismissed. He objected to this at first, feeling his position as prefect and his long-standing relationship with the District entitled him to be present for an important meeting, but that didn't matter to the District's leadership. They made it clear they wanted to see Caythis alone, and Jaden left. Clearly irritated. His pride wounded.

Like the other rooms in the complex, and most of the underground, the room wasn't very elaborate. There was a long table and behind it sat three people. One was Dr. Erikson; he was in the center. On his sides were two women. They looked familiar, and, after a second, Caythis recalled they had been the ones he'd met at the diner, when he'd been drugged and abducted.

One of the women seemed middle-aged; she wore a white lab coat and had obviously dyed her hair dark. The other was about ten years younger; she wore the military fatigues of Citadel's elite guard. No doubt she was the commander of the tiny military force that had escorted the District and the prince and princess from Citadel to Silverwind those five years ago.

"Please, close the door and step to the center of the room," said Dr. Erikson.

Caythis complied. "What's this about, Doctor?"

"I wanted you to meet the rest of the District. This is Dr. Julia Ferguson. She is the most distinguished medical expert in the world. Her 'disappearance' has been a true loss to society. But a necessary one."

She blushed but seemed extremely pleased with the compliment.

"And this"—Dr. Erikson gestured—"is Captain Lori Grayson. Commander, Citadel Guard."

"Pleased to meet you," said Caythis.

"Do you remember who you are?" Dr. Ferguson asked. Her eyes seemed to study Caythis, and she looked tense.

"I am Caythis Ceteris."

She nodded but didn't relax. Almost like she wasn't convinced. "How do you know you are Caythis?"

"I don't remember everything, but I remember enough. I am Caythis. I was there to confront Antares. I remember the view from Skyhaven. I just . . . know."

"I think she means, how does she know you are Caythis?" Dr. Erikson said. He shot her a glance of disapproval.

"Didn't you know me before I went missing? Didn't you find me unconscious and wounded after I fought Antares? Do I look different now?"

"No," said Dr. Ferguson. "It's just . . . it's been a long time. I wasn't sure if you were you."

"I'm definitely me. But how can I be sure that you're you?" If anyone was at a disadvantage here, it was him.

"I think it's best we trust each other," said Dr. Erikson. "We all worked together before. Being suspicious of one another is exactly what Lucida would want. Let's not stoop to that level. Now, Caythis, I must apologize. I know you, and I went over this before, but the other members of the District, . . . they want to hear it from you."

"Hear what?"

"Do you remember working for us?" asked Captain Grayson.

"No. But Dr. Erikson explained to me—"

"Do you remember how you were separated from us?"

"I don't remember, but I understand there was a battle and—"

This time it was Dr. Ferguson who interrupted. "This is very important, so think hard." She stared at him intensely, searching and probing.

He stared back, asking himself, what was it she was after? What was it she really wanted to know?

"I understand you are suffering from some memory loss. I want you to tell me everything you remember about the last few years."

The room was thick with repressed energy. They were so ostensibly calm yet so in suspense and tightly wound.

"I remember working with the CTC."

"One of the vigilante cells," Dr. Erikson explained before Dr. Ferguson could ask.

Caythis continued, "I was trying to find something urgently. One of the members was helping me."

"What was it you were trying to find?"

"I . . . think it was you. But I don't remember exactly."

"Please go on."

"Max, the one who was helping me, he died before he could tell me how to contact you."

"I remember Max," said Captain Grayson. "I was the one who originally found him. Did he ever say why he stopped contacting us?"

"No. I had no idea he was in regular contact with you. At the time I believed he was following a trail of clues and that, once he could contact you, he'd connect me to you. He was deceiving me, however, and that's partially why I never found you."

"Until now," said Dr. Ferguson.

"Right. After one of our raids I was captured by the enforcers. That's when I lost a majority of my memories. Some I still haven't recovered. They claimed that, in subduing me, they used a drug that gave me an allergic reaction. That is what caused my memory loss, but it should be only temporary."

"Do you believe them?" asked Dr. Erikson.

"I don't know. You're the one sitting next to the 'best doctor in the world.' Why don't you ask her?" He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something slightly off in play. That they were most definitely sheltering him from some secret they were keeping. Perhaps because they didn't trust him yet, or perhaps they were manipulating him for some ulterior purpose. Much like Lucida had tried. The difference was they had a much more noble cause than Lucida, and they seemed like good people. He thought of Kira but didn't let his mind linger. He was tired of trusting no one and wanted something to belong to. To believe in.

"That seems plausible to me," she said. "When we found you, there were residual traces of Xenalane. Typically it's no different than other general anesthetics, but a minority of people have a bad allergic reaction to it that results in memory loss. If the enforcers were familiar with your medical history, they might have intended to induce amnesia. Then again, it could have been an unwanted surprise. An unanticipated side effect of the method they chose to subdue you. The real question is, did they have a reason to want their prisoner to lose all sense of who he is?"

"Who knows?" Caythis had no idea. Perhaps Lucida had wanted him to forget his memories so she could convince him that they'd been past lovers and so on. That was a nauseating avenue of thought which he didn't want to converse about. "Any more questions in this interrogation?"

"Only one," said Dr. Ferguson. "Can we trust you? Are you committed to liberating Citadel, when the time is right, and restoring the Paribus family's throne?"

"Yes. Absolutely I am. After all, I abandoned the city before. That's partially why it fell. What kind of a man would I be if I didn't do everything to make things right?"

Dr. Ferguson smiled. "You have no idea how good it is to hear that."
Chapter 9

The basement entrance to the Hiding Place was not conspicuous. It seemed exactly like the other doors littering the underground, giving no indication that, rather than leading to another series of dark storage rooms, here was a gateway into the clandestine activities of an exiled government.

Caythis stood there, about a hundred feet from the door, at an intersection in the long hallway. From here he could keep a vigilant eye out, enhanced by his enforcer helmet, for any sign that an intruder was straying too close. The chances of such an intrusion were slim, but the District preferred to have eyes on the ground just in case. Everyone with combat training took a turn playing sentry for a couple of hours. This was Caythis's first.

Nothing had happened so far. He'd seen a rat scurry by, and there were quite a few more spiders than he'd expected, but truly there was nothing to keep his interest. It seemed like a waste of time and talent for an enforcer to be stuck in this place, in full armor, for so long, counting spiders.

He paced as he waited. A bit of water dripped down the side of a wall. His boots splashed through a couple of small puddles as he organized his thoughts.

He realized that, while he couldn't prove the District's story was true, he hoped it was. He wanted to think he belonged to a movement trying to fix the world. And because of that hope, he chose to believe it. Convinced himself it was true to satisfy his desperation for that to be so. What was the alternative? To believe in nothing? In a vacuum of knowledge what was truth anyway? Except what he decided it was.

He did not trust Dr. Erikson, Jaden, or any of the others as much as he trusted Kira. There was no good reason for that. He still didn't know her very well and was alarmed she had such a disarming effect on him. Something about her moved him, but he couldn't quite decide what it was. It was no singular thing, yet it was everything. Everything she did; everything she said. Everything he saw in her eyes. How she carried herself. She was not the delicate princess everyone treated her as; she was a hardened, seasoned survivor who, despite everything, had hope.

He tried not to think of her. Her smile. Her hair. The things she'd say. How they'd make him puzzle or make him laugh. Her insights. Her charm. And her simple yet profound beauty. Such an intoxicating combination . . .

No.

She was with Jaden. They weren't yet married, but they were declared. Besides, what kind of life could she have with him? With Caythis, . . . the man who had failed to save her parents. The man who had allowed her city to fall. The man whose failure had forced her into exile. No, he walked a different path. A dangerous enterprise. A solo journey. No place for someone so lovely as Kira.

His experience with the District had spanned less than a week so far. Some people he felt he knew well; others he barely remembered their names or didn't recognize. For the most part he found them agreeable, but he still felt uncomfortable. As if something were just slightly askew.

The only person who didn't warm to him was Dr. Ferguson. She was bitter and short-tempered. She asked meaningless questions persistently, like she was always testing him, and carried with her an air of skepticism hidden under a thin veil of confidence. She pretended to trust him but clearly didn't. So he found it difficult to trust her and preferred not to interact with her. As if to grant him his wish, the District met rarely and almost never with him.

He understood their position to be "planning," trying to find a solution to their predicament. Some way to force, or enable, the local king to act. To assist them with their mission. Help them seek allies in Skyhaven and launch an attack on Rigil. Only then would Citadel be free. Until a course of action was clear, however, Caythis was stuck doing rotations of sentry duty and trying to avoid thinking about Kira.

A tapping noise caught his attention. He went stiff and listened. Something metal was impacting the pipe above him. He couldn't see the source of the noise, so he followed it. He didn't want to be dragged too far from his position; for all he knew, it was a diversion. So he radioed in.

"I am hearing a noise. Probably nothing but I am going to investigate. Standby."

"Roger that," Jaden replied.

Caythis followed the noise, realizing that there was a pattern to it. Tap. Tap. Tap Tip Tap Tip. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tip. It was a code, an enforcer code. He stopped his advance to translate.

"C-A-Y-T-H-I-S," he translated, "C-O-M-E A-L-O-N-E."

The message ended and repeated.

He tapped back. "Who are you?"

"A friend."

He decided to comply. If this was some inane tactic of Lucida's to drag him into an ambush, . . . well, he wasn't about to go quietly. He drew his sword from his back, not charging it quite yet, and proceeded around the corner.

There was no one. Just more hallway and intersection. He checked both ways before proceeding to the left. It was a long empty stretch; the air through his helmet's filter didn't carry the dust, but it still tasted bland and old.

The passage continued about fifty feet before reaching another intersection, a four-way crossing. Ahead was a more dismal corridor, and the view to his right and left was identical. No people, no noise, just cement walls, empty floor, lightbulbs, pipes, and power fixtures. Whoever had tapped the message had clearly evaded him. Why?

He walked to the end of the corridor, wary of ambush, and continued searching. He traced the wall with his free hand. Bits of cement crumbled off and behind it was solid stone. A hole existed with cracks where someone had once drilled, but it was years untouched. He glanced to the ground; someone else's footsteps had recently disturbed the cobwebs.

He sprinted back toward the hideout. He'd obviously been lured from his post. As he rounded the corner, he stopped dead in his tracks.

A female enforcer stood a few feet away. She wore silver, a color of armor he'd never seen before. Making her a master, an overseer, or some rogue element of the enforcer world he'd never heard of. Her armor gleamed immaculately, and her stance was ready, prepared for a messy fight. Unlike other enforcers, she wore two gloves instead of one.

"So it's true. You're back," the woman said through a garble of static. Her voice was quiet but firm, like steel.

"The reports of my disappearance are greatly exaggerated."

"Tell me, Caythis. What happens now?"

"You tell me." He had no idea who she was, even though she seemed to know him.

"You have more answers than I do," she said.

Caythis almost laughed. "I doubt that. Who are you?"

"Are you so sure you don't remember?"

There was something familiar in her voice. Something eerie. "I don't remember."

She raised her magic hand. He braced himself, activating his sword and raising his own magic hand.

No fire, water, or air blasted his direction. Yellow light glowed through her glove, becoming brilliant, blinding white. It forced his helmet to adjust and readjust to compensate for the light. It switched to infrared, and everything was bright, bright green. Then it faded, as she released her magic and dropped her hand.

She'd shown a discipline of magic he didn't know existed, but it didn't injure him in any way. In fact everything seemed exactly the same. What had been the point?

"Now do you remember me?"

"No."

"Then perhaps this will help." She ignited her sword and attacked.

He blocked her surprisingly deadly thrust and fought back.

Their combination of dodges and blows was intense, despite the limitations set by the narrow corridors. Her superior agility helped her but would have done more had there been space to maneuver.

He used his greater strength and steady, well-executed attacking forms to keep her at bay. She was obviously an expert, able to recognize and defend against his patterns, but she did not rely on them herself. She seemed to prefer an element of randomness and unpredictability. Her styles came to her fluidly, organically, as if informed by both years of discipline and whimsical improvisation.

He should have dominated her. His methods were more efficient, more practiced and perfected, yet she eluded him. Always half a step ahead. He was the superior fighter, but, through incredible finesse, cleverness, and a little randomness, she foiled every attempt to defeat her. He couldn't so much as wound or disable her. Her unpredictability was trumping his superior practice, and that frustrated him immensely. Causing him to make mistakes. Errors that gave her the advantage. And he found himself, very quickly, thrown into defensive mode.

"You never did give me enough credit." Her voice crackled over the helmet's speaker. There was a lightheartedness to it. This was just some kind of game to her; she was toying with him. He thought of how Lucida had defeated him. Two female enforcers making a fool out of him in hardly a week. Enough was enough!

He raised his magic hand and blasted a jet of fire at her. She seemed not to expect this and had to throw herself onto her back to avoid incineration. Leaving her at a total disadvantage. Once the fire cleared, Caythis stood over her, his sword held ready to deliver the final blow. "I'll ask you again, who are you?"

"I told you someday I'd be as good as you. I guess today is not that day."

"Last chance," he warned.

Footsteps approached from behind. Caythis whipped around to see Jaden approaching quickly, rifle in hand and wearing his red radiation suit. Caythis turned back to see the silver enforcer escaping. She darted around the corner. Caythis gave chase, Jaden at his heels.

"Who is that?" asked Jaden.

With a flick, Caythis switched to a secure frequency. "I don't know. Try to cut her off. I'll go this way. You go that way." He hoped to corral her into a dead end.

Unfortunately she was faster than he was. He saw smaller and smaller glimpses of her as he pursued. Until she was simply gone. He skidded to a halt and doubled over to catch his breath.

"Dammit," he said, breathing heavily. "Damn. Damn. Damn . . ."

Jaden caught up to him, similarly exhausted. "We must be . . . two or three miles . . . from the hideout. Where . . . did she go?"

"Who the hell knows? Surface hatch probably. What possessed you to show up when you did? You spooked her."

"I didn't hear from you for a while. I put the hideout on alert and decided to come rescue you."

"Yeah, thanks . . ." Caythis began walking back toward the hideout.

"Uh, it's actually this way," said Jaden. "And we'd better hurry. The District needs to know our location's been compromised."

***

"I have no idea who she was," said Caythis.

"But she's got to be linked to Lucida," said Jaden. "She wore enforcer armor." The two of them stood before the District of Protection. Dr. Erikson and the others seemed more amused and curious than cautious or paranoid. A reaction Caythis found very surprising.

"An enforcer, you say?" said Dr. Erikson. "And she wore silver armor?"

"Yes."

"And she was alone, nobody with her?"

"As far as we could tell," said Jaden.

Doc rubbed his chin. "A woman, lightweight, very fast, pure silver enforcer's armor. She had a plasma sword and a ring. Did she use any magic?"

"Yes," said Caythis. "That was the strangest part. Her magic seemed to be a powerfully bright light and nothing else. No fire, air, or water. Just light."

"Of course," said Dr. Erikson, "we don't know how many varieties of magic exist, not since the End of the World. But magic can skip whole generations, so she could be a first of her kind. Maybe some of the oldest magics weren't completely lost after all. Hidden in our blood all this time."

"You don't seem very concerned," said Caythis. "If this stranger is working with Lucida, which is a distinct possibility, then Lucida now knows the general location of the hideout. We should prep for evacuation. Don't you have a contingency plan?"

Dr. Erikson seemed neither tense nor alarmed. "And you did not recognize her, correct?"

"What?" asked Caythis. He realized that Dr. Erikson was looking at him quite intently. As if studying him. It made Caythis guarded. "Should I have recognized her?"

"No, I suppose not."

"She seemed to think I should know who she was," said Caythis. "You know who she is, don't you? Tell me."

"What's going on here?" asked a very confused Jaden. He seemed to be picking up on what Caythis was now convinced of: that Dr. Erikson had encountered the silver enforcer before. Was she part of the District?

"No, I do not know who she is. But I know who she isn't. And she isn't working for Lucida. The silver enforcer has helped us in the past. She's a loyalist. She does not recognize Lucida's control of the Enforcer Combine as legitimate. That makes her an outcast. That's the extent of my knowledge. However, it would make sense for her to know you. Caythis, champion of all enforcers—when the enforcers were still legitimate. You probably worked with her before Antares's rebellion."

"Perhaps," said Caythis. It did make sense. But she'd seemed especially familiar. Had they been involved romantically? Had they been in the same cohort at the academy?

"So what you're saying," said Jaden, "is that we don't have to evacuate the hideout."

"I haven't seen the silver enforcer in a long, long time. I didn't think she knew about our new hideout," said Dr. Erikson. "But she is no threat to us and will guard our secret."

"Makes me wonder," said Caythis. "If she knows where we are, who else does? Maybe we should consider a move anyway."

"There's no need," insisted Dr. Erikson. He looked to Dr. Ferguson and Captain Grayson who seemed to concur.

"You're serious?" asked Caythis. "No one is concerned about this at all?"

"Packing up and moving to a new Hiding Place is tremendously expensive and a lot of work," said Dr. Ferguson. "If it were necessary, we'd do it in a heartbeat, but . . . there doesn't seem to be any point."

"I agree with Caythis," said Jaden. "We should take some measure of additional precaution. If we don't move, we should set up new sentry locations, have more eyes on the ground, keep the hideout on alert . . ."

"We'll take it into consideration. Dismissed."

***

Caythis didn't know why his encounter with the silver enforcer had left him in such a disrupted state, but something was bugging him about the whole thing. How dangerous yet familiar she'd been. How complacent Dr. Erikson was acting. Caythis felt on the verge of an epiphany but just couldn't pull it all together.

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were all subsequently bad. The lettuce, the fruit, the rice, the beans, the bread, everything tasted stale. Not because it wasn't fresh, but because Caythis had other thoughts on his mind. And despite his hunger, everything tasted rotten, everything felt rotten; he was jumping at every shadow throughout the whole day. His skin was tight, his heart rate fast, and everything seemed off. He managed to keep his anxiety to himself, but he couldn't escape the palpable feeling that something was profoundly out of place. The strange intuition that something bad was coming and was imminent.

"So, what do you think will happen?" asked Jaden.

They were sitting in the main room; night was pushing on, and Caythis could feel fatigue setting in. He'd refused to sleep since his sentry patrol the night before, and now that decision was taxing him. So he didn't reply.

"You listening?" asked Jaden.

Caythis glanced up, slightly annoyed. "Kira's here too. Why don't you ask her?"

"I'm looking for a tactical opinion. Do you think the worst will happen, and, if it does, could we hold the hideout long enough for a successful evac?"

"What? I can't have a tactical opinion?" asked Kira, swatting him.

"Of course you can," said Jaden. "I was just . . . I wanted to hear from someone with, you know, combat experience."

Kira raised an eyebrow.

"But your opinion is just as good. Better actually. I'd love to hear it."

"You're just digging yourself in deeper," said Caythis. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall. Many questions were circling his mind. He tried to ignore them.

"I think that would depend on who attacked us," said Kira, with surprising thoughtfulness. "If it were a disorganized attack, for example Rigilian soldiers, we could set up at the choke points in the basement. We'd be able to hold those bottlenecks indefinitely. However, against a stronger adversary, like the enforcers, we would have real trouble. Most of our weapons can't pierce their armor. They have a great deal more firepower, and they are extremely well-trained and bold. I do not believe we could resist them for long, if they came in sufficient numbers."

Caythis smirked.

"Wow, Kira, not bad. That was very insightful," said Jaden. "I had no idea you had such a tactical mind."

"I do a lot of reading. It gets boring down here, and the District doesn't exactly stock up on romance novels."

"So what do you think, Caythis?" asked Jaden.

"Romance isn't really my cup of tea."

"No, I mean about the tactical situation."

"You heard the lady," said Caythis, very relaxed. He stared up at the ceiling. "We're sitting in our tomb."

"However," Kira added. "Dr. Erikson is a wise man, and he does not think the silver enforcer will betray us or attack us."

"She attacked me," said Caythis. "And without provocation."

"Yet here you are, in one piece."

"Well, when you tangle with the bull, you get the horns. She couldn't get away from me fast enough."

"Yeah, I bet." Kira laughed.

"The real question," said Jaden, "is what was she doing here in the first place. She didn't make contact. She didn't tell us anything useful. She didn't meet with the District. So why'd she come?"

"To scout us," said Caythis.

"Exactly. To spy on us."

"Oh, you two and your conspiracy theories."

"You got a better explanation, sister?" asked Caythis. He sat up and looked her in the eyes. Those brilliant, deep, wonderful eyes.

"If you were spying on someone"—Kira held Caythis's gaze—"would you call attention to yourself? Didn't you say she contacted you first?"

"That's true. She is a terrible spy—" Caythis leaned back once more, returning to his relaxed posture, again looking at the ceiling. "But that doesn't answer the question. Why come?"

"Who knows?" said Kira. "But I trust Dr. Erikson's intuition."

"I don't," said Caythis, perhaps too hastily.

"Oh?"

"I think he's omitting truths. I think he knows more than he's letting on. Why doesn't he share everything he knows?"

Kira seemed to consider this. "Why do you think you're entitled to know everything he does?"

"Because we're on the same side," said Caythis. "And it would help me sleep at night."

"And have you told him everything you know?"

"About this, yes. I definitely have."

"And what about everything else? About you?" asked Kira. "Be honest. Didn't you omit some truths too?" Even though her words challenged him, her voice was pleasant and smooth. Thoughtful even. It actually gave him pause and forced him to consider what she was saying.

No, he realized. He had not told Dr. Erikson and the District everything. Not about Raven. Not about some of the things Lucida had said. He'd kept some secrets. "There are things Dr. Erikson doesn't need to know."

"He probably feels the same about you. Or maybe he thinks there are things you already know. Or should."

"No, I think I made it pretty clear I didn't know," said Caythis, who looked at her once more.

"I trust Dr. Erikson," said Jaden from nowhere. He took Kira's hand and gave it a little squeeze. "And you're right, Kira. We haven't been very respectful. The District knows what it's doing. Dr. Erikson and the others know what they're doing."

"Really?" said Caythis, looking at Jaden. He couldn't believe Jaden would reverse his position just to score points with his fiancée. True, she was everything Caythis could want, but still . . . it was the principle of the matter.

"Thank you, Jaden," said Kira, even though her eyes stayed on Caythis. "Glad someone listens."

"This is a waste of time," Caythis mumbled. He stood up.

"What was that?"

"I said good night." He went to his room. Figuring that either they'd get obliterated by enforcers or they wouldn't. It wasn't in his hands.
Chapter 10

The walls were stone. Sometimes he could see pillared columns; otherwise he could see nothing. Lost in the deep black void, the darkness was entrapping. He believed he might fumble around in here forever, searching for the next magical light source and never finding it. It was terrifying.

Then one would appear. Like a surge of instant relief. The tiny glowing orb hovering just above, only visible within a few feet. It, like the others, had never burned out. And never would.

Once he left the guidance of one orb, he stepped into perfect darkness, hoping—but not knowing—he would find the next. Every time taking the risk he would be lost forever.

Below one such magical orb, he discovered a marble surface cradling a silver basin and a mirror. He felt compelled to retrieve the mirror, but it wouldn't budge. He looked into it deeply but saw nothing but his own shadow. A terrible feeling washed over him, and he knew what he had to do. He peered into the basin. As if witnessing his own death.

***

A deep rumble jerked Caythis from his sleep.

He lurched into a sitting position and rubbed his hazy eyes. Nothing seemed out of place . . .

Another deep rumble shook the room, this one much closer. Airhorns began shrieking throughout the rest of the complex—alarms. He bolted upright and ran to the door, cracking it open to catch a glimpse of the chaos.

The main hall was a scatter of people yelling. Someone screamed louder than the rest. "Get them out now!" A handful of Silverwind men-at-arms held a firing position, armed with assault weapons.

An explosion rocked the room; a large piece of steel—probably from the basement exit—hurled through the air and crashed into one of the soldiers. He died instantly. The others scrambled for better cover and began shooting at whatever it was that had just breached the door. Caythis didn't have to see it to know what it was. Enforcers.

He slammed the door and bolted it. He strapped on his enforcer armor as fast as he could. Trying to ignore the gunfire, screaming, and other terrible noises. He focused solely on his objective. Enter the battle, control the situation, protect the District's escape. How they'd been compromised was something to worry about later, though he was sure they'd been given away by the silver enforcer.

At last he pulled the helmet over his head and sealed it tight; the visor jumped to infrared. He grabbed his sword, activated it, and made for the door. Rather than take the time to unbolt it, he slashed it aside very easily with the plasma sword and charged into the fray.

The main room was a smoking ruin. Everything was bright green through his visor. The furniture was ablaze, and smoke choked the atmosphere. He saw a spent smoke capsule at his feet.

The gunfire dissipated and reappeared again several meters down the largest corridor. Toward Kira's and Gavin's rooms. The enforcers wanted to kill or abduct the Paribus heirs.

Caythis manually switched his visor to visible light, preferring to deal with dark smoke than bright smoke, and sped toward the battle. An enforcer in green armor intercepted him. A blast of plasma poured from his hand but missed Caythis. He raised his own magic hand and unleashed a torrent of fire. He either melted the enforcer or the enforcer escaped; it was impossible to tell in the smoke. So Caythis moved on.

The south room was slightly clearer because the vents were blowing air, dissipating some of the smoke. The furniture still burned, though, and everything was smashed. He didn't see anyone inside.

He was thrown face-first and crashed awkwardly to the floor, barely avoiding his own sword. He rolled and leaped back to his feet, but another gust of wind hit him and spun him back down to the ground. From the corner of his eye he saw white armor.

"Damned air enforcer." He rolled away and got to his feet again. A splash of plasma sizzled the spot where he'd been. And now, as the smoke thinned a little, he could see two adversaries. Both enforcers. One in white and one in green. Swords drawn.

He raised his own magic hand and unleashed all of his anger, hate, passion, desperation, and fear. An enormous firestorm of scorching magic filled the space between them and, like a tidal wave, took hold of the nearest enforcer. The green enforcer managed to escape, partially singed, but the white enforcer was too slow. The fire consumed him instantly. One moment he was there; the next he was an inferno of liquid plastic and goo, splashing in all directions.

Caythis felt a tortuous amount of pain releasing that kind of magic, especially without the help of a ring—it shouldn't have even been possible—but he didn't worry about that now. Had to compartmentalize. Had to survive.

Instincts made him leap aside as a sword sizzled past him. He quickly got his bearings and swung his own sword against the green enforcer who'd escaped his wrath.

The sword strokes were powerful, but his enemy was far stronger, and happy to take advantage of Caythis's sudden fatigue and pain. But the desperation to survive, mixed with the adrenaline of seeing his own death in each oncoming blow, forced him to concentrate. In that state, he found he had a tremendous threshold for pain and was able to hold his own easily. Locked in a combat of sweeping strokes, deadly jabs, and desperate parries.

He gained the advantage after only a few seconds. His limited visibility caused some confusion but his instincts served him well. Unfortunately, before he could deliver the deathblow, another enforcer attacked. Throwing off Caythis and forcing him onto the defensive.

Caythis adapted to fighting two opponents. Made sure to get them onto one side. He remembered patterns and defense ideas he'd been taught, should this situation occur, and, even though it felt awkward and was considerably more difficult, he was able to hold his own. Until a third appeared.

Now his enemies were on all sides. He couldn't force them all together. Moving quickly, dodging, and throwing desperate blocks was all he could do to avoid the sizzling blades they arced his way, each strike closer than the last.

He forced himself into the best defensive posture he knew, always trying to outmaneuver them, using the smoke to his advantage, and finding an opportunity to blast fire at them. They predicted his use of magic, avoided it, and slowly corralled him to the back corner of the room.

He raised his palm to use magic once more, desperately, willing to drown the entire room in fire if he had to. But the flash of a sword sweeping through the air sent him jumping aside. He returned his left hand to his sword, needing the extra strength, and scoured his mind for some way to even the odds.

"It's over," a voice crackled over his speaker. "And to think she wanted you. Pathetic."

They had pushed him nearly all the way to the wall now, and his options were drying up. It was only a matter of time before they broke through his circular defense pattern, and that would be the end. He steadied his footing, pushing his weight in their direction, and readied for one massive sweeping blow aimed well below their swords. Just as he prepared to strike, the ghost of a silver enforcer's helmet appeared behind his enemies. There she was. As if to gloat. As if she had wanted him to know, before he died, that she'd been behind it all.

"You!" he said.

One of his enemies turned and blocked what seemed like an attack from the silver enforcer. This confused the three green enforcers momentarily and Caythis too, but he chose not to make sense of it. Instead he acted, lashing out at them while they were least prepared. He didn't know if this meant the silver enforcer and he were on the same side, but that didn't matter yet.

The green enforcers were thrown into disarray. Due to his new aggression, and the appearance of the silver enforcer—who continued attacking them—their defense broke, and they started fighting as individuals, not as a unit.

"Why'd you give me away?" asked a surprisingly pleasant voice over Caythis's helmet speaker. She was quickly backing one of the green enforcers into the wall. He was stronger than she was, but her fighting style was unpredictable, and her superior speed left no openings. He was fighting for his life and losing rapidly.

Caythis didn't answer her question, too focused on his own opponents. Caythis killed one. As the man had tried to rout, Caythis had gutted him in the back, allowing Caythis to focus on the last. He was the best of the three green enforcers, but still below Caythis's skill.

The clashing of swords and plasma was a set of severe, hard blows that rocked together in explosions of sparks. Caythis threw himself into every swing, filled with so much anger. Hating Lucida. Hating the attack she had launched. Hating that she'd probably captured or killed Kira. And hating himself for letting it happen. His opponent was no match for his wrath, and, before long, Caythis found the opportunity he was searching for. He thrust his sword through his enemy and carved sideways. The green enforcer collapsed, a disgusting heap of molten plastic, destroyed human tissue, and blood.

Caythis stood over him, catching his breath.

"We have to hurry."

He looked up to see the silver enforcer standing there. She'd already vanquished her opponent.

"Who are you?"

"If you don't remember, then it would be pointless to tell you my name. Now hurry. There may still be time!"

She ran back into the smoke-filled ruins of the main concourse. He followed her, not sure what to think.

He stepped over bodies and debris, sometimes on top of them, disgusted by the slaughter. They ran down the long hall, checking each of the rooms as they went, but finding nobody alive. The barracks, the cafeteria, everything was deserted.

They left the complex through an exploded hole. He followed the silver enforcer through a series of tunnels. "That way," she said.

He heard footsteps ahead; they were catching up to someone. They scrambled up a ladder and through a hatch. Splashing through the waterworks, they eventually encountered a fork.

"I'm not sure which way they went. But we have to catch them. If they've taken Gavin or Kira . . ."

"I understand," said Caythis. He wanted to stay with the silver enforcer, to find out who she was. To ask her about their past. But it wasn't as important as saving Kira and Gavin, if he could. "I'll take the right," he said.

She took the left.

Caythis hurried down the twisted, wet, bad-smelling path for several minutes. Eventually he ran into another fork and chose a direction at random, which led to a dead end. He cursed, splashed some of the sewage away with his hand and turned around.

He took his time coming back, pausing to rest. Carefully thinking about his path and making a few wrong turns. He lost a lot of time, cursing whenever he got lost, but eventually found his way back to the hatch leading below. He unsealed it and dropped to the ground, landing evenly with his knees bent. He deactivated his sword and strapped it to his back.

The route back to the Hiding Place was tiring, but he made it as quickly as he could. The carnage was more spectacular now that the smoke had mostly cleared. The sights, the corpses, all of it worse. It was still now, but not peaceful. It made him think of Andar, at what he must have seen on that fateful night. So much unnecessary violence and destruction . . .

His hope in returning to the Hiding Place had been that he'd find someone from the District, someone who'd gone back looking for survivors and could direct him to their fallback shelter. Their reserve Hiding Place, if they had one. He refused to believe they'd all been killed.

He'd guessed right. Captain Grayson and a team of specialists were combing through the debris when he arrived. They trained weapons on him but lowered them again as he approached. His bronze armor was doubtlessly scuffed, and covered with soot and dirt, but still recognizable.

"Glad to see you made it out, Captain Ceteris," Captain Grayson said over the radio.

"You too. What's our situation?"

"Still too early to tell. We're searching for survivors and recovering equipment right now. Those who escaped have been moved to a secure place."

"Where can I find them?"

"Lt. Greer will take you." She ordered one of her subordinates to see to Caythis.

He saluted, and Caythis returned the salute. Part of him wanted to stay, to assist Captain Grayson with her rescue efforts—although he doubted anyone was left to be rescued—and he also wanted to search the hideout for any information they hadn't been forthcoming with, but none of that was half as important as making sure Kira and the others were all right. So he followed Lt. Greer without objection.

The lieutenant took him through a sealed door; it had been hidden inside the conference room. It led two ways. On the one side was another door, a thick steel security door with an electric lock. It had no window so Caythis couldn't see what was behind it. The other way was a path into a tiny room of stone walls. They went that way.

The tiny room seemed purposefully empty, with nothing but black flowers sitting atop a casket encased in cement. There was a marker but the inscription was too tiny to read from Caythis's perspective. And where there should have been a name, there was just a blank slate. Caythis stepped closer.

"Sir," the lieutenant said. "We have to keep going."

"Who is buried here, soldier?" asked Caythis.

"I don't know. It's classified. Now come along, please." He'd slid aside another secret door which led to a very narrow set of cement stairs.

Reluctantly Caythis followed him, shelving his curiosity.

The passage led into what appeared to be a musty old food-storage room. Large wooden barrels sat sideways, and cases and cases of bottles were everywhere. He made his way through the clutter, careful not to disturb any of it.

They reached a steel door, which was also ajar, and met up with a few men-at-arms standing guard, who recognized them on approach. They traversed another set of passageways, steel doors, and groups of soldiers, but eventually the path opened up into a well-furnished large reception hall. It was elegant but crowded with distressed-looking people.

A few medical professionals were working their way through the huddled groups. Treating everything from deep cuts and wounds to shock and mental illness. Other staffers were bringing blankets, food, and water to everyone. Some of the affected were children but most were adults. In the crowd Caythis spotted a familiar face.

Jaden, who looked bruised, was yelling something. Next to him stood Dr. Erikson and Dr. Ferguson.

Caythis approached.

"Caythis!" said Dr. Erikson. "You're all right!"

"More or less." Caythis pulled off his helmet and shook his head. "But I can't say the same for a lot of the people down there."

"Yes, a terrible tragedy." Dr. Erikson looked down soberly.

"How many people are dead, Dr. Erikson?" asked Caythis. He was bitter. More could have been done to prevent this, or to see it coming, but Dr. Erikson had been complacent.

"At least ten civilians, fifteen men-at-arms, and two soldiers from special forces. Maybe more. But we got some of them too."

Caythis remembered his battle with the enforcers below. "I know," he said, certain the men-at-arms hadn't taken down any of the enforcers. "Why weren't the TAC teams there?" Elite soldiers designed to fight enforcers would have been extremely useful.

"I did call for them," said Jaden. "They were on their way when a water main exploded flooding the waterworks. No doubt that wasn't an accident. Another group's vehicle was disabled. But none of that matters now. What matters," he said, pretending to be calm, "is Kira. Have you seen her?"

"No," said Caythis.

"We've got to go back and find her!" said Jaden. "They must have taken her! They killed my father, and now they take her! I'll bury them all!"

"I'll help you," said Caythis. "But let's think this through. Are we sure she was taken? What about the prince?"

Kira entered. Her eyes glowed fiercely; her clothes were dirty, and she carried a handgun. Her fingers clung to it a bit too tightly, and, upon seeing them, she dropped it and looked relieved. "Caythis! Jaden!"

They ran to her.

"You're all right!" Jaden threw his arms around her. She embraced him back. Caythis kept his distance.

After a few seconds, she disentangled herself from Jaden. "They took Gavin!" she said. Her voice was both a crash of anger and a whisper of despair. "We have to get him back."

"We'll get him back," said Jaden. He squeezed her hand. "I promise you. We'll get him back."
Chapter 11

The king's court was a wide chamber that took the shape of a crescent moon. The walls were elegant white stone, and there were several ornate chairs seated around a beautiful table. In the center of the room was a traditional golden throne. But what caught Caythis's eye most was the ceiling. It was entirely composed of clear glass, and a glimmer of auburn dawn pierced the blanket of thick white clouds above.

This emergency session called in a dozen or more political leaders. They chatted noisily together in their chairs, anxious and alert. Already debating and disagreeing.

Caythis and Jaden followed the District's leaders, Drs. Erikson and Ferguson, who followed Kira. At each of their sides was a small escort of soldiers, a blend of Citadel camouflage with the blue-and-silver uniforms of the men-at-arms. They reached the center of the room and stood attentively, waiting to be addressed. Jaden wore a dress uniform, and Caythis had donned his enforcer armor, minus the helmet.

A whistle blew, and the governors rose from their chairs, backs stiff, as King Talonis entered. He looked to be in his mid-sixties with white hair and a slightly wrinkled face. He wore a military uniform and a sash that identified his house of nobility. He was flanked by three men-at-arms in black uniforms, who followed him to his throne. He sat in it. This was a cue to the others that they could be at ease. Caythis understood the gesture was ceremonial. The throne was beautiful but ultimately an uncomfortable, pompous relic that few kings could enjoy sitting on.

Immediately afterward, the king stood up and moved to a more comfortable, humble chair at the table. "Welcome, Princess," King Talonis said from his new position.

Kira bowed. "My lord, we are here in your palace seeking sanctuary. Three hours ago we were attacked. The home you gave us was destroyed."

"I was briefed about the attack on the Hiding Place," said King Talonis. His baritone voice betrayed a measure of regret. "Are you certain of the party responsible for this egregious deed?"

"Yes. It is surely the Enforcer Combine," said Kira.

The room was filled with nervous chatter and denials. Clearly these government officials, whose city teetered on the edge of collapse, were loath to challenge the enforcers.

"That is a powerful accusation. Are you absolutely certain you are not mistaken?"

"There is no doubt," said Kira. "We recovered the bodies and belongings of some of the assailants." She waved to Captain Grayson who presented a green enforcer's helmet.

"This is indeed a tragedy," King Talonis said. He looked to be at a loss for words.

"They have abducted the Paribus prince, my brother, and this is their second trespass against thee, milord. The first being their attack on the prefect's estate, and the murder of a member of your government. The prefect himself."

Caythis noted that Jaden held his tongue, despite the immense amount of rage that turned his face red. It was all he could do to remain composed, and not slam down his fist on the table and demand the king release the men-at-arms to his command, and approve an immediate assault of the Elite Quarter.

"Please, explain how the security of the Hiding Place was breached."

Kira deferred to Captain Grayson.

"We estimate that six or more enforcers used plastic explosives to breach our complex. They flooded it with smoke and entered, killing anyone in their way. They raided each of the rooms, including the storehouses, and left quickly thereafter. They were last seen heading for the surface."

"And was the abduction of the prince their primary objective?"

"We believe they intended to abduct both of the Paribus heirs, milord."

"How did you escape, Princess?"

"They didn't find me. I tried to hide Gavin too, but couldn't get to him fast enough," said Kira, regret poured through her otherwise regal tone.

"I see. And, why was that their objective? Why abduct you two?"

Kira deferred to Dr. Erikson.

"I speculate," he said, "they wanted to use the heirs as bargaining chips with Rigil. Perhaps to trade them for some favor from Rigil. It is possible that Lucida believes Rigil will assist her in weakening your hold on the city. Enabling her to challenge you openly."

"That's preposterous," one of the governors said, speaking out of turn.

King Talonis silenced him, but it was clear that the sentiment was shared among at least half the politicians in the room.

"It seems unlikely," the king said, "that the enforcers could be in league with Rigil. The enforcers of the Silverwind Combine did not participate in Antares's rebellion. Why would they be sympathetic to Antares's successor?"

"It's not so much a matter of sympathy, or loyalty, as it is an issue of opportunity. If Rigil is uninterested in controlling Silverwind, and Lucida is uninterested in controlling—or liberating—Citadel, there could be room for them to cooperate to their mutual self-interest. Lucida's elimination of the Paribus heirs on Rigil's behalf strengthens his argument that he holds the Citadel throne legitimately. Of course, this is only speculation."

The king nodded grimly. "This is truly a dark hour when rebels terrorize our streets, and the enforcers threaten our peace. And an honored guest, a child, in my protection, can be taken so easily, and there is almost nothing we can do. I see no clear course of action to take."

Jaden, clearly, could bottle-up his opinions no more. He spoke out of turn, and very loudly. "We must act! My father's blood cries out for justice, and Prince Gavin is a prisoner. They may even kill him! Every further encroachment of the enforcers on your land, milord, on your territory, is a threat to your sovereignty. To our state! If you do nothing, I promise you, you will lose everything. And so will Silverwind."

The king listened patiently, choosing not to rebuke Jaden. Then, to Caythis's surprise, he turned to Caythis. "And what is your opinion, Captain Ceteris?"

"I agree with what's been said. Jaden is right that, if we do nothing, then Lucida and Rigil have won already. Silverwind can have no hope. Neither can the world. And as for Dr. Erikson's speculations about possible cooperation between Lucida and Rigil, that seems like the only plausible explanation."

The king stroked his chin. "Thank you, Captain." He turned to one of the ranking governors. "Sir Brown, in your estimation, could an attack against the enforcers succeed, without leaving the government vulnerable to Rigilian uprising?"

"No, milord," he said. "I know the Irons Borough well. They are my people. It is my duty to consider their welfare, and I implore you to not pursue this path of action. The consequences of this would be untold destruction. There is a heavy Rigilian influence there. Without an enforcer presence they will come out in droves and numbers you cannot imagine."

"If necessary, we will commit extra brigades to maintaining the peace," said Jaden. "If the additional soldiers are in place by the time the enforcers are eliminated, there will not be an opportunity for the Rigilian uprising to gain strength."

"There is a high probability that any attack we attempt will fail," countered Sir Brown. "Leaving us more vulnerable than before and providing Lucida the excuse she needs to attack us on the palace floor. But, even if we do succeed, there is no guarantee we can divert enough forces to maintain order in Irons without putting other sections of the city, including this borough, in unnecessary peril. It's an invitation for our own destruction."

A hush fell over the room. People looked to each other, unsure what to say. This was a heavy issue, and a lot of innocent people would get hurt no matter what.

After a minute, another governor stood up from the opposite table. He had a disproportionately small head and big ears. Narrow spectacles sat on his nose, and his swollen cheeks were bright red. When he spoke, it was slowly and clearly.

"I appreciate the difficult position we have put Sir Brown in. And he is right to consider the effect this situation will have on his borough. But it is unfair to forget the effect it might have on the rest of us. As you all know, I am the governor of the southernmost district. Every day there is some kind of new terrorist attack we must deal with. And every time I come here and ask for more men, yet they just aren't available. How many of you have asked for more soldiers and have been denied because they must remain here, guarding Manors Borough, or are quartered near Irons for fear that the Rigilians there, or the enforcers, will begin marauding the city?"

There were several nods. "We have the men, but we can't use them, because, as ridiculous as we always pretend it is, every one of us goes to bed each night in fear. Wondering, will tomorrow be the day the enforcers wipe us out. We keep our army close to dissuade Lucida's ambitions, but all the while our own people suffer. And now even our best efforts aren't keeping her in check."

Many of the governors, especially those seated next to the speaker, began tapping their fingers on the tables in assent.

Sir Brown looked furious. "Sir Cottam." Sir Brown faced him. "Your words are eloquent, but they are born of paranoia. You say your streets are flooded with Rigilian terrorists, but you condone a movement that would leave fewer enforcers and soldiers alive to resist them." Brown then looked to King Talonis. "My lord, this path will only lead to civil war. Thousands of people will die, probably tens of thousands. Is that something we can have on our consciences?"

"Do we want to serve our people?" asked Sir Cottam. "Or do we want our children to live in fear?"

"At least they will have lives to live."

"If we take down the enforcers," said Sir Cottam slowly, "there will be a price. But we give ourselves hope that we can save Silverwind in the long run. Our city is broken, make no mistake. Choosing to do nothing only allows it to destroy itself in slow motion, and we give Silverwind no chance of a peaceful future at all."

"Fighting only leads to destruction. And I reject the idea, out of principle, that violence is the only solution. If violence is the answer, we are asking the wrong question."

"A vote is called," interrupted King Talonis, taking charge. "Because this is an emergency session, you will not have your typical three days of deliberation. This vote must be done immediately. If you favor the use of military force against the Enforcer Combine, you will rise from your chairs when the vote is called. If you oppose the action, you will remain seated. If you wish to abstain from voting, you will step away from the table before voting begins."

Three people abstained and stepped away.

Caythis watched the political workings with jaded eyes. He'd found the political process to be slow, bureaucratic, cumbersome, and run by self-interested men and women who were afraid to take meaningful action and who seemed more inclined to represent their special interests than their constituents. Especially when there was no possibility of removal from office.

"The vote is called."

Several people rose from their chairs, but it was less than a majority.

"The initiative fails," said King Talonis. There was a heaviness to his voice. "Emergency session adjourned. Members of the District, Princess, Prefect, and Captain Ceteris, you will please remain."

The king waited for the others to file out before speaking. "I am ordering the assault tonight."

"I thought the motion was defeated," said Dr. Ferguson.

"It was, so technically I don't have the authority to do this. But I made a promise to a dear friend once that I would protect you." He looked kindly at Kira, like a father would his daughter. "Protect both of you. And I'll be damned if I don't fulfill that promise. I also swore I would protect this city, but the stench of death has been on it for some time, and now the vultures are circling us.

"I've been stuck here, forced to watch ideas for action get debated and overruled, again and again. We can't agree among ourselves, so the law prevents us from acting. And finally, today, I realized that the law doesn't work. And if the law doesn't work, it's time to break the law. But most of all, I'd like to know that I made at least one meaningful decision as king. Even if I lost the crown because of it."

Jaden seemed extremely pleased. "History will remember you as the great leader who took the window of opportunity when it presented itself, milord."

"I don't give a damn about what history says, so long as it isn't written by the enforcers. Now, Prefect, assemble your TAC teams. We can only use a fraction of the army, so we'll have to use stealth and surprise to our advantage."

"Relative superiority," said Jaden. "I like it. Thank you, milord."

"Yes," said Kira. "Thank you."
Chapter 12

A heavy rain poured down on him, and his boots splashed through water in the streets. The wet blacktop glistened in the twilight, and Caythis stopped at the street corner and waited.

Two minutes later, a black van approached and pulled up in front of him. The bulletproof windows were tinted black, and nobody could be seen inside. The door slid open.

"Get in."

Once he was inside, the van took off.

There were six other passengers, all soldiers, and all in black. They had infrared goggles and various advanced-looking tactical equipment. Their suits and masks protected them from radiation and hid their identities. Their arsenal of weapons included a rocket launcher, several grenades, a flamethrower, two shotguns, two assault rifles, and a large tubular device, plus whatever they carried in their tactical vests.

"Proceeding to target. Confirm vector," one of them spoke into the radio.

"Clear vector confirmed."

"Copy that."

"Approach south. Hold at grid 4120 by 2314."

"Wilco."

The ride was peppered with radio speech between their van and the other teams. Caythis peered out the window and watched the dimly lit houses pass by. So many people, living private lives, peacefully, having no idea what would happen tonight. A stab of envy hit him; how easy life was for them. Knowing everything about themselves: their pasts, their identities, their aspirations and not worrying for an instant whether or not they would see another sunrise. How very simple it would be to know everything about oneself and fear nothing . . .

He spotted the Elite Quarter a mile away; its brilliant lights and ostentatious grounds made no effort to blend into the dark, crumbled, dilapidated buildings surrounding it.

The driver of their van turned off its headlights and slowed, stopping once in position. And they waited. Caythis felt tense.

"In position."

"Delivery in thirty seconds. Hold position."

"Wilco."

Through the window Caythis could barely make out another black van approach the Elite Quarter very slowly. It pulled up onto its grounds and stopped. Caythis put on his helmet, switched to infrared, and could see more clearly.

Two enforcers, who had been patrolling the Elite Quarter's grounds, approached the van. The nearest one started tapping the driver window.

"Echo Three," a voice crackled over the radio.

The unmanned van exploded in a roaring green fireball, throwing shrapnel everywhere and killing the two enforcers instantly.

"Bravo Two, engage at will."

Caythis saw a blazing rocket jet down to the Elite Quarter's grounds from the roof of an adjacent building; it exploded near an enforcer who was running to investigate the burning van debris. The explosion tore him to pieces, despite his armor.

Another two enforcers began taking fire from 50-caliber antimaterial rifles, able to penetrate enforcer armor. At least one of them went down; the other escaped Caythis's line of sight.

"All units, engage at will."

With that order, their van lurched forward, stopping abruptly at the foot of the Elite Quarter. One of the soldiers threw open the door, and they all charged out of the van and up the path to the main entrance.

Other soldiers, all wearing radiation gear, streamed out of other vehicles, flooding the courtyard with troops—most were men-at-arms, not TAC soldiers.

Caythis snapped his sword out from behind his back and activated it.

Above him, Caythis heard the sound of glass breaking as other teams broached the Elite Quarter. He looked up to see cables shooting out from the nearby structures forming ziplines into the upper levels of the Elite Quarter. Soldiers started sliding across on the lines, supported by heavy sniper fire.

Caythis entered the building. It was already a smoky, fiery, chaotic mess. Plasma burns scorched the walls, and several corpses littered the floor. Only one was an enforcer; the rest were friendlies. The enforcer's comrades were in full retreat, shooting plasma and other magic at the invaders. The TAC teams focused heavily on them. One team used a rocket launcher, careful not to upset the building's integrity. Another team was pushing back an enforcer with two flamethrowers, supported by covering fire. Their efforts were sure to set the building ablaze, so this operation had to be swift.

The hall shook with a noise so loud that his helmet's speaker went out for a second. Sheetrock dust and smoke blocked his view. Caythis kept pushing forward, after the retreating enforcers. Through the haze and dust, bright glowing swords could be seen, followed by screams. More bursts of plasma flashed, and Caythis moved in deeper. His visor had difficulty sorting things out; intense heat was everywhere, so everything was blindingly green. He switched to visible light, which was not much better.

Two TAC teams were dead with casualties mounting. He heard the news as part of the radio chatter his helmet picked up. The perimeter had been locked down tight, but progress was slower than expected. It was estimated that the building would lose structural integrity within ten minutes.

As Caythis joined the fray, stepping over the corpse of a fallen TAC soldier, he spotted some enforcers and attacked. He melted one with a stream of fire and locked blades with the other.

He kept his attack hot, placing every stroke near its mark. This one was skilled, however, and gave Caythis a real challenge. Their strokes were a blur of hot streaking plasma crashing together again and again, and his arms became sore from the impacts, but he would not be bested.

The tide turned in his favor when bullets from men-at-arms began slamming into his opponent's armor. It threw the man off guard and gave Caythis the window he'd been searching for. Without hesitation he slashed through his opponent's armor, and Caythis stepped over the corpse when it fell, already searching for his next target.

"Eight minutes," someone said over the radio. No one knew for sure when the building would collapse, but that was the window of safety. Time was of the essence.

Down one of the halls Caythis saw a familiar glimmer of silver armor amid the fighting, and the female enforcer was besting her enforcer opponents. She was working in tandem with a TAC team and had made tremendous progress into one of the more secure areas. Caythis considered going to help her, if for no other reason than to interact with her again and to learn more about her, but realized—if anything—she was doing better than he was. And there wasn't time. He had to press on and search the part of the building he'd been assigned. So he continued. Up the stairs and all the way to the top. Hoping he'd find Lucida along the way.

On the highest floor he stormed out into the hall. The fighting hadn't reached this far yet, but it still seemed chaotic. The lights were flickering on and off, and he could hear muffled explosions and gunfire from below.

He passed a large, thick glass window. It revealed some kind of control room littered with computers and radio equipment. Probably where Lucida's minions had monitored the facility and had, if needed, activated the Leech. The people inside weren't attending the computers, however. They were fighting each other. Enforcers locked against enforcers. White, red, and blue desperately destroying equipment and holding at bay the green-clad loyalists. It was vicious and violent, and both had taken losses and severe injuries. This was the true fight, Caythis realized. Over whether or not Lucida could retain control of the Enforcer Combine, or if they'd win their freedom. The TAC/men-at-arms assault had only given these dissenters the opportunity they'd been waiting for.

Caythis smiled, realizing Lucida's defeat was now inevitable.

He thought about helping these rebellious enforcers, joining in against the green ones, but instead pressed on. Time was short, and Gavin had to be found. And Lucida had to be dealt with. Caythis hoped he'd be the one to do the latter.

He reached what he knew was the most elegant room in the Elite Quarter. The double mahogany doors were no match for his plasma sword, and he entered, walking straight to the center. It was a beautiful room, lavishly decorated, well-lit, and covered with precious art. Truly a waste that it had to be burned to the ground.

Less beautiful was the solo occupant. A woman in lavender armor staring out the far window, hands behind her back, head bowed. She looked melancholy and introspective.

"I wondered when you would come," she said.

"I'm glad to find you alone."

She spun around and drew her sword, igniting it. "I hope you know what you've done to the world," she said. "Now it has no hope. As the Enforcer Combine falls, the city will be thrown into chaos. You have no idea the forces we have kept at bay."

"So I've heard."

"There are plans in motion that you can't imagine. This city will destroy itself. Rigil will see to that. A perfect storm is coming that you cannot stop. It will feed hundreds of uprisings. The people are suffering, and they will take what they want. Take the government. Take your precious king. And hang your leaders in the public square.

"The devastation will make Antares's pathetic rebellion seem gentle. The city will burn to the ground. And, after it falls, the Rigilian influence will spread to Skyhaven. History will repeat. And Rigil, ever merciless Rigil, will be the last ruler of humanity. A cruel fate for what was once a great species, don't you think?"

"And I suppose that's all my fault. Because I didn't let you be the one to seize power. As far as I'm concerned, you and Rigil are no different. And your fate will be no different. I slew Antares. I can deal with Rigil."

"Oh, did you?" she asked. "Are you so sure? Do you remember delivering the blow?"

He did not remember. But he knew he'd fought Antares. He must have been the victor. He'd survived. There was no way Antares could have escaped. And, even if he had, he hadn't shown his face in five years. Was he biding his time? Impossible. She was spinning lies, trying to mess with his mind, and he wouldn't have it.

"Shut up, Lucida. Your words won't help you. We both know how this has to end."

"Caythis, before you make me kill you, I'll give you one final chance. Help me save the world. Join me. Be on the right side of history, for once."

He stepped closer, menacingly. "Some people thought we should arrest you. Bring you in kicking and screaming. But not me. You've hurt too many people. You don't get to walk away."

"I take it that means you intend to defy me, now and forever." Her voice was sad. "Truly a pity. Very well, you leave me no choice." She turned to look at the adjacent study. "You may enter."

The door opened, and out marched six enforcers, all in green, all with swords drawn. She probably could have held the control room if she'd deployed them. Instead she had kept them here, protecting her, anticipating this conflict. Perhaps killing Caythis was the one minor compensation she had hoped to get out of this.

Seven opponents . . .

They encircled him, and he shifted slowly, turning, judging each of them, looking for the weakest member. He couldn't hope to beat them all, especially with Lucida here. But maybe, if he could buy some time, the TAC teams would arrive.

"You're a coward, Lucida," said Caythis. "To use six of your people to defeat one of me and to save you."

"Oh no," she replied. "It isn't cowardice. It's intelligence. Why let pride or vanity goad me into taking an unnecessary risk?"

She advanced a step, everyone followed suit. As the circle constricted, Caythis kept his eyes on Lucida.

"Now will you consider my offer?" she asked.

He thought about pretending to go along with it, just to buy some time. But he knew the building was coming down, its foundations roasting and crumbling even now, and he didn't want to give her the satisfaction. "If I must surrender who I am, in order to survive, then I'm dead already."

"So be it."

Hard footsteps could be heard behind him. The enforcers encircling him broke formation and adjusted their posture, bracing against the newcomers. Caythis twisted his head to see six more enforcers enter the room. Two in red, three in blue, and one in white—he seemed to be leading the others. Their swords were drawn, and they took up positions, ready to attack Lucida's forces.

"Emon-Zed," said Lucida. She actually sounded surprised.

"The one and only," a brisk male voice replied.

"But you're dead."

"Oh? My ghostly white armor may be confusing you, but I assure you that I'm quite alive. Which is more than can be said for your evil control room. None of your butchery went through today. None of your Leeches worked. My comrades and I are still alive and slaughtering your loyal turtle-colored minions with severe prejudice. I wager these six are the last dogs you have left."

"No matter. You will all die today. Kill them!"

"I've waited a long time for this golden opportunity. You—" The rest of Emon's message was lost to static as a blast of plasma flew his way; he dodged it narrowly. The multicolored enforcers scrambled for cover, even as more green ones rushed in, swords swinging. The room, despite its large size, was too tight for any controlled use of magic; even sword maneuvers were limited. That didn't stop them from being wild, desperate, and fierce.

Palms were ablaze with plasma, scorching the room. Gushes of water, roaring fires, and powerful winds shot back. Mixing together like a terrible storm. People fell quickly. Gruesome deaths. Caythis fought viciously, trying to get to Lucida, having to parry attacks from all sides. He scorched any he could with magic, careful not to overwhelm the entire room—amazed that his magic, despite his lack of a ring, exceeded everyone else's.

As more fell, and Caythis narrowly evaded death, he reached Lucida. She stood against him, defensive and ready. He imagined her face, under her helmet, the fear and wrath expressed upon it. This was her world, and he'd shattered it. Even if she prevailed, she could not escape. She could not rebuild it. Now that she'd lost everything, she was truly dangerous.

He charged forward, his sword a blur of glowing plasma, hot and deadly. She countered. Their blades collided; his superior strength won out. Forcing her to compensate. They crashed together again and again, and she was slowly driven back. He thought of the silver enforcer, tried to use some of her technique. Capture her unpredictable offense while still preserving her well-practiced defense. He could not do it like her; he was too slow, but it was enough to throw Lucida off guard. As he advanced, his attacks became increasingly furious. He refused to let up.

She was clever and every bit the master swordsman she'd been trained to be. She ducked his blows and thrust her blade at his chest, breaking his advance. Trying to force him onto defense. But he wouldn't give her the advantage. He accepted risks, exposed himself where necessary, to keep attacking. She panicked and stalled her attack to block his swings, and only barely in time.

They both struggled for the advantage, swords blinding with each collision. His visor blinked desperately to compensate for the changing intensity. And then it blanked all white, and a powerful force threw him aside. He spun in the air, crashing onto the ground painfully, barely keeping his blade from burning into his own armor.

The visor blinked clear, and he could see an explosion of plasma had destroyed the table next to where he'd been fighting. It was a smoldering ruin, strange green vapors rising from its black ashes. The rest of the room was filling with black and white smoke; most of the enforcers were dead, their corpses littered everywhere. Those who lived were at each other's throats, pushing for the kill, desperately trying to stay alive.

The attack that had knocked him down, an air attack, had come from Emon-Zed. The plasma scorch had landed just where Caythis had been standing. Emon had saved his life. Caythis climbed to his feet and faced Lucida once more. Sprinting.

She steadied her blade to match his.

They crashed, and she tumbled backward, his strength overpowering her. Caythis stumbled, just a bit; the force of the vibration shook his arms and legs, but he recovered rapidly. Able to land another powerful blow against her before she could scramble upright again. She blocked it, rolled aside, and got to her feet. He sent her a third, it knocked her back down to the ground. He stabbed his sword down at her, but she evaded it and snapped to her feet.

She lunged suddenly, unexpectedly. Caythis swung his sword for a desperate block but missed. Her sword sizzled into his armor, just the tip; she was out of range to penetrate all the way. He leaped backward and didn't let her press her new advantage. But knew his armor had been compromised. Fortunately he'd sustained no injury.

He shook his head, trying to ignore the fact he'd almost just been killed and attacked her again. If anything, his fear for his life, a desperation to survive, gave him new energy. He threw himself at her. His blows less wild this time but still overwhelmingly aggressive. And she had trouble compensating for his strength.

He pushed her against the great glass window and found an opportunity. In one powerful sweep, he made to cleave her in two. She stumbled to the side, throwing her blade in the way, but it was clumsy. His stroke narrowly missed her but sliced through her handguard. Her sword darkened, splitting in two, and the blade fell powerless to the ground. She tossed aside the handle, her fingers unscathed.

"Give it up," he said. His sword was pointed and ready for the kill. "You're finished."

She raised her hand, palm facing him. A blast of water crashed into him, throwing him back several feet. His sword sizzled whatever water it touched, turning it to hot white vapor. Her control of magic was supreme, and her power immense, but he knew he had more. It was coming back to him—his magic had been unmatched around the world. Only Antares had surpassed him.

He raised his own palm, struggling against the water, and summoned all the fire in his soul. It challenged the waterstorm, overwhelming it. Boiling it into vapor as it pushed against her efforts. His inferno quickly approaching her.

She redoubled her efforts, sending against him everything she had. The pain and fatigue of the magic weakened her, and she slouched, her knees seeming to almost buckle. But she managed to stall his attack.

He closed his eyes, thought of Raven, thought of survival, and when he opened them again, he saw his fire pushing against her water once more. Breaking the stalemate.

The pain was shaking his arm, but she was convulsing. Anger filled him as he recalled that Raven's death had been because of Lucida. And Raven was never coming back. He clenched his teeth and let the hate consume him. It was dangerous, and terrifying, but the power of such hate was unmatched.

Suddenly, in an instant, her water was gone. She was lit ablaze, and the fire kept coming. In her panic, and severe pain, she threw herself through the window. The glass exploded in every direction, and she disappeared.

He ceased his magic, ran to the window, and looked down.

She was so small. A crumpled heap on the Elite Quarter's steps. A black, scarred stain on the unforgiving ground. The very place she had left Caythis helpless after their previous encounter. Seeing her dead, empty, unable to harm anyone again, he pitied her. But the solemn moment vanished as he remembered the danger all around him. He spun to face whoever was still alive. Practically nobody.

"Without even a proper ring," said Emon, looking genuinely amazed. He stood, the lone survivor, in the middle of a smoke-filled room that was burning itself apart. Already some of the ceiling supports were beginning to give way. In the ashes were so many corpses, their shapes barely recognizable. He felt awe, barely comprehending what had just happened. "How did you do it?" asked Emon.

"We have to get out of here. Now!" Caythis sprinted for the exit, Emon at his heels.

"How did you summon that kind of magic without a ring?"

"I don't know. I just can." Parts of the ceiling fell; a support beam had given way. Caythis ducked the falling debris and continued, darting down the stairs.

"You'll have to teach me that."

"I don't think it's the kind of thing that can be learned."

They reached the bottom and ran into the main lobby. It was falling apart, the remaining load-bearing walls under severe strain.

"Too bad. Because the way I see it, you owe me two."

"What?" asked Caythis, more focused on escape than Emon's rambling. The others had already evacuated, by the looks of it.

"One for saving your life. And another for you stealing the kill from me. I wanted to be the one to end Lucida."

They escaped, and, as they cleared the exit, a major part of the building collapsed. "Tell me that we were the last ones out," said Caythis.

The soldiers were ushering people into the vans, carrying the wounded and abandoning the dead. Several blue, red, and white enforcers had joined them and were being evacuated. It must have been made clear, at some point, that they were on the same side. By the looks of it, over a dozen enforcers had survived.

"Tell me Gavin was saved," Caythis said.

The black vans shimmered darkly in the moonlight, each driving off the moment it was full. Caythis and Emon filed into one, strapped in, and then it took off. The fleet of government vehicles disappeared down the minor roads as sirens could be heard in the distance, approaching the scene. Out the back window, before the van turned the corner, Caythis saw the Elite Quarter collapse completely.

The symbol of oppression and disparity was gone. He wondered if it truly would inspire the malcontents to rise up against the government. He almost wouldn't blame them, considering how harsh their circumstances were, but it would make things a helluva lot easier for him if they didn't.
Chapter 13

Happiness. Joy. Excitement. Like nothing he'd ever felt before. A brightly lit dance hall, filled with people from wall to wall. Couples danced merrily while a live ensemble played the prettiest music that'd ever touched his ears. And there she was. Blond hair, brilliant eyes. And that cute smile that only she could make—the one that melted his insides. Especially tonight because she made it just for him.

He took her by her warm, elegant hand and led her to the center of the room. They danced, staring into each other's eyes, turning and turning as the music flowed into their ears. The pleasant flicker of candlelight gleamed off her eyes. It was joy.

The music faded to silence and changed, but they kept dancing. Now the band played a melancholy tune, a ballad, the legend of a boy who'd given up everything to save his town. And afterward people far and wide came to pay him tribute.

But he was the hero tonight, not the boy from the legend, and his reward was far greater than any given to the boy. Because now he had her in his arms, and it was the greatest feeling he had ever imagined.

But the hall darkened and faded until it vanished entirely, shifting away.

He felt sick.

***

Caythis awoke for the hundredth time. He fumbled in the darkness for the bucket, finding it just in time as nasty vomit shot up his throat and out. Leaving a warm, vulgar taste behind, and a smell he could have done without. He looked up, slightly disoriented.

He was in a sterile room. He remembered being taken here after the battle. The sickness had come over him suddenly and still tortured him.

He managed to stand up and wander over to the sink. He twisted the knob all the way and let the water spray out full blast. He stared down and watched the sink fill, soaking his hands in the cold liquid and cupping them. He brought the crystal drink to his lips several times, slurping it up, trying to hydrate. The taste was bitter, but he drank anyway.

He rubbed his wet hands through his hair and tried to relax. His body was quivering ever-so-slightly, and a throbbing pain pounded his head. Like a tiny drum being beaten over and over. He shivered, feeling both too warm and too cold, and then stumbled his way back to the cot where he collapsed. Too nauseated to sleep but too tired to stay awake.

He thought of the Elite Quarter burning. All the blood that had gone into making that happen. Good people. Bad people. Did it matter, ultimately, which side they'd been on? All of the soldiers, all the enforcers, and Lucida, thrust into the great unknown. Unable to care anymore. Caythis couldn't help but ask himself, . . . did anything anyone had done really matter? In the end?

He rolled over and slept. Dreamed about death. Feared it and wanted it at the same time. He wondered, if he were to never wake again, would it matter?

He did wake again. But felt no better. He climbed to his feet delicately and drank to his heart's content. The unfiltered water tasted horrible, but he didn't stop. He doubted he'd ever been so thirsty.

Somehow he managed to shower, dress himself, and prepare for the day. But he didn't feel like going anywhere. It was hard to want to do anything.

He heard a knock on the door. "Come in."

Kira entered. "Good morning, Caythis," she said. She carried some prescription medicine in an orange bottle. "Are you all right?" She jogged over and helped him catch himself as his sense of balance weakened.

With her help he narrowly avoided collapsing to the ground.

"What's wrong with me?" He allowed her to help him to the couch but was embarrassed doing so. He felt the world spin all around him as he sat.

"You don't look good at all," she said, her voice concerned.

"Am I really that ugly?"

She laughed, but her serious tone returned. "I mean you look ill. You have acute radiation sickness, and it shows."

"I'm fine," he said.

"No, you're not. In the fight your armor was damaged and allowed a slight radiation leak."

"Did we save Gavin at least?"

She smiled. "Yes. Thanks to you and all the other brave men and women, my brother is safe."

He nodded. "So how bad is it, Princess?"

"It isn't severe. Dr. Erikson says you'll recover just fine. But you have to take this." She handed him the bottle. "Follow the instructions exactly."

"Where is Dr. Erikson anyway? Shouldn't he be here?"

"He's busy overseeing the wounded. I volunteered to see to you myself." She smiled and that made him feel a little better. "The question is, how much has it affected you?"

She came closer, and he could smell her; something she wore tickled his nose, but it was pleasant, and the nausea lessened. She bent down, facing him. Her warm hands grabbed his. Her stunning, vibrant eyes were right in front of him, piercing him, covered only by one rich lock of hair that fell over her beautiful face. Her lips curled into a slight smile, followed by an expression of genuine compassion.

He didn't resist, simply looked into her eyes. It was like staring at the sun after a long darkness.

"Hmm," she said, stepping back a bit. "Are you having any trouble hearing?"

"No," he croaked. His voice was sore.

"What are your symptoms? Don't talk if it hurts. Just nod or shake your head. Are you tired?"

He nodded.

"Are you dizzy?"

He nodded.

"Are you nauseated?"

He nodded.

Kira asked a dozen similar questions, and he nodded to most of them.

"I'll have some water bottles sent in. It's important that you take those antibiotics and get as much rest as you can." She gave him a wan smile.

"Thanks," he said. "Something to read would be nice too."

"Of course."

When she left, he lay on the couch and closed his eyes.

***

He was in the sanctuary of elements, sitting on the stone mat with his head buried in his hands. Around him, the firelight refracted through the walls of ice in an arc of color. The chilly wind brushed his ears and sang, as if a cryptic message was buried inside the moaning and whistling. He tried to separate it from the crackling fire, but only part of the message was clear.

"What is it that you fear most?" the wind whispered in his ears. It had a seductive, breathy quality to it, like a siren's song. He held his guard. Forcing his mind to focus. But he lacked the discipline, and other concerns came to mind, shattering his concentration. The winds shifted, and the message was lost forever.

***

The gray ceiling made it easy for Caythis to get reoriented. He felt numb all over, and his mouth was dry. He looked down at himself and saw a bandage on each of his arms; the lump of another was on his chest under his shirt.

He tried to sit up but felt too dizzy, so he stopped. He could hear somebody moving around, putting things away. And then footsteps. He sat up enough to see that Dr. Erikson and Dr. Ferguson were both here.

"Take it easy, Caythis," said Dr. Erikson.

Caythis made to stand up, but Dr. Erikson stopped him. "I'm feeling better." It was partially true; he was much less nauseated.

"You need to relax and let your body heal. It'll do all the work, but you have to give it time."

"Why all the bandages?" He looked down at himself again. It was as if he'd been anesthetized, and they'd done some kind of minor operation. He couldn't imagine that was part of the treatment for radiation poisoning.

"Don't worry. Just relax. There you go," Dr. Erikson said as Caythis lay back down.

"At least tell me what's going on up there. Has there been an uprising?"

"I'm afraid so. After the men-at-arms put out the fires, the Rigilians and other dissidents took over the whole borough. The city's locked down tight."

"Sounds like you need me up there."

"It's all right. Emon-Zed and his enforcers have agreed to help us. The military is also fully cooperating."

"And the king? Was he punished for helping us?"

"No. Because our attack was so successful, he was praised. A few wanted to remove him, but that idea didn't get much traction. He wasn't even censured, and now they're voting whether or not to give him emergency powers."

"Emergency powers?" Caythis tried to sit up again. "What for?"

Dr. Erikson didn't stop him this time. "The whole south of the city is in chaos. Homes and businesses have been smashed open. Looting is rampant, and most everything is on fire. The men-at-arms had to withdraw completely from the south—but I am sure it's only a temporary retreat. There are still thousands of people we can't access. Barricades bar the roads—it's a standoff.

"The Rigilians and other rebels are disorganized, but they have more numbers than anyone thought. And more weapons. Most of the stockpile we found in the Elite Quarter—but were unable to retrieve—must have been recovered by them from the rubble."

"I see," said Caythis. "And the situation in the north?"

"Riots are spreading, and small uprisings are appearing in every borough except Manors. So far they've all been contained, but there is concern that the problem will escalate. Unless it's forcefully dealt with."

"I think if the king fed his people and redistributed some of the wealth locked away in Manors Borough, force would not be necessary," said Caythis.

"It's too late for that, I'm afraid. The battle lines have been drawn, and the religiosity that feeds the Rigilian movement is not about socioeconomic inequality. It's about fear. It's about indoctrination, a warped sense of reality, a total commitment to fight and die for a cause that they cling to without question. These people can't be reasoned with, and a little more food won't lessen their hate, or their resolve to destroy our society and clear the path for their god Antares. So he can 'come again.' There is no peaceful solution."

Caythis sighed. "At this point, that may be so. It's unfortunate. But I'll try to recover quickly so I can help."

"I'm sure you will," said Dr. Erikson. "For now though you have to rest, and your armor must be mended. So put it out of your mind. Jaden and Emon can handle it."

"Can I at least wander outside?"

"No, you'll have to stay here for a while."

"What for?"

"I'm not sure how long you were irradiated. But long enough to kill off many of your white blood cells. Hence the antibiotics. You'll have to stay in this environment because it's mostly sterile. When your immune system has recovered more, you'll be free to go."

"How long?"

"You'll begin to recover within a day or two, but you'll still have seven to ten days of general illness and fatigue. Complete convalescence may take a few more weeks still."

"Sounds like hell."

"Sounds like paradise to me. I'd love to have some time off. Think of it as a vacation."

"Doc, you can't do this to me. You need me out there."

"Exactly," said Dr. Erikson. "We do need you. That's why you have to stay here. Because we need you in the future. So get better. That's the best way you can help us now."

"Great . . ."

"Kira suggested I have some books sent in to keep you company. Anything you'd like to read in particular?"

"I don't know," he said, thinking about how dismal the next week or so would be. "I'm sure I'll recover faster than you think."

Dr. Erikson smiled. "I hope you're right. But don't push yourself. Know your limits. After all, you're only mortal."
Chapter 14

There she was—trapped. He did not know her, but the water was rising quickly. It would soon cover her face. He could not tell if she was alive; she was ghost white, and she didn't struggle against the ropes that cinched her wrists and legs. But there was the tiniest movement. Was she breathing? Or was it just the tide splashing against her?

He could save her. If he wanted to.

He looked down into the black depths far below. Sharp rocks stabbed through the water in jagged, intimidating peaks. Others were hidden under the black surface. He could dive in, fall thirty feet into the sea, and swim to her. Free her from her ropes and guide her to the small beach. She could be safe there. She could live.

Unless she was dead already. If he missed the rocks and swam to her, he might find only a rotting corpse. And if he didn't miss the stone spears and boulders, he'd be the one rotting.

He bit his lip, thinking it over. From the cliff's edge, it was completely impossible to see all the rocks. It would be a leap of faith. A blind jump. Would icy depths catch him? Or would he die a painful death trying to save a woman he only hoped was alive?

The wind brushed him, tousling his hair and stinging his ears. It was bitter cold. He thought of the frigid depths below, wondering if the temperature alone would end him. A watery grave of pure agony. He bowed his head. Could he do it? Could he let go of everything? Accept fate to choose whether he'd live or die? He closed his eyes.

And walked away.

***

Caythis sat in complete silence. The machines around him hummed—a drone he'd learned to ignore over the past several days. His thoughts turned inward and here, in this lonely place, he'd spent many hours in speculation. Wondering who he'd been. What he'd wanted in life. Who he'd known. Where were his friends and family, if he had them? And if they were still alive.

He saw vague images, places mostly. The academy at Skyhaven—a great white tower—and simple places: an old store, an old schoolhouse, a home. Childhood faces smiled at him, friends and bullies alike who he barely remembered. The images were faint and seemed to conflict at times, but he knew them, felt the spark of recognition. The fat kid who'd always been kind to him, what was his name? And the girl with freckles who always smiled and passed him scribbled notes in class. This had been his first year at the academy, before it crushed the joy out life—as it always did.

His memories were disjointed, but emotional. Childhood was something precious, something he missed. He remembered wanting to grow up so bad. To have the liberty adults had, to stay up as late as he wanted, to eat nothing but candy, to not study if he didn't want to. How naive he'd been; children had the true freedom. Life had been carefree. Who could ask for more than that?

That first year at the academy had been blissful, and he wished he could go back and do it over. But this longing, which stung like a needle, faded into other thoughts. Other memories.

A warm feeling in a dance hall, the face of a close friend giving him a discrete look of approval as he guided a beautiful young woman to the dance floor. He remembered green and blue banners in a large corridor. It was bittersweet. Something wonderful had happened there. And something terrible. He remembered only the flavor, not the events. Just the sensation. The echo.

Less happy images came to his mind. He shivered as he saw someone about to drown in a black pool of water, in an underground cave. She was tied in place. He remembered the sharp rocks stabbing up at him, the fear he felt. It wasn't scary now, but it had paralyzed him then. He pushed it from his mind.

He was making rapid progress with his recovery, they told him, and, indeed, he felt stronger. But he wasn't yet allowed to leave the "mostly sterile" environment.

To pass the time, he relied on three activities: a lot of soul-searching, sleeping, and trying to read. Dr. Erikson had brought him two books and the promise of more, but Caythis found this third activity usually resulted in the second.

On his lap was The Science of War, which he'd had trouble getting into. It was some sort of essay written by a strategist on the basics of command. Dr. Erikson had really wanted Caythis to read it, but it bored him. It was wordy, stale, and outdated. It was also from a top-down perspective, as if Caythis were to be a general leading an attack of a thousand men, rather than the front-line soldier he knew himself to be. If he had to fight, he preferred his boots on the ground and his hands dirty. He wasn't the type to sit in the back and watch.

He tossed the book to the floor. It landed near the other book, Skytechnology. Which was a sort of historical encyclopedia. A survey of ancient technology, the kind that had existed before the End of the World, over a hundred years ago. It focused on flying machines and bombs that could be sent skyborne to crash down on cities thousands of miles away. The helicopter was like a bird with a spinning top, but even scarier were steel eagles whose wings barely moved, yet they tore through the sky and could cross the entire planet in less than a day.

All of it was illegal now, of course, because this very skytechnology had destroyed the world, and this continent was all that remained. "Humanity's last chance," the Founders had written.

Caythis didn't care. He found many of these outlawed technologies hard to believe anyway. The very idea that a man could be propelled thousands of miles into space, or that satellites could orbit the planet and not fall from the sky, or that great buses used to ferry passengers high in the air from one part of the world to another—well, it all seemed ridiculous.

But he'd read it cover to cover and now was trying to force his way through The Science of War, with limited success. It made him feel apathetic and lazy, and he daydreamed. Scouring the depths of his mind to better discover who he was, trying to solve mysteries he couldn't solve, and unearthing information that still eluded him.

As he stared at the room around him, the solitary confinement, the white walls, it reminded him keenly of his experience with the enforcers just after Raven's death. Locked up, barely aware of what was happening outside his tiny white world. Unable to choose his meals . . . He stirred the bowl on the stand next to him. It was cold and half-eaten, some kind of bitter stew Dr. Ferguson had brought him. "Hot soup," she'd called it. Gruel would have been more accurate. Still he'd been hungry, so he ate it. . . . Well, half of it. And now he felt his stomach growling, but he refused to finish off the stone-cold mush.

He glanced at the clock on the wall; it was 7:37. His next meal was late by seventeen minutes. He glared at the door. It didn't budge.

He yawned and stared up at the ceiling, counting tiles. When he'd reached 117, the door creaked open. He was surprised to see Kira carrying a food tray. She wore dark clothes that nicely hugged her physique. Her brown eyes met his, and he felt happy to see her. The smell of a sandwich and vegetables wafted his way, real food this time.

"You're late," he announced, sitting up.

She stopped midstride, looking surprised. Her eyes narrowed. "Oh, is that right?"

"Yes, extremely late. It's pretty rude actually. A poor victim suffers all day long, and you leave him to starve. That's just cold."

"Victim?"

"Well, maybe 'hero' is more accurate. A hero who asks for nothing but a hot meal, and you're not even compassionate enough to bring it to him on time."

"Well, maybe the hero would like to heroically eat off the floor," she said. A flash of competitiveness filled her eyes as she tilted the tray.

"Nooo." Caythis lurched forward to stop it. Realizing only then that she'd won. It had been a bluff. "I was just . . . playing along," he said.

"Uh-huh." She smiled and handed him the tray.

He scooped up the sandwich and took a monster-size bite. "This is good," he said, swallowing a mouthful of food. "You should tell Dr. Ferguson that she's not welcome anymore. Your food is much better."

"I didn't make it," she said. "So thank the cafeteria." Her eyes laughed even though she didn't. She turned and walked away, reaching the door in only a few seconds. Just as she touched the handle, she said over her shoulder, "Get better, Caythis." Her voice was gentle and sweet. She opened the door.

"Wait," he said, choking down some food. He didn't want to be alone again so fast.

She looked back and closed the door. "What?" She looked amused.

"Don't go," he said. "Stay. Visit." He grasped for the right words. But even though he couldn't find them, she smiled and took a seat on a metal stool. He offered his chair, but she shook her head.

She was small enough to sit cross-legged on the stool, leaning forward a bit. "So," she said with a smile. "What do you want to talk about?"

He looked at her wordlessly for a moment. There was so much more about her than she let on, . . . or was it just his attraction to her? He realized he was staring, so he looked away. "Uh—I don't know. Tell me about Citadel. I don't remember much. Tell me about us. We were friends, right?"

She smiled weakly. "Citadel was a long time ago. And I was a child then, but, yes, I always thought we were great friends. Even though I never saw you without your armor, it didn't matter." She paused and looked away, her face a little red. "This is going to sound stupid, but, in a way, it made things exciting. Like you were a mysterious friend or something silly like that." She laughed.

He could tell her truthfulness made her pause, but he felt warm and more comfortable. "You're embarrassed," he said with a broad smile.

"No, I'm not," she said, trying to fight her smile.

"It's okay," said Caythis. "I like it. It means you're being honest."

"Okay, well, while I'm being so honest, what about you? Why don't you tell me something honest about yourself? Something embarrassing."

"I would," he said. "But I've never done anything embarrassing."

"Yeah right—"

"That and I've lost all my memories. I know it's the damnedest thing. So you'll have to have enough embarrassing stories for the both of us."

"It's funny, but, in my memories, I remember thinking you were so proper. And now that I see the real you, I realize it was all a facade. Under that hard bronze armor you were just a little boy."

"A little boy?" he asked. Before she could reply he spoke again. "Wait a minute. Proper? You must mean commanding and handsome."

She smiled. "No. Just proper."

"Now who's the one with memory problems?"

"Are you asking because you don't remember?" Her smile showed off her white teeth.

He nodded once. "You're pretty good at this. If you keep practicing, someday you might even be a match for me."

"Funny, that's what I used to tell you."

"Oh, is that right?" Caythis raised an eyebrow. "I liked the honest you better. This lying thing doesn't suit you very well. You're not very good at it."

"I'm serious. I would tell you that after every game of Sune. Remember?"

"Sune?" The name sounded so familiar. And then it clicked, and, with a burst of excitement, he said, "You play Sune? I love Sune!"

"Yes, I know," she said. "And apparently you love losing at Sune, because we used to play it all the time."

"I can handle a loss every couple hundred wins or so."

Kira smirked. "I think you got that backward. Since you never beat me."

"What? No, I remember. I've always been really good at Sune."

"Now I'm sure you have amnesia."

"Oh, come on. We both know I probably beat you dozens of times."

"Nope, not even one."

"Seriously?" Caythis looked for any hint of bluffing.

She stared back at him, challenging his eyes.

"And you were how old?"

"Fourteen," she replied proudly.

"Oh, that explains it," he said. "I wanted to go easy on you. Help pad your ego. Children are fragile."

"No," she said, eyes livid. "I might have been a child, but I was never fragile. You knew that better than anyone."

"What's classier than a grown man beating a little girl at a silly game and making her cry? Of course I would throw every match."

She shook her head. "A grown man? How old were you five years ago? You couldn't have been more than seventeen, look at you. And since boys mature slower than girls, if anything, I was older than you."

Caythis paused to think. Had he been seventeen? He felt about early twenties now, but could he have been champion-elect and an overseer at just seventeen? Or did he just look young for his age?

"No comeback? I'm disappointed."

"What can I say?" Caythis let out a sigh. "I thought of a really good one, but you wouldn't be able to understand it."

"Why, because it doesn't make sense?"

"See what I mean? Too advanced for you."

She shook her head. "I'm not going to dignify that with a response."

"You just did."

"Got me there, but that doesn't explain your delusions."

Caythis raised an eyebrow. "What delusions?"

"Your delusions of beating me at Sune."

"I might not remember everything, but I know I was very good at Sune. I have skills you can't even imagine." He pointed to his head. "Thinking skills."

"All right, Mr. Thinking Skills." She smiled and her eyes danced. "How about a game then? Settle this the old-fashioned way."

"I'm on a tight schedule, but, should you show up with a deck of Sune cards, I'm sure I could squeeze you in."

"Deal," said Kira with a smirk. "Maybe putting you in your place will help jog your memories. You'll get that feeling. You know, the one like you've done something before—losing hundreds of times."

Caythis shook his head slightly. "Oh, I can't wait to teach you a thing or two."

***

He heard a deep rumble. It was faint but unmistakable. He shot up and listened. A second one followed, louder this time. Definitely explosions. He had flashbacks of the Hiding Place being invaded, and his heart raced. He dashed to the intercom and slapped the button.

"Dr. Erikson, what the hell is going on up there?"

He had no armor and no weapons down here, but he still had his magic. He kept a sharp eye on the door, the only way in or out, and waited for a reply.

"Nothing to worry about," Dr. Erikson's voice crackled over the speaker. "Some Rigilians nearby surprised us, but the police have it under control."

"I can be there in a few minutes!"

"No thanks. It's almost over. Don't leave that lab. You're recovering quickly. Don't change that."

The intercom clicked off. Caythis's gaze darted to the door, and he debated leaving. Putting himself at risk. After all, wasn't that what everyone else was doing? Putting themselves in harm's way? Why shouldn't he?

In the end, he decided to follow Dr. Erikson's advice, and he remained in place. And listened. The fighting continued for a long time. Maybe an hour, maybe more. Eventually it faded away into silence. It was over. And whatever contribution he could have made, he didn't. And that bothered him.
Chapter 15

Why did she have to go? He watched as the tall academy master guided his sister through the gate and beyond the academy walls. They disappeared into a dark car that sped away. He stood in place, staring at the spot. She was coming back, right? He wanted to tell himself that. To believe it. But knew it wasn't true.

Now the academy seemed like a dark place, and he hated it for ripping them apart. For sending her back to that horrible orphanage. They'd never been separated before.

***

Kira brought more food. She was about an hour early, and Caythis wasn't even hungry yet, but he smiled anyway and stood up to greet her.

She set the tray on a nearby stand and took a seat. He saw so much energy in her, so much vibrancy. From the glow in her eyes, to the flash of her smile. Even the shimmer in her hair seemed to bounce with happiness.

"I hope you remembered our game of Sune," she said.

"Of course. I just hope you're ready for a world of hurt." He shot her his most intimidating smile, which set her off laughing.

"Oh, trust me. I'm more than ready. If you want, I'll try to go easy on you."

"Then you'll lose even worse!"

"We'll see."

By now she'd pulled out the cards. They were split into two decks, a silver one and a golden one; she handed him the gold. He flipped through it, seeing thirty-two unique pictures. He saw a fox, a falcon, a soldier, a sun, and several others. Everything seemed to be in order.

"Well, come on," she said.

He looked down to see her kneeling on the ground, spreading out her cards facedown in an 8x4 pattern. She shifted their configuration a few times before she was satisfied.

He knew what she was doing; she was placing her pieces. The pattern picked at the beginning was probably the most important decision made of all those in the game.

He knelt down opposite her, meeting her eyes for a split second. He glanced down at the opaque silver of her cards' backsides. Wishing he could guess how she would play. Was she the aggressive type? Definitely. But she was also the clever type, which meant she might play defensively to throw him off. He looked at her while she adjusted her cards; her hair spilled down over her face, and her ivory fingers flew up to comb it out of her eyes. She was hard to predict, and it wasn't fair that her attractiveness held him off guard.

He decided to arrange his own cards in a neutral position. Flexible, but not particularly devoted to either attacking or defending. The upside meant he could alter his strategy easily during the game, but the downside was that the overall effect of the deck was weaker. And he could only win after a long attrition. But it was the safest bet against an opponent he could not predict. He placed his cards in an identical 8x4 pattern next to hers. Together they formed an 8x8 playing board on the tiled floor.

"I'm set," she said. Indicating that she'd locked her cards in place. She was now committed to leaving them how they were until the game started.

Caythis frowned thoughtfully, shifting his cards a few more times.

"Where's your arrogance now?"

He looked up at her. "I'm set."

"You're as slow as ever."

"A spoonful of thoughtfulness now is worth a mountain of cleverness later." He looked at her. The white lights above made her hair shimmer.

"Spoonful? Did you get that proverb from an old lady?"

"Old is wise," he said. "Old is wise."

She started flipping her cards faceup.

He sat up straighter and began memorizing them. She'd placed several aggressive cards in the back, out of reach. Her weaker cards were in dominant positions, which was stupid. Had she been all talk after all? He felt disappointed.

When she'd flipped the last one over, she looked at him. "Ready?"

"Yes," he said, committing the last of her cards to memory. He wasn't good at remembering them individually, but he kept track of the groupings clearly enough, which is what mattered most.

She returned her cards to their facedown positions, then he began turning his over one at a time. She stiffened the tiniest bit as she looked his over. She was in a trance as she sat there frozen, memorizing his arrangement.

"Ready?" he said at last.

"Yes," she said, withdrawing a coin. It had a silver side and a golden side. She flipped it into the air.

It landed gold, and Caythis got the first move. He thought for a second, double-checking everything in his mind. This was as much a memory game as it was a strategy game, and he had to remember all of his pieces as well as hers. Though, at any time, he could peek at one of his own cards.

Each of his thirty-two cards represented a unique piece, with a completely unique style of movement. Some could move anywhere; some could switch places with another card, and some could move in strange configurations like along an L-shape or an H-shaped path. For each piece he had, she had one to mirror it but placed differently. Only a third of his cards were free to move on the first turn.

He decided to play aggressively. Pausing at times to look at her and to read her reactions. He didn't glean many useful insights, however, since, as he looked at her, all he could think of was how she glowed, how beautiful she was, and how much he wished she was unattached.

He grabbed one of his most mobile cards, an eagle, and switched it with a card of the farthest rank, a star. Because they were both his own cards, they only traded places, it wasn't a capture. He still had to flip over the acting card—the one he'd moved—so she could see what it was.

Kira hesitated, then made a move of her own. They took a few turns like this with idle banter before he captured her first piece. He used one of his worst pieces, but it had the support of several powerful ones that sat facedown nearby. He was baiting her, hoping she'd already forgotten his configuration.

He flipped over her defeated card, revealing it as he removed it from the board. It was a sentinel, a pretty good piece.

"You realize, of course," said Kira, "that this means war."

"A war that will be over in five minutes."

"Why, are you planning to give up early?" She moved one of her pieces to attack his, capturing it. "A gull? I expected better."

He stared at the card she'd put down where his had been. That attack had come from the other side of the board. Either he didn't remember her pieces correctly, or she had made an illegal move. That was allowed, of course, but it was as risky to call a bluff as it was to make one. If he was right, and he called her bluff, she'd lose a turn. A brutal cost. But if he called a bluff, and she hadn't bluffed, he'd be the one losing a turn. And that's all it would take to cripple his winning position. He frowned, thinking this over.

"You're stalling," she said.

"No, I'm not."

"Either that or you're a slow thinker."

"You don't let up, do you?" Caythis shook his head and moved another piece to threaten that square, deciding not to call the bluff. It would take a turn longer, but he still had plenty of pieces homing in on that spot, escalating his threat. He didn't want to let such a good position slip away in case he was wrong.

She flipped her attacking piece faceup. It was the peasant, an extremely poor piece. She had bluffed. Caythis wished he'd called her on it but didn't let that feeling show. He was still going to beat her. He just needed to pay better attention.

With half a smile, she made another move. An attempt to get some of her better pieces out of the disastrous positions she'd started them in.

Too late. He made another attack; she countered. He deployed another piece, and she countered again. This continued for two more moves, exhausting all of her counters before his attacks ran out.

The rest of the game fell apart for her from there.

He wedged his pieces in and began capturing the rest of hers, trading off whenever he could.

In the end, she had only three pieces, and, no matter where they moved, they'd be captured. So she resigned. "I don't believe it," she said with sincere surprise.

"Believe it." He shuffled her cards that he'd captured. "The cards never lie." He flicked them at her in a teasing way.

"Hey," she said, scrambling to get them as they scattered.

"So I guess I won," he said.

"Miracles do happen." She picked up the last of her cards.

"So I guess you owe me a shoulder massage then."

"What?" Kira's eyes were wide and confused.

"The prize, you know? For winning. The loser owes the winner a shoulder massage. That's practically in the rules."

"Oh, this isn't over. We're playing again, and you will lose."

"But I already won. I'll only play again if I get my shoulder massage."

"What's the matter? Are you afraid of me? Afraid of a girl?"

"No," he said. "I just want my shoulder massage. I've been very tense lately." The thought of her warm fingers massaging his neck and shoulders sounded very relaxing.

Kira seemed to consider this. "Okay, in the very unlikely event that you win, you'll get a shoulder massage. But if I win . . ."

"I have to give you a shoulder massage?" Sounded just as good to him.

"No," she said quickly. "Nice try though. What I want is for you to cook me a nice dinner every day for five days, once you're out of here."

"What? No way. I can't cook."

"Of course you can. You used to cook all the time."

"No chance," he said. "I let you get away with one huge bluff today, and that's enough. There's no way I'm letting you take me for a ride like that. I know I can't cook."

"Are you sure?" asked Kira. "Maybe it would come back to you if you tried . . . five times."

"Yeah, I don't cook. I only give shoulder massages."

"Too bad. I guess no game then." Kira started putting away her cards.

"What?" Caythis said. "Why not?"

"Because you don't like my terms. I want you to make five dinners. I don't even have to eat them. In fact I probably shouldn't eat them if I want to stay alive. I just want to see you make them."

"Two dinners," he said.

"Four."

"Two," he repeated.

"Five."

"Two."

"You know I'm going to beat you," she said. "Otherwise you'd agree to fifty dinners or even five hundred."

"Okay four."

"That ship has sailed. Now I want six."

"All right, all right, five dinners. And it's best two out of three. I want my win to still count for something."

"Deal." She handed him his cards.

As he looked at her, he felt the urge to hold her. To be close to her. He stared at her beautiful lips and tried not to think about how cute her smile was. He looked away, pushing the thought from his mind.

"Shall we?"

"Oh, yes," he said, rubbing his hands together. "Bring it on."

They placed their cards on the playing field. Caythis put even more thought into his initial pattern, deciding to go aggressive and crush her quickly. Based on her last game this would be easy. "Set," he declared.

She was a bit slower, giving him a discomforting smile just before committing her position.

He tried to look nonchalant.

He revealed his cards first, folding his arms casually, but a smile spread across her face as she said, "Okay, that's . . . interesting. My turn."

As she started flipping over her cards, he knew he was in trouble. Her pieces were perfectly arranged to counter any aggressive strategy, which meant he'd have to waste moves shifting around his initial position.

She had the initiative, and, for the majority of the game, she dominated him. Whatever ineptitude she'd shown before had been a farce. She was beyond good. There was so much more strategy and logic behind her moves that Caythis felt his head ache trying to keep track of all her pieces, a task that somehow became harder, not easier, as pieces were removed from the board.

He had to be extra careful; even the tiniest mistake would spell doom for him. So his thinking took quite a bit longer than hers.

She never relented, teasing him for his "delays of game," and poor positioning.

He tuned it out, shooting back a quip, whenever he could think of one, but didn't want to lose focus.

With some luck, and a couple of minor bluffs, he was able to thwart her game. It ended in a draw with only two pieces left on the field. Both able to dodge the other and avoid capture forever.

Caythis relaxed; it had been a stressful experience, but he'd rescued himself.

Kira was biting her lip and still looking at the playing field. Trying to figure out exactly where she'd let him slip out of her grip and had managed to draw the game.

"Your mistake was letting my sentry and falcon make illegal moves." He reconstructed the game board enough to show how he'd outclevered her.

"You really have gotten better." She sounded amazed.

"Funny, I was going to say the same for you."

She rolled her eyes. Then pointed at the playing field. "Again?"

They played several games. Each shifting strategies and trying desperately to trick the other. Sometimes they guessed their opponent perfectly, but, just as often, they depended on dumb luck for a counterplay. The next two games were quite serious, with Caythis and Kira each beginning with a strong position that was somehow sabotaged by the game's end. The more desperate player always managed, somehow, to draw the game through superior play.

It was amazing how familiar she became as they played. He felt like he knew her, like they'd been close friends for years. Even though he still hadn't shaken loose any prior memory of her.

The tone lightened with each subsequent game, and their games continued to finish as draws. By the fifth game, they were joking a lot, chatting nonstop, and barely focused. And in the sixth game, everything seemed hysterical, and anything was more interesting than the game, which sat unfinished for over an hour as they talked.

Eventually Kira reached down to put away the game, and Caythis suddenly made his move. "Your turn, go." He'd thought of this strategy much earlier, when they had first started neglecting the game. He'd made a special effort to remember what her exact pieces were as best he could, glancing back at the board from time to time.

"What? I thought the game was over."

"Nope." He pointed. "See, it's not finished."

"Oh, all right," she said and made a move that seemed random, like she didn't even remember her own pieces. "This is stupid."

Caythis smiled and made another move. Six moves later the game was over; he'd won. "Well played," he said.

"Oh, stop gloating. That was a cheap shot, and you know it."

"No, it wasn't. I never said I stopped playing. We just took a break, but the game was still there."

"Okay, okay, fine. You . . . win."

"Excellent, that's two wins." He raised two fingers. Her scowl made him smile. "So how about that shoulder massage?"

"Yeah, yeah, a deal's a deal," she said. "I'll go get Jaden to give you that shoulder massage."

"What? Jaden?"

"Yeah." Kira tried not to smile. "I said you'd get a shoulder massage, didn't I?"

"I don't want a shoulder massage from Jaden."

She laughed. "Oh, did you think it would be from me?" She smirked. "That was stupid of you. I never said I was going to give you a shoulder massage. Just that you'd get one."

"Hmm. Good point. Very well, let's call it a draw then."

"That's more like it." She smiled.

"But I'm still up one nothing."
Chapter 16

He stood before them at last. They looked at him. Unsure what to think. He wanted to flinch, to hide, to flee, but he could not escape what he'd done. He'd failed. The greatest among them. The surest to rise above the stars. The favorite. The prodigy. He'd broken. And no one could understand why. Him least of all. Life made no sense now. He wished he'd never been born.

***

Caythis read the last page and set the book on the table. It was a fiction book, simple, predictable, and cliché. But it had been fun for a few days to escape his surroundings and live the life of someone else. Experience the problems of another and follow them through to their happy ending.

Life wasn't so simple. It didn't always end for the best and rarely wrapped itself up with a bow. Perhaps that's what made the whole reading experience worthwhile. Finding closure through fantasy where none exists in reality. He wanted that kind of happy ending. To "live happily ever after," whatever that meant.

He was in a luxurious suite. Still unable to go outside, but it was a huge upgrade from the sterile environment he'd been in. This place had color and personality; art hung on the walls, and the furniture was actually comfortable.

Despite the luxury, he still felt like a prisoner. He caught himself staring out the windows for large periods of time. At night he gazed up into the black sky dotted with stars and wondered, time and again, if he were even significant at all.

The only thing keeping him from insanity were the regular visits from Kira. It was all he looked forward to when he got up. She came several times a day and sometimes stayed for hours. This time, though, she didn't come alone. A young boy followed her in; it was Gavin. He had his sister's same strength and regal posture, but his hair was curly and blond.

"Hello," said Gavin. His freckles and messy hair betrayed his youth, but he held himself like a king, and he gave Caythis the same vibe of maturity that Kira did. This boy had seen and experienced more than anyone his age should ever have to.

"Hi," Caythis said. He pulled out chairs for them.

"I thought you'd want to meet the boy who you helped save," said Kira.

"I already know you," said Gavin. "But thanks."

Caythis wasn't sure what to say. He wanted to ask Gavin about his time with the enforcers. What they'd done, things they'd said. How they'd treated him. But he knew Kira would not approve. And now that Lucida's regime had fallen, it was probably better to keep such things in the past. So he kept it simple. "Did your sister tell you that I beat her pretty bad at Sune again the other day?"

"No," Gavin said with a laugh.

"What?" Kira sounded surprised. "No, I won that game."

"Did you really beat her bad?"

"Oh, yeah," said Caythis. "Like six times in a row, and don't let her tell you otherwise."

Gavin looked from Caythis to Kira with a big smile. "She always wins."

"Not always," said Caythis. "And don't you forget it."

Kira shook her head. "He's lying." She tousled Gavin's hair and continued. "He's crazy," she said, pointing at Caythis. "Being locked away gives him delusions. It's really quite sad."

The visit lasted about half an hour before Gavin grew completely bored and excused himself to go clean his room. He was polite, despite being terrible at making excuses.

"He's a nice kid," said Caythis. "A class act. Most fourteen-year-olds would be breaking windows or hitting each other with sticks. I know that's what I did."

"He's quiet, but he's smart, and I love him. He really is nice, like you said. Just like Mom and Dad. Not sure where I missed the boat." She laughed.

He felt a slap of guilt at the mention of her parents, knowing that he'd failed to protect them. He tried not to dwell on it. "Are you saying you're not nice? Is this a confession? Where's a voice recorder when I need one."

Kira smiled. "I always was the wild and rebellious one in my family."

Caythis's eyes grew wide. "Really? You're the wild one? Is this your stand-up comedy routine?"

"There really is so much about me that you don't remember." Her voice was a little sad. "Gavin is how I imagine our dad at that age. All grown up before he could even have a childhood." She looked nostalgic, her eyes focused on nothing in particular.

Caythis felt that wave of guilt again, but he didn't hide from it this time. "You really do miss them, don't you?"

"Oh, yes," she said. Her voice was gentle and bittersweet but showed neither anger nor weakness. "Every single day."

Caythis felt even worse. "I'm sorry I made you think about it. I'm sure this is something you would rather forget."

"No, don't be sorry." She looked at him with wide, honest eyes. "This isn't something I try to forget. This is something I want to remember. Mom and Dad live still—in us, in me and Gavin. In everything they taught us, every minute we spent together. In everything they wanted us to be." She paused. "In every memory I have, they're still alive. As long as I can remember them."

"But isn't it painful to remember?" He thought of his own past, so invisible to him. Faces of people he no longer knew, images of strangers dying. People he would otherwise mourn but didn't because he couldn't even remember their names. Letting him feel no pain. Only emptiness.

"Obviously it's painful, but that's what makes it real. And there are a lot more feelings there than just pain."

"Don't you want the pain to go away? To numb? To heal?"

"Going numb is never the same as healing. And, no, I don't want to lose my pain. I need my pain. It motivates me. It makes me strong. It forces me to remember something I hope I'll never forget. And that is to cherish everything I have now. And to make today matter."

Caythis was moved but a little surprised. How could Kira have such strength? It seemed almost inhuman to him. What was driving her? "It motivates you?" he asked. "To kill Rigil?"

"What?" Kira sounded shocked. "No. Not at all."

He raised an eyebrow. "Don't you want him to pay for what he's done?"

"Not revenge. Not more killing. More like . . . forgiveness. That was everything my parents believed in. Hope, long-suffering, and getting past our differences. I believe there's always a bright future, if we believe in it, even if it comes after a dark tunnel. I choose to believe in people."

"Don't you hate Rigil and Antares?"

"No, that would be too easy. I don't hate people. I hate the choices they make. I hate the things they sometimes do. But I don't hate people."

"Why not?" He thought of Lucida and all the evil people he'd known. Willing to abuse and kill for their own pleasure and self-interest. How could he not hate them? "If it wasn't for Antares and Rigil, your parents would still be alive. You'd be safe in your home at Citadel right this very second. You tell me that you don't hate Antares for burning a city to the ground? And you don't hate Rigil for conquering your city and killing your parents? Is that really true?"

"Hate is something never to aspire for," said Kira. "Hate . . . is like scratching a healing wound and pouring salt all over it. I need my pain. But I don't need any hate. That's too heavy a burden. Because, if I carried it, if I hated Rigil every moment, spent every night awake in silent rage, trying to plot my revenge, . . . I would never be happy. And I would betray everything my parents believed in. Which would kill them more than taking their lives ever did."

Caythis was almost speechless. Her words touched him, but they didn't quite make sense. "So that's it? The end? Rigil wins? He gets away with what he's done? What about justice? What about retribution? What about setting things right?"

"You sound like Jaden." She looked disappointed.

"But these are serious questions," he said. "What about Citadel and the suffering people there? What about the future? Rigil has to be put down."

"Rigil needs to be removed," she admitted. "Because it's the best thing for the people. That's what makes it the right thing to do. Not because of hate or vengeance. There is a much higher reason than that. The battle to come is about helping the people who are left, not avenging the people who are gone. This isn't about trying to make myself feel better. I found peace a long time ago."

"Wow." Caythis was utterly amazed by her conviction and the passion glowing in her eyes. She truly was beautiful. And he wasn't sure whether she was amazing or insane, or both.

"There are bad people out there," he said. "Believe it or not, there are very bad people who murder for pleasure, and rape, and take without any rules holding them back. Some people are rotten to the core."

Kira shook her head. "That's looking at the world too simply. A wise person once told me that there are no bad people. Only good people who choose to do bad things."

Caythis laughed darkly. "No offense, but that's pretty naive. What idiot said that?"

"You did," she said, tears gleaming in her eye. "It was one of the last things you ever told me before you left Citadel forever. You said to never forget it. And I never did. I'm sad to see that you've forgotten, because it's something I believe in deeply."

Caythis frowned. He trusted her, which meant he'd been the naive one.

"What other choice would I have," she asked, "except to forgive and to hope? What else could I believe? That life is a nonstop war? That I should stay awake at night hating Rigil with every ounce of my soul? Wanting to kill him with my own two hands?"

"I don't know, maybe." He sighed. "That would be a more human reaction, I think."

"No, it wouldn't. It would be baser than that. Humanity means to become more, to aspire, to improve. To search upward, dreaming of how to better ourselves by bettering each other. We want to progress. That is the deepest truth within us. That is the nature of our species."

Caythis had nothing to say. Her words were powerful and came easily. He felt like a philosophical oaf in comparison. But he wasn't sure how far he agreed with her, even though part of him wanted to. He worried it was the same part that wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her this very minute. So he ignored it. Pushed it from his mind.

There was a peaceful silence for a while, and Kira stared out the window. Eventually she spoke. "If I were to hate Rigil," she said, "I would never be happy. And what is the purpose of life except to be happy?"

***

Several more days passed. He could tell from his view out the window, and from occasional reports from Dr. Erikson and others, that the war against the Rigilians was winding down. Most of the south was back in governmental control, and the uprisings were fizzling in every borough. Caythis's only regret was that he'd contributed nothing to the victory.

Yet he didn't feel as much like a prisoner as he had. He hated having his freedom limited and had thought about running away more than once to get some fresh air, but it mattered less and less as Kira spent more and more time with him.

As much as he was afraid to admit it, he was growing increasingly attached to her. And the attraction was obviously mutual. It was an extremely welcome feeling, making him smile almost constantly—for the first time in a long time, he felt warmth and purpose. Less like a survivor and more like a person. But that also made him sad. Because he knew it could not last. She was with Jaden. Where did that leave Caythis?

He tried not to think about the details and instead made an effort to relax. Keeping as clear a conscience as he could. But there were so many things he wanted to block from his mind and so few memories to distract himself with. And ignoring his growing feelings for Kira was becoming impossible. He knew he'd have to talk to her about it eventually. Even if it meant she couldn't spend time with him anymore, she deserved to know the truth. And, together, they'd have to figure out what they were, if anything.

He loved Kira. He knew that. And he wanted her to be with whoever made her happiest. If that was Jaden, who she'd chosen before Caythis had ever meddled, then who was Caythis to disagree? To disrupt what the two of them had built together?

Severing his feelings wasn't so easy, and, the more he wanted to turn them off, the stronger they seemed. He felt like the worst person in the world for wanting, on some level, for Kira and Jaden's relationship to fail. For her to become available and begin a romance with him. It was a vain, selfish, stupid hope. Yet that didn't matter. He wanted her. And it drove him crazy.

He couldn't just walk away, even if he tried. She had breathed feelings into him that had never before existed, and life without her lacked purpose. But, because he loved her, he wanted her to be happy. That's what mattered most. Even if that meant what they were making would have to come to an end. The very notion upset him, but it seemed inevitable.

"I'm almost to the funny part," Kira was saying. "You might not think so, but if you were there, you'd totally have died of laughter."

They were sitting together on his bed as she had told her story. Caythis hadn't really been listening; his mind had been elsewhere. Grappling with his emotions.

"Uh-huh," he said, nodding when appropriate.

"And so I walked into the room, minding my own business, of course. Well, okay, maybe I was a bit distracted with my thoughts. So I wasn't looking where I was going and . . ."

"Uh-huh." Caythis felt an increasing level of guilt knowing that this whole time he'd been getting closer to Kira, Jaden had been away. Putting his neck on the line to defend the city. Fighting the war Caythis should have been fighting.

"And then the world exploded," said Kira.

"Uh-huh, and then what happened?" He was completely distracted. And he was having trouble finding the guts to even broach the subject. Yet something inside him burned, and he knew he had to point out the elephant in the room. That these visits wouldn't be able to last forever.

He was startled back to attention by the sound of snapping fingers in close proximity to his face. He followed them to Kira who was now standing.

"You're not even listening, are you?"

"Huh? Oh, sure I was."

She stood straighter and put her hands on her hips. "Okay, what was the interesting thing that happened at dinner yesterday that I was telling you about?"

"Um, that it was delicious?"

"Wrong, I wasn't talking about dinner yesterday. I was telling you a funny story." She looked at him perceptively. "Something's wrong. What is it?"

"Nothing," said Caythis. "And I'm sure your story was wonderful. I'm just . . . hungry. You know how I get when I'm hungry."

"Don't give me that." She sat down next to him again, closer than before. Her face near his. "Something's bothering you." She gave him a sympathetic look. "What is it? Don't make me guess." Her lips curled into a smile.

Caythis wasn't sure what to say. He could insist that nothing was wrong, but she'd never believe that. And his stomach was in knots already; it was best just to get everything out into the open, and whatever happened, happened.

"Okay," he said, clearing his throat. He reached out and grabbed her left hand, tracing her fingers with his.

She didn't resist.

He stopped once he reached her ring. Then he looked into her eyes. "I really, really like you. But I need to know what your feelings are for Jaden. I'm sorry. I just have to know."

She pulled away her hand. The laughter left her eyes, and she looked down, twisted her ring. "I don't love Jaden," she said, wincing as she spoke. "I never really did."

That was what Caythis wanted to hear most, even though it made him feel guilty. He wanted to smile, but he bit his lip instead. Just because she wasn't in love with Jaden didn't mean she could be with Caythis instead.

"Then why the ring?" He looked into her eyes. "Why would you take it from someone you don't love?"

"I didn't know I wasn't in love," she said, her head bowed. "I took his ring because I'd never had anyone before, and Jaden was there wanting to care for me. But . . ." She looked away. "Jaden and I don't work. I've known that for a while."

Caythis nodded, then took her hand again and squeezed it. She looked back. "If that is how you feel," he said gently, "then you need to tell him. And sooner is better than later. You owe him that."

"I know," she whispered. "But how can I? I mean, what can I say that won't hurt him?"

"Nothing. You will hurt him no matter what. You just have to decide if you want to hurt him all at once, and get it over with, by telling him the truth now. Or if you want to hurt him a million times more by forcing him to learn, on his own, that your love is empty. And that you're being dishonest with him, because you're too scared to hurt him."

She nodded but didn't say anything. She squeezed his hand once, and they shared a long, peaceful silence.

"What do you think love is, Caythis?"

He considered that for a second. "I don't know. But I'm starting to believe it's this feeling where you think about someone all the time, and you smile whenever you see them. And you want them to be with you, no matter what you're doing. And you miss them when they're gone."

She smiled and rested her head against his. "I think love is trust." She closed her eyes, and he closed his. Enjoying the moment together. It was obvious she wanted a kiss, but did he dare? He leaned in, feeling her nose against his.

A loud pounding battered the door; they jumped apart instinctively as it opened.

Jaden entered.

Caythis felt like a thief caught in a police spotlight. "Hello," he said.

Jaden had a sour expression on his face. Above his frown were several scratches and a few new scars. Caythis guessed Jaden had been cut by razor-wire, grazed by a bullet, and hit in the face with a blunt object, resulting in a black eye. These injuries made him seem extremely fierce.

"Dr. Erikson needs to see you. Now!" His voice was terse, and he looked on the verge of exploding with rage. It made Caythis feel defensive—despite his guilt that he hadn't helped fight the insurgents and his even worse guilt that he'd fallen in love with his friend's fiancée.

"How's the war going?" asked Caythis, trying to sound friendly. "I understand that a lot of progress has been made."

"Yeah, by some of us." Jaden looked from Kira to Caythis, frustration in his eyes. "Now you'd better get your ass to the courtyard. Dr. Erikson doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Caythis nodded and stood up.

Jaden reached out and took Kira's hand, perhaps rougher than he meant to. She grimaced but did not resist, though she glanced at Caythis briefly.

He looked back at her, then to Jaden. As if to tell her that she needed to tell Jaden the truth. He folded his arms. Waiting to see if she'd speak up.

She didn't.

She gave Caythis an apologetic look, and she was pale and stiff, but she allowed herself to be led by Jaden.

"Come on, love," said Jaden. "Let's go eat dinner."

"Jaden . . ." she said carefully, as they stepped out of the room.

"Yes?" They stopped.

"Never mind." She looked away.

Kira shot one last regretful look at Caythis, who shook his head. The door slammed behind them but popped open a bit as it did.

"Actually I'm not that hungry," Kira could be heard.

"What?" Jaden sounded unhappy.

"I'm tired. I should get some sleep."

"But you haven't eaten all day."

"I ate earlier with Cay . . . I ate earlier."

"Why?" Jaden sounded irate. "Here I am risking my life every single day, far away from you, dodging bullets and fighting in the streets at all hours, just waiting to see you, and . . . he's down here vacationing."

"You can't blame him for that!" The weakness in Kira's voice vanished.

Caythis didn't want to hear anymore, so he closed the door. Leaning his back against it, he sank down to the ground. And sat there for some time, eventually raising his head toward the ceiling. Why did he allow himself to be trapped down here so long? Why had he let himself become so helpless, when he could have done so much more out there? And avoided this whole mess.

But as much as he felt like he should, he couldn't regret his feelings or all the time he'd spent with Kira. She amazed him so much. But staying with her, especially if she couldn't truly decide between him and Jaden, would only be painful. And Caythis couldn't help feeling that he was more the problem than the solution.
Chapter 17

The antechamber connected to the courtyard through several glass doors. Caythis pushed his way out into the brisk dusk air. The sun was setting over the tallest buildings to the west, spilling like an orange and burgundy tapestry over the sky. About a hundred feet away, Dr. Erikson stood next to Captain Grayson and Dr. Ferguson, discussing something. A few others, including soldiers, were spread throughout the courtyard, but no one seemed particularly alert or tense. Manors Borough, and most of the city, had been secured.

Two soldiers stood at attention and saluted him as he followed the cement pathway which cut through the landscaped gardens, a cobblestone path, fountains, and a wishing pond.

"Welcome, Caythis," said Dr. Erikson.

"You look well," added Dr. Ferguson.

"Thanks. I take it that means I've recovered enough to be a free man again."

"Indeed you have," said Dr. Erikson. "You've made a complete recovery, and now you're as good as new. And your armor has been mended."

"Jaden said you wanted to see me."

"Yes. A few weeks ago I told you that we'd need you again one day. Well, today is that day."

"I see." He wanted to help, to do something, but he wasn't going to be their tool. He would only cooperate so long as he agreed with what they were doing, and the ultimate goal was liberating Citadel.

"You may be thinking that this is about the Rigilian rebels. It's not. That threat is nearly dissolved. Barring some kind of major incident that throws our process into disarray, their days are numbered. And it isn't a large number."

"So what is it about?"

"We have some intelligence that suggests that Rigil himself is interested in toppling the Silverwind government. If that happens, we'll never have the forces we need to liberate Citadel. Lucida and Rigil had been cooperating just like we suspected. Apparently he promised to 'unleash hell' upon us, to fan the flames of chaos, to expedite her takeover of the city."

"She said something like that to me, before she died," said Caythis. "That some kind of storm was coming that couldn't be stopped. But nothing happened. Sure, the citizens revolted, the Rigilians had their moment, but Rigil himself wasn't involved in any way. If he could hurt us, what's he been waiting for?"

"I believe he's been waiting for some kind of signal from Lucida. He hadn't gotten word that she's dead until recently. The question is, what will he do with that information? Their deal is nullified, but does that mean he'll ignore us? Or will he strike anyway? With less restraint perhaps, because he no longer need worry about protecting Lucida's interests. I can't imagine he will do nothing. He must know that, eventually, a stable Silverwind City will send forces to depose him."

"Empty threats," said Caythis. "Rigil barely has Citadel under his thumb, and that city is hundreds of miles away. He can scarcely hope to assemble an army and march down here. What other threats does he have? Maybe smuggle in weapons and explosives? How would he find the right people to deliver them to? It doesn't seem practical."

"It's much worse. Our agent in Citadel, before we lost contact with him, warned that Rigil has been discretely developing skytechnology. Ways of transporting armies by air and, much worse, deadly weapons that could rain down upon us. He could sit on his throne and watch, knowing we can't retaliate. And hold every city hostage."

"That's why you gave me that book."

"Exactly. It's something we've suspected, and feared, for some time. But it was only confirmed a few days ago."

"So what is Skyhaven going to do about it? They're still technically at war with Citadel."

"Nothing by themselves. Their parliament isn't listening, and their queen is even less help. They realize there is a threat, but they doubt Rigil's progress. They're stubborn. They think it's a war of attrition, and that they're winning."

"Why would they think that?"

"Because there is a small epidemic going on in Citadel. It's hit about fifteen thousand people and is spreading. A very complicated disease that came to this continent from the Old World. Or else it was engineered by scientists for military purposes. No one's really sure."

"I hope it's not the latter. That would be random, wanton butchery, no less evil than Antares's scorching of Andar," said Caythis.

"The point is, the disease is contained in Citadel. Skyhaven has developed a preventative treatment and an antidote for it, in case it spreads, which they are willing to share with us and the small settlement of New Andar."

"But they won't share it with Rigil, will they?"

"Correct. They see it as leverage to help destabilize his city and make things more desperate. They think, if things get a little bit worse, that will ultimately lead to them getting better."

"Don't they realize that the citizens of Citadel aren't the problem? They've been oppressed for five years, and now they're being plagued with disease, and Skyhaven refuses to help?"

Dr. Erikson nodded. "I don't agree with their decision, but I understand their logic."

"I don't. To me, withholding aid seems just as bad as causing harm."

"Irrelevant. Skyhaven has made up its mind. They won't even speak to Rigil. They don't recognize his government as legitimate, and so they won't have anything to do with him."

"Why not? If they don't recognize Rigil as the legitimate leader of Citadel, then who do they recognize? It would have to be Kira, I guess. The heir to the throne. Maybe she can ask them to share the cure."

"No. Because she's in exile, they don't recognize anyone. They see Citadel as a state of anarchy and, until proper order is restored—one consistent with the Codes of Coalition—they won't agree to any diplomacy."

"That's insane."

"That's reality," said Dr. Erikson.

"So I take it my job is to go convince them to change their mind. Wouldn't Kira's royal blood and superior diplomacy be more effective than anything I could do?"

"Your name carries a great deal of weight there since you were a champion-elect at their academy and you slew Antares. However, no, that's not the mission. Skyhaven may be unwilling to negotiate with Rigil or to hand over the cure, but they are willing to participate in a military operation to remove Rigil from power."

"That's no surprise," said Caythis. "But didn't we agree that we needed forces from Silverwind too, and anyone that can be spared from New Andar, to have any hope of success? I mean, Citadel's a veritable fortress, and our intelligence on Rigil is spotty at best."

"Yes, that's true. So your mission is twofold. You must help organize the overall strategy with Skyhaven's military, and you must seek out assistance from New Andar. Anyone they can spare. This might be our only chance, so we need to throw everything we possibly can at Rigil."

"I don't know if I'm comfortable representing Silverwind at the military table. I don't know what kind of forces we have, what my authority to deploy them will be, and—"

"Don't worry. You don't represent Silverwind. Jaden does. Emon-Zed is going along as well, to represent the local Enforcer Combine. You will be a neutral advisor with incredible political weight. As I said before, your name isn't thrown around lightly, and your opinions will not be ignored."

"Is anyone else from the District coming?"

"No. We are sending a small group. The three of you and whatever aides you may need during the negotiation."

That meant Kira was staying behind. If he went, he wouldn't see her again. Not until Rigil had fallen and then . . . they couldn't be together after that. She would be queen of Citadel and would have to care for her city. Help it recover. He would assist in any way he could but knew, in a restored world, a marriage between an enforcer and a queen would never be allowed. Their days together were drawing to a close.

"No," he said, surprised to hear the word come out of his mouth. He just couldn't let go of Kira. Didn't want to. Refused. She was everything that made life wonderful and, leaving her, especially now, was unthinkable.

"What?" Dr. Erikson sounded shocked.

"I don't want to go. Send someone else. I . . . can't go."

"There is no 'someone else.' You are Caythis Ceteris, the Caythis Ceteris. No one else's voice will have the power yours will. We need you."

He shook his head. "I wish I could explain it," he said, "but I just . . . can't go."

"And what about her? Isn't she on your mind?"

"Who?" He doubted Dr. Erikson knew how much he loved Kira. That she was the reason he refused to go.

"Miriam Ceteris."

"Who's that?"

"Haven't you thought of her? Haven't you wanted to go and see her?"

"I don't know who she is."

"Truly?" Dr. Erikson looked surprised. "She's your wife."

The word slammed him with the force of a truck. It was a possibility that he hadn't considered, that he himself was attached. That he'd committed his love to another, only to have their years and devotion erased in some kind of accident.

"I have a wife?" he asked weakly. He didn't want it to be true. It didn't make sense if it was true. He wanted Kira. He could never have Kira if he was married already. Wed to someone he didn't know, didn't remember, and couldn't even visualize. A stranger.

"Of course you do. Miriam Ceteris lives at your home in Skyhaven. She probably doesn't even know you're alive yet . . ."

Dr. Erikson's words seemed to fade away as Caythis tried to consider this new information. Tried to force it into the ever-growing puzzle. Could this be true? What if it was?

"Dr. Ferguson," said Caythis, looking into her eyes. "Was there ever a Miriam Ceteris?"

"Absolutely. I met your wife a few times. She thinks the world of you. She'll be thrilled to know you're alive."

Caythis reeled inside. This wasn't true. Couldn't be. Not now. Not when things were going so well with Kira. But . . . what if it was? He had to know! Had to be certain. Had to put his doubts to rest. And, if it was true, maybe he could make things work with Miriam. If he'd loved her once, they must have had some kind of connection. He could love her again, . . . right?

As he tried to imagine her, he could see only Kira's lovely face. He shook away the image. Reminding himself that, as much as his heart ached for her, and he wanted her more than life itself, he could never have her. Even if he wasn't attached to Miriam, or someone else, the days he and Kira had spent together, the romance they'd begun to develop, it was all a fantasy. A wonderful, blissful, joyous fantasy. But a fantasy notwithstanding. And soon, only a memory. And nothing more. It was time to sever his attachment, if he still could.

"All right," he said. "I will go. But tell me this first, why did you keep Miriam a secret from me?"

"We all assumed you remembered her."

"Even though I told you that I had amnesia? If I knew about her, why wouldn't I be racing to her side?"

"Because you chose to keep yourself a secret while you worked with us from the beginning. Then, when this would all be over, you'd planned to return to her, like a white knight, and you'd both live happily ever after."

That didn't sound right. He doubted he could put any cause in front of his devotion to a woman he was in love with. Dr. Erikson was describing someone else, not him. At least not who he was now.

"That the game has changed, however," said Dr. Erikson. "You can no longer afford to keep your survival a secret. You have to stand before the world and announce your presence, call it to lift arms against Rigil. Inspire us, give us hope. That is your destiny."

"Very well." He walked away. Wanting to be alone with his thoughts.

Kira . . . he cared for her more than he could ever express. He loved every minute he'd spent with her and often thought about her when she was away. Had that all been for nothing? He looked at his hands, as if expecting a forever ring to be there. Had he once worn a band that swore devotion to Miriam and no one else? And was this woman waiting for him in their old house? Spending every day missing him? Hoping for his safe return but believing him dead? Keeping herself company with a mountain of memories they had made together, memories he no longer shared?

Kira was real. Tangible. She was the present. And Miriam, his supposed wife, was a mystery. Someone far away that he didn't know. He closed his eyes and couldn't see her. His heart felt nothing for her. She was dead to him. Kira was alive. Kira was everything.

He sighed. It would not be easy cutting Kira out of his heart; it would take a long time, and he might never be able to do it completely. But he had to now. Every reason in his head told him that he should. Even though every feeling in his heart told him that he shouldn't.

He stopped at the wishing pond and looked down. It was now dark. His reflection bounced off the surface in the moonlight; it was wavy and confused—like him, but he recognized it. Knew the man looking up at him. It was time for that man to move on. To rebuild the life he once had.

A strange screeching noise filled the air, interrupting his thoughts. His heart raced, and he looked around, unable to find the source. It grew louder. Everyone in the courtyard was confused and worried.

"What is that? What the hell?"

And then came a blinding light a mile away, followed by the crashing thunder of a massive explosion.

Caythis threw his arms up defensively, shielding himself from the brightness. His heart pounded.

What had once been a building was blown into bits; fires erupted everywhere, choking the air with smoke.

More screeching could be heard, and quickly two more explosions appeared. Destroying streets and buildings as they crashed down. Closer this time. Fires began dotting the borough. People were streaming out of buildings to see what was happening. Forming a collective, disorganized panic.

"Get underground!" a military officer ordered through a megaphone. His men were hurrying to the scene and trying to contain the terrified mob. "Do not panic. I repeat, do not panic. Go to the nearest underground entrance and remain."

Caythis spun to see the members of the District scrambling to find Kira and Gavin. He felt his heart lurch, and he ran to them. Wanting to keep Kira from danger. No matter what.

An extremely loud explosion boomed nearby, and a flash of light blinded him for a second. He was thrown to the ground; his arms scraped against the stone paving. He heard the skylight crash into a million pieces above, spraying down a rain of glass. The ground trembled, and the garden became extremely hot.

He climbed to his feet, brushing off as much glass as he could, and winced from the pain. The smoke made him cough too. He wished he had his helmet and armor.

The courtyard pavilion was on fire, and the roof was about to cave in. Half of the pillars had crumbled or were on the verge of collapse.

"Kira!" he yelled, sprinting into the palace. The building sustained a direct hit, and the walls shook. The ceiling came down around him. He covered his head. Something smacked him hard. He collapsed. Everything became hazy. He rubbed his eyes and crawled forward in the debris. Being close to the ground made it easier to breathe the smoke-saturated air at least.

The door in front of him had been buried. He was trapped, except to go back the way he'd come. What had been a series of beautiful glass doors had been blown into dust that glittered orange in the firelight. He crawled back toward the outside, enduring the pain and coughing that tormented him.

More explosions could be heard echoing in the distance. It looked like the whole city was on fire. Sirens screamed; they seemed to be coming from everywhere. He crawled forward . . . almost there . . . The air tasted a little cleaner.

Dizziness overcame him. Blackness coated his vision. He tried to shake off his disorientation. It was like falling into a bottomless pit, even though he could feel the ground firmly beneath him.

With tremendous effort, he kept crawling forward into the courtyard. He had to keep going. Had to get underground. He got to his feet, barely able to keep his balance, and ran. The ground shook hard, and he fell once more. The pain was incredible. He yelled.

And then all of the aching vanished. And his stiff muscles relaxed.

***

Caythis awoke, severely disoriented. It was daytime, but still dark. And hot. He rolled to his back and saw the sky full of dark smoky clouds that were slowly dissipating.

"You all right? Hey, there's a man over here. I think he's alive."

Caythis didn't recognize the voice. He rubbed his eyes and felt every muscle in his body protest. He wheezed, trying to breathe. His body relaxed after a minute or two, but he was very sore.

"Can you move? Are you in pain?"

Caythis saw a woman standing over him. She was middle-aged, a bit overweight, and wore a black overcoat and helmet. Blue stripes on her jacket identified her as an emergency medical respondent.

"I'm fine," he said, getting to his hands and knees.

She helped him stand. "You're one of the lucky ones," she said.

Other than the coughing, the soreness, and several cuts and bruises, he felt all right. She checked him over, gave him bandages where needed, and moved on.

He surveyed the scene. There were still corpses that hadn't been pulled from the rubble and a great deal of people, significantly more injured than him, were crowded together near some medical vans. Either receiving treatment or being evacuated.

The palace had been blown to dust, only part of its frame still stood. Everything seemed destroyed. What had once been a lavish city center was little more than ashes. In the distance, several fires were still burning.

He followed a line of people to receive food and water rations. "Did those in the palace make it out all right?" he asked.

"Some did. Some didn't," the man handing out the water bottles said. "Word is the king isn't doing well . . ."

"I'm sorry to hear that. What about the others? I had friends in there."

"I think most everyone made it. Some better off than others. If you don't see your friends, then they're probably in the Central Business Tower. A makeshift hospital's been set up there. It wasn't hit."

"Thank you." Caythis shuffled on. He finished his water and food ration, then walked, somewhat painfully, to the Central Business Tower. Drinking in the carnage as he went. So much destruction. And for what? He felt wrathful. And afraid. Afraid that Kira hadn't survived.

The business headquarters was a tall, thin building. The inside was plush with brand-new carpets and tastefully decorated walls. In the lobby, several makeshift beds had been arranged, and patients were being treated. Others were just trying to sleep, most battling some degree of shock.

He checked out several of the rooms—all similarly full of confused and sad people—before he found anyone from the District.

Dr. Erikson was the easiest to spot. As Caythis ran to him, he picked out Dr. Ferguson, Captain Grayson, and, to his tremendous relief, Kira and Gavin from the crowd.

Jaden was there too. Holding Kira's hand. Comforting her.

Seeing that connection between them was like having the wind knocked out of him, and he slowed to a walk. Even though he knew he could never have Kira and that he was probably married to someone else—a vow he would never betray—he couldn't help his feelings of jealousy toward Jaden. Did he really appreciate how much of a treasure Kira was?

Dr. Erikson smiled as Caythis approached. "Captain Ceteris, you have a way of making a dramatic entrance just after everyone's feared the worst. By god, I think you're invincible."

Kira spotted him, and a huge smile spread across her face. She broke free from Jaden and ran to Caythis. Throwing her arms around him. He hugged her briefly and let go. She didn't. Not for several more seconds.

"I was so worried," she said.

"I was worried about you too," he replied. Smiling back. It was a bittersweet smile though. Feeling her close to him, seeing her smile, it only pricked his heart. Made closure that much more difficult. He tried to be cold, and she eventually returned to Jaden's side.

"What kind of skytechnology hit us?" asked Caythis.

"Rockets," replied Dr. Erikson. "Long-range rockets from Citadel. I guess that answers the question I posed before. Rigil means for us to fall. He fears Silverwind."

"How bad is it?"

"Hard to say. Every borough was struck, but none more heavily than Manors. Especially around the city center. The general feeling is that the damage to infrastructure isn't as bad as it seems, but our war against the insurgents has flared up again. The king is severely injured, and half the government is dead."

"Will Silverwind fall?"

"If the city's left alone, . . . no," said Captain Grayson. "There is enough of a military presence, and organized government, that it will be able to stabilize itself and eliminate the insurgent threat. However, if the city sustains another attack like last night, . . . it's all over."

"Do you think Rigil has more rockets?"

"I hope that he stopped firing at us because he ran out, but there's no way to know. Maybe he is holding back for now, waiting for us to submit to him or beg for his mercy," said Dr. Erikson.

"Does that ruin our plans?" asked Caythis. "Will Silverwind have any forces to send against Rigil?"

"Our plan has become more important than ever. I don't know what can be spared," said Dr. Erikson. "But, while Silverwind has fewer troops to commit to the attack, it has more motive than ever to launch it. Although now it isn't about liberating our unfortunate friends in Citadel. It's a fight for our very survival."

"I understand what I must do," said Caythis. "As soon as I dig my armor out of the rubble, I should leave."

His eyes met Kira's. An outpouring of mixed feelings filled him. He could tell she did not want him to go, and there was confusion too. She wondered why he was acting so strange and distant. If only he could explain.

Instead he turned and left. Went to recover his equipment and see to the logistics of his mission to Skyhaven.

He looked around at the displaced citizens. Felt pity for them. And hate toward those who'd caused them so much harm. For a little while, he'd thought he'd wanted to be one of them. To have what they had. To settle down and start a family. Have children. But even those people weren't safe anymore. So again he would enter the fray. Put his life in jeopardy to defend those who could not defend themselves.

Everyone had their place, he realized. And that seemed to be his.
Chapter 18

The rush of wind was chilly, but it made him feel alive. He clutched the rubber handles of the jetbike as it zoomed forward, toward the dawn. A bright red spilled over the mountain, and he breathed in deeply the brisk morning air.

The simple clothes and jacket were liberating compared to the enforcer armor which he'd chosen to pack in the saddlebags. The air brushed through his hair like cold fingers, and he loved it. Couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so free. The bike hummed loudly beneath him, vibrating and bouncing over changes in terrain, and he could see thickets of trees and small green hills rush past him like a blur.

He dared a glance behind; Emon followed close, and Jaden was a bit farther back. The three had elected to go ahead; their aides and other Silverwind staff would show up a day later. This gave them the chance to scope out the scene in Skyhaven. And for Caythis to reacquaint himself with Miriam. Truthfully, now that he was on his way, he was anxious.

A crackle in his ear stole his attention. He released his left hand and pressed a finger over the communication piece he wore.

"About thirty more miles," said Emon-Zed choppily, "and we'll be able to see the city."

"Good to know," replied Caythis. He maneuvered around some hazards and pushed the bike back onto a well-worn trail. Enough hovering vehicles had carved a relatively smooth path.

An engine roared on his left, and, a moment later, Jaden had caught up, matching Caythis's speed, flying parallel.

"Caythis," he said.

"What is it?"

"I have to ask what your intentions are with Kira."

Caythis didn't say anything right away. A blend of conflicting, but powerful feelings swirled inside him. He bit his lip and pushed the bike low again. Not because he had to duck anything, but because the rush of the wind and the blowing dust, like smoke in his wake, distracted him from his own bitterness and confusion. He focused his thoughts and, after a few seconds, ascended the bike.

"Did you hear me?"

"Trust me," said Caythis. "You don't have anything to worry about there." A sense of resolve poured over him as he said the words. It was bittersweet. He had already come to terms with the fact that he and Kira could never be together, but admitting that out loud was harder than he'd expected.

"Good," said Jaden.

But you don't own her, Caythis wanted to say. She isn't yours. She's free to choose. But he didn't say any of that; instead he nodded to himself and pitched the bike farther away. Giving himself more distance from the other riders. He opened the throttle wide and pushed forward to the point position, feeling the roaring wind all around—exactly like his feelings inside. He focused solely on the path ahead.

They didn't speak again until the city of Skyhaven filled their view. They were first met with rural communities that stretched out for miles around the mountain's base. Countless farms that had somehow survived the cold weather and that hugged the land all the way up to the base of the mountain.

They slowed as they began their ascent. It was a jagged trail carved precariously into the mountain. It led to the city's main hub. Small levels of city appeared around them from time to time. Growing a bit denser the higher they went. Skyhaven was much smaller than Silverwind, but its culture, especially its enforcer Academy, had influenced the entire world.

They reached the hub, which was on an awesomely large plateau. Instead of shimmering skyscrapers and crowded highways, the design was rustic and spread out. The architecture was elegant, with great vaulted rooftops over arched windows that curved to sharp points. It wasn't an atmosphere choking with metal, glass, and concrete. It was about wood and stone. Deep mahogany, dark marble, and black granite. Everything felt reverent. Even archaic.

At the plateau's highest point, Caythis could see a bold, simple black tower. It seemed to loom over everything. He knew it was less than half the height of the tallest structure in Silverwind, but here it seemed massive.

The road took them to the edge of the plateau, which cut across the whole southeastern side. Several sharp drops tapered the edge of the mountain, making it perilous if they strayed too far. But, the closer they neared the edge, the more spectacular was their view of the world. It was, undoubtedly, the most majestic view Caythis had ever seen.

He brought his bike to a full stop, landed it on the ground, and walked to the edge. He stared out into the sky. It was thick and full of white clouds which completely overcast the city. The rocky, distant land below seemed to stretch on forever. He understood how this quaint city had earned its name. It felt safe here, and, with such an infinite view of the world's landscape, a person felt more like a god than a man.

Caythis breathed in the chilly mountain wind and raised his hands high. Tiny flakes of snow were falling now, melting as they touched his skin. It was so surreal. He looked down on the great glassy Silverwind River, so tiny from here, surging in the distance, shimmering in the light, charging for miles toward the glowing city of Silverwind.

Even farther away was the never-ending black ocean; it carved along the continent and even past Skyhaven's lofty peak. Charging against the great rocks again and again, the ocean sent in a tiny glitter of waves which broke in the far distance. It was breathtaking.

Only when Emon sounded very impatient did Caythis manage to tear away his gaze from the view and get back on his bike.

They followed the perimeter of the city, and, because jetbikes were illegal to take on the smaller roads, they parked on the outskirts and checked in their vehicles to a couple of enforcers on duty. It was almost strange to see enforcers busily at work serving the people, their intended purpose. If only Lucida hadn't risen to power and then warped Silverwind's Enforcer Combine, that city would be a much better place.

The trio transferred their cargo to backpacks and headed out on foot, catching a bus that led to the center of the city. The bus slowed as it approached a group of kids who ran into the street from nowhere. They were yelling excitedly at each other, chasing a ball. So carefree and young, so innocent, and yet so stupid. Seeing them awakened some part of Caythis—a young boy who'd never been allowed to be a child.

The roads weren't laid out very well in Skyhaven; they were narrow and took any variety of angles, but the traffic was minimal, and the beauty of the buildings surrounding them never grew tiresome. It didn't feel like time passed here, and, before he knew it, they were standing at the foot of the capitol.

"This is where I split from you two," said Caythis.

"What do you mean?" asked Emon.

"You're here to represent Silverwind." He pointed to Jaden. "And you're here to represent the Silverwind Enforcer Combine." He pointed to Emon. "I don't represent anyone. I'll let you two handle the politics."

"I'm sure your presence will only help our argument," said Emon.

"Maybe. Maybe not. Frankly I hate politics. And negotiations. So, if you are bent on convincing the queen of Skyhaven today to go along with any attack plan, that's your problem. I have other business to take care of today."

"If you want to go, then fine. Go," said Jaden.

"Sorry, friend. There is something more important on my mind. If you were in my situation, you'd understand," said Caythis.

Emon shrugged. "Go. Stay. I don't care. Whatever."

They parted ways. Agreeing to meet back at this spot at the end of the day.
Chapter 19

Caythis stepped out of the taxi, and it drove away. Leaving him standing on the sidewalk, facing a simple yellow cottage. Bright and optimistic, with a reasonably well-kept garden. No elaborate plants, just cropped grass and a few flowers. Nothing fancy whatsoever.

In his hand was the page torn from the directory. It had been an old directory, so he didn't feel bad ripping the page out of it. It gave him tangible proof that there was a Miriam Ceteris. And this was her address.

He took a deep breath, adjusting the backpack so it hung on only one arm, and then walked to the door. Hoping with every step that it would scream out with familiarity. That a flood of memories would overwhelm him. But no such thing happened. He pressed the chime and waited, feeling more nervous with every second. Wondering what his wife's reaction would be. What she would say. What she would look like.

It turned out she looked nothing like he expected. A fiftysomething man with a bushy mustache and gray hair opened the door. "Hello? Is there something wrong, enforcer?"

Caythis was confused for several reasons. "How did you know I was an enforcer?"

"The sword sticking out of your pack."

"Ah." Caythis nodded. An uncomfortable feeling hit him as he realized Miriam might have remarried, and this could be her father-in-law. That would be awkward. He felt embarrassed and was overwhelmed by second thoughts, but he pressed on. Wanting to know.

"Is Miriam here?"

"Who?"

"Miriam Ceteris." He handed the torn page from the directory to the man. "According to this, she lives here."

"Oh," the man said. "No, she doesn't live here anymore. This is from an old directory. A really old one."

"Do you know where she's moved to?"

"Hmm. I think you'd better come inside." He allowed Caythis to enter. "Just make sure to wipe your feet. House rule."

"Okay . . ."

"Name's Jon Wilkins." He held out a meaty hand.

Caythis shook it. "Nice to meet you." He felt more than a little awkward.

Jon led him through the tiny living room and into a basic kitchen where a woman in an apron was cooking some food. A couple of young kids sat at a tiny table expectantly. They shied away when they saw Caythis.

"That's Ethan and Davin," said Jon. "And this is my wife, Kelly."

"Pleased to meet you."

"Now kids, don't be shy. This man is an enforcer."

Their eyes lit up, especially when they caught sight of the sword in Caythis's backpack.

"Wow! Awesome sword!" they said excitedly, jumping to their feet.

Kelly laughed and reached out for them. "Mind your manners," she said.

And Jon caught the younger one as he ran across the room, scooping him up in his big arms.

Caythis soaked in everything. The close family, the warm home, the feeling of peace and happiness they had. He envied it. And it made him feel alien. He didn't belong in such a place. He'd never fit in with such a domestic setting. It was a whole different world, he realized as he looked around the room, spotting family pictures hanging on the walls and small achievements stuck on the refrigerator. And this house was not familiar. He had never been here before.

"So what happened to Miriam?" Caythis asked.

Jon led him away from the children, who were now occupied by a coloring book—they were fighting over it. "I don't know how to do this except to come right out and say it. Miriam died. She's been dead six years."

"Oh," said Caythis. A strange cocktail of emotions hit him. He didn't remember her, so he couldn't feel her absence. But he was still very sad to learn this news. To know someone of extreme importance had once existed in his life and had been ripped away—it was a strange, cold, unpleasant feeling. And, even though he didn't remember her, it was still heartbreaking. It made him mad too. Mad at himself. Angry that he could remember Raven's death so clearly and he couldn't even remember his own wife's passing. Or anything about her.

"I'm sorry," said Jon. He was kind and sincere and Caythis was grateful for that.

"Thank you, at least now I know. Tell me, did she have children?"

"No." Jon scratched his head. "I could take you to her resting place, if you'd like."

Caythis looked up. "I appreciate all you've done. If you'll just tell me where I can find the spot, that'll be more than enough."

"I could drive you there. It's no inconvenience."

Caythis smiled weakly. "I appreciate it, I really do. But I'd prefer to do this alone."

"I understand."

Jon gave him directions, and Caythis made to leave. Thanking Jon once more, and his wife—who'd insisted on unloading half a dozen freshly baked cookies on him. He wasn't in the mood for them but accepted them anyway, with a smile, and put them in his pack. These were good people. He'd try to remember them. He left and followed the sidewalk for a long time.

The cemetery was gated and beautiful. Flowers had been freshly placed on every grave. He followed a narrow path, walking reverently, searching the grave markers for Miriam's name. They were organized by date of death, so it didn't take long.

He arrived at a quiet corner of the cemetery. Flat on the ground was the white-washed stone with her name carved into it. On top of it was a single white flower. Caythis knelt down and picked it up, smelling it. Its scent was earthy and alive. He set it back down gently and read the inscription.

She'd lived for twenty-two years when she died. Making her the older partner, for sure. But that was still too short of a life for anyone to have. "My beloved wife," he read and his voice faded into a whisper. "Although her body was sick, her spirit will live on forever in my memory. Caythis Ceteris, Husband and Friend."

He felt crushed. He had no memory of her. So in his own words, she was dead. He felt supremely weak. He couldn't budge from his kneeling position for a long time. He simply stared down with warm eyes, thinking of the life that had ended that he didn't remember. What joys had they shared? He traced her name with his finger. And whispered, "I'm so very sorry."

After a few more minutes, he stood. Looked down at the marker one final time and turned away.

As he walked slowly back to the center of town, winding his way indirectly toward the capitol, his thoughts were devoted solely to Miriam.
Chapter 20

That night he, Emon, and Jaden checked into separate hotel rooms. Before going to bed, Caythis and Emon sat and talked in the lobby, watching the twilight hours fade into darkness. Emon told Caythis about the negotiations, which had apparently gone badly. Jaden was too furious at the experience to relive it and, instead of joining the conversation, went for a nighttime walk then promptly to bed.

According to Emon, the meeting went downhill from the start. Jaden and Emon, after discussing the strategic situation, had received a far-too-small pledge of support from Skyhaven for the assault on Citadel. The number of soldiers and enforcers was much lower than they'd previously committed. Because Jaden was bringing less to the table than Silverwind had originally promised, Skyhaven felt they should do the same.

Jaden had tried to explain that Silverwind's forces were occupied with unexpected civil war and having to rebuild the bombed-out parts of the city, whereas Skyhaven's forces were mostly idle and available for deployment. However, that didn't seem to matter.

"Why wouldn't they listen to his arguments?" asked Caythis.

Emon shrugged. "It was a political thing. Different members of the parliament didn't want to send some of their forces if other districts weren't doing the same. Since parliament has joint ownership, effectively, of the whole Skyhaven military, they all blocked each other, and the result was a pathetic offering."

"What about the local Enforcer Combine?"

"They're willing to cooperate proportionately with the military. If the government makes it a priority to focus on beating Rigil, they'll assist with full force. But if the government of Skyhaven, supposedly representing the interests of the citizens, doesn't want the war, the enforcers will take no part in it."

"Sounds like testimony from me wouldn't have helped anything."

"You got that right. We even mentioned that you were here, and your name didn't carry nearly as much weight as the old doctor claimed it would. Some people wanted to meet you, but they seemed more interested in your autograph than your strategic opinions."

"I'm glad I didn't go then," said Caythis.

"I wish I hadn't gone. Waste of time. That's why you and I are leaving tomorrow, and Jaden will remain, to continue the negotiation. His aides should be here in the morning."

"Where are you and I going exactly?"

"Necropolis. We'll try our luck there."

"Necropolis?"

"Oh, that's slang for New Andar. The colony there sits at the base of the ruined city. The skeleton of what Andar used to be still far outstrips what New Andar has managed to become. So a lot of us in the combine call it Necropolis. If you get transferred to New Andar, you can bet you'll be living with a bunch of scavengers next to a giant ash heap."

"Sounds pleasant . . ."

"Damn peachy is what it is," said Emon. "A do-nothing paradise. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to clean up and catch some z's."

Caythis did the same. He didn't sleep well, despite the comfort of his bed. He was probably in the safest place in the world, but he couldn't silence his mind. His racing thoughts and persistent concerns didn't go away. Most of all he kept thinking about Miriam. Wondering if, somehow, on some level, she was still alive. Could there be life after death? Or was that completely ridiculous?

Eventually he caught a few hours of sleep before Emon pounded on his door, demanding he awake and get ready. "Let's go before it gets hot!"

Caythis blinked and looked at the clock. It was just after five in the morning. "Are you kidding me?" he said groggily.

"Nope. Pretend you're sneaking away from a clingy girlfriend before she wakes up and wants you to stay for breakfast. Always works for me. Now let's get a move on."

***

They left Skyhaven.

Caythis noticed a coating of frost now covered many of the lawns and gardens. He exhaled and could see the ghostly essence of his breath. The air was fresh, crisp, and cold. The fast, chilly wind froze his face. After enduring it for a few minutes, he flipped his visor closed. The rest of his body was warm inside his enforcer armor, but he would have preferred not having to wear it. Choosing to do so only because it was this cold outside.

And Emon had wanted to avoid the heat . . .

"This place gives me the shivers for two reasons," Emon's voice crackled over the speaker.

"Why is that?"

"It's creepy, and it's cold."

The path down seemed more treacherous than the way up. For some reason, Emon decided to go as fast as he could, blasting down the mountain, winding his way along a narrow edge, barely avoiding hazards and the occasional falling rock.

Caythis chose to keep up but had his left hand covering the brake at all times. If Emon were to go jetting off some cliff, Caythis had no intention of following.

The main highway was virtually deserted, so they accelerated to full throttle. The fields and farms became a frosty blur, and they soon found themselves in no-man's-land. Following the dirt path west, aiming for New Andar on the far side of the continent. At full throttle, with no breaks, they could get there in three hours, but Caythis hoped they didn't keep that breakneck pace the whole time.

"Nice to be out here in the open," said Emon. "Freedom. Honest-to-god freedom. Breathe it in. Can you taste it?"

"I can only taste stale, filtered air since it's too damn cold to take off my helmet."

"Cheer up. It's all about attitude." He zoomed, skipping over some rocks, and bounced his way back on course.

Caythis flew parallel. "There is a kind of peace out here," said Caythis. "I must admit that. No one and nothing for miles."

"Now you're getting it, kid. I'll be honest with you, I didn't want to come along on this charade. I don't trust that old doctor. He's deranged. But being out here in no-man's-land makes it all worth it. It's been too long. A few years at least."

Caythis let Emon do most of the talking. Caythis humored Emon as he recounted the story of a young enforcer-in-training. A misunderstood, rebellious boy who was, allegedly, an expert in both combat and seducing women. The tale told of how Emon had been a victim of circumstances and had eventually dropped out of the academy a year early to accept a mediocre post in Silverwind.

"That was two wonderful years before Lucida got her talons sunk into the place." He went on and on, telling colorful and certainly exaggerated stories.

Eventually Caythis got bored and began wondering about his own academy days. Had he been like Emon? Someone who had grown tired of the academy, and had escaped classes and study whenever possible, or had he thrived there?

"Were we at the academy together?" asked Caythis, interrupting a story about Emon beating up the kid who'd stolen his first girlfriend.

"I didn't even want her, that was the funny thing. I just don't like people stealing from me. Know what I mean? If he'd wanted her, he should've asked me. Otherwise he gets an ass beating. Which is exactly what he got."

"I asked if we were at the academy together."

"Oh," said Emon. "Probably. I don't remember you though. I spent as little time there as I could. And I didn't exactly fit into those dumb cliques."

Caythis stared ahead thoughtfully, saying nothing. Emon's stories continued for quite some time, and Caythis was glad for the conversation, even if he was bored by the subject matter. He was surprised at how relaxed and friendly Emon was, and how he freely gave some level of acceptance and trust, commodities Caythis found rare in this world. Ones he himself did not give away easily.

They approached a large hill. Some of the flora had been permanently destroyed by fire. He blinked and saw the place in his mind as it had been five years before. He remembered standing there, at the top, encircled by fire. The silhouetted enforcer facing opposite him. Both with blades drawn . . .

He screeched to a halt and landed the bike.

Emon shot past and was forced to turn around. "What is it?" he demanded.

"This is it," said Caythis, approaching the hill on foot. He began climbing. The top was high enough that a fall would kill anyone who jumped, but, by hiking standards, it was a very unimpressive climb.

Emon, still on his jetbike, roared up next to Caythis. "What are you talking about?"

"I was here. This is where it happened. Don't you see? This is where I fought Antares."

The memory was vivid in his mind, rushing back. He didn't remember how he got here, what led him to this place specifically, but he knew where he was. Could hear the gunfire. Smell the water in the air as the enforcers threw about their magic, mixed with the dominant smell of smoke.

"Seriously?" Emon landed his bike, sounding a great deal more excited than Caythis expected, and followed him. They climbed until they reached the top. They could have easily flown their bikes to the summit in seconds, but something about being on foot made the experience that much more meaningful.

"It was here," said Caythis, stepping out into the center. The top of the summit was surprisingly flat, and the burned remains of what had been a ring of fire could still be seen. He walked around it, moved his hands, remembering some of the blows.

"So this is where the world got rid of Antares . . ." said Emon. "I feel like I'm on holy ground."

"I'm a little surprised you're this interested, to be honest."

"Are you kidding? I love history. Did you know that Antares was here to bait you into a trap? He and his force of rebels were moving around the summit and up that path." He pointed vaguely into the distance. "And he had Rigil set up over there with the rest of his force." He pointed elsewhere. "Rigil was supposed to hit your flank and take you by surprise."

"Yeah, I think I did know that," said Caythis. But he wasn't sure how.

"Of course Rigil betrayed Antares, letting him fall to you. Then Rigil and his force continued north to Citadel, and, well, the rest is history, as they say."

Caythis continued moving within the circle. Trying to recreate the scene in his mind. Hoping it would jog loose a few more memories. He remembered the huge cloud of smoke that had been overhead. How, through the visor, it had seemed bright green. He remembered too the chaos and the violence. And felt regret. Regret that this situation had happened. That it had come to this. That he'd had to stand here, sword in hand, and face his adversary. Someone he'd once cared about.

"So, where were you when you killed him?"

Caythis thought about it. "I don't remember. But it had to have been here. Somewhere."

"Damn, I wish I had my camera. What would be sweet is if someone else was here to take our picture. We could pretend to be fighting. Reenacting the great duel, on the battlefield where it actually happened, with Caythis himself! Oh, that would be so awesome!"

"No, it wouldn't," said Caythis. He tuned Emon out and tried to focus. Hoping to remember something new. But had no luck.

Eventually they hiked back down, collected their bikes, and pressed on. Caythis resisted the urge to look back.

They could see the ruins of the city before long. The salty scent of the ocean was carried in the wind, and it mixed with the old ash. Caythis breathed it in deeply. It was familiar and distinct. Nothing like the polluted air of Silverwind or the cold dryness of Skyhaven. This air was wet and full, but now contained a smoky quality that hadn't been there before.

As they neared the ruins, it was amazing—and all the more tragic—how much there was. A huge area of terrible destruction. A whole city burned to the ground was no exaggeration. Caythis was in solemn awe.

"The Rigilians claim that Antares was the most powerful being to ever live," said Emon. "I never believed them . . . until now." He whistled. "Antares was one badass."

"More like bad person." As he stared at the heaps of ashes and ruins, he remembered how things used to be. Andar had been a colorful, vibrant city with a unique, and loud, culture. Based on the sea's edge, it had always carried the slight scent of fish and a kind of rebellious spirit. There was soul here, and, even in the massive destruction, the city's soul lived on. Though faint.

He could imagine the voices screaming as fires roared and buildings collapsed. Structures toppling on each other, gunfire thumping from street to street, children crying, people running like hell every which way. Desperate to escape the raining firestorm pouring down unjustly upon them. Destruction and terror that truly carried the severity of a god's wrath. Antares had certainly had more power than any mortal should.

As if reading his thoughts, Emon asked. "Why does nature give man such power?"

"Or questions he can't hope to answer . . ." mumbled Caythis.

They continued traveling alongside the ruin, moving around the northeast quarter.

"Necropolis," said Emon.

"Land of the dead," whispered Caythis.

They were silent for some time. Both soaking in the scale of the wreckage.

"Why do you suppose he did it?" asked Caythis. "Why would anyone hurt so many people who had never wronged him?" He had no mercy for Antares, only unflinching hate.

"That is the greatest mystery of all, isn't it? Was Antares a fluke? Was he some kind of freak accident? A random chance? Or was he an agent of evolution? Meant to wipe out the most destructive race off the face of the planet once and for all? Or was he an agent of nature, like a lightning-driven forest fire? Meant to thin out the species to a better balance? Perhaps he was, truly, an agent of some hateful, wrathful god."

Caythis shook his head. He couldn't consider such questions in the face of such destruction. He spoke coldly. "I don't think so. I see only a young man filled with so much hate. And given much more power than anyone should ever have. A bad person. An evil person. And nothing more."

"Maybe," said Emon. "That's the way most people look at it, because nothing else makes sense to them. But I really doubt things are ever that simple."

Eventually they approached the settlement of New Andar. It was about a tenth the scale of the original city and perched on the edge of the destruction near the sea. A haven for fishermen, scavengers, and anyone who wanted to get away from the politics and stress of the more established cities. Small pillars of smoke burned, as the residents cooked on campfires. Their faces were grim and dirty, but tough and resilient. It was truly the most depressing place to live that Caythis could think of, to exist in the shadow of the skeleton. But, because of that, these people had a kind of strength, and spirit, which he greatly admired.

"They're squatters," said Emon. "Some are here because they have no other homes to go to. They are desperate to survive. Others are here to rebuild what was lost. A few ambitious ones are here for profit, trying to unbury lost treasures and artifacts that somehow escaped Antares's wrath. Someday this land might be valuable again, but not today. It's worthless. And what a depressing place to live."

They didn't seem depressed though, oddly enough, despite Emon's assessment and Caythis's prior expectation; these were survivors. Not necessarily happy, but not necessarily sad. They lived, were seemingly industrious with their time, and had families like anywhere else.

"I admire them actually," said Caythis. That sentiment grew the farther into the settlement he went. Each person seemed like a diamond lost in a dune of sand. These were people who chose to live in the very ash heap of hopelessness, and perhaps that required them to have the most hope of all.

"Suit yourself. This place depresses the hell out of me," said Emon.

They passed a small stone archway, barely large enough for two people to pass through abreast. Clearly a tribute to the once-standing mighty stone archway that had been at the southeast gate of Andar. Welcoming the world. Caythis felt a wave of nostalgia as he imagined it. What a sight it had been.

"They say Antares chose to attack Andar because it was a hotbed of political unrest," said Emon. "Kind of like Silverwind today. They say Antares knew he could get support here, that the military was ready to turn against its leaders, and the people were angry with no way of venting. It was a powder keg just waiting to blow. But I'm not sure he was thinking that clearly when he came here for the final time."

"What's your theory?"

"Andar was his home. His birthplace. I think that's what pulled him here."

"But . . . shouldn't that make him less likely to burn it to the ground?"

"Not necessarily. I don't know anything about Antares. But I know, if you have powerful feelings for something, like your home, that doesn't mean all those feelings are a big dollop of fluffy warm butter. Sometimes it's dirty, rotten hell."

They turned a corner, following a narrow strait between two half-collapsed buildings. In Caythis's mind he saw them as skyscrapers. Glittering glass windows coated them from top to bottom. He felt a lurch in his stomach as he recognized the dusty black remains of what had once been his favorite diner. "The Stormy Sea," he said to himself.

Instantly he remembered the tables, the paintings of boats on the novelty-wood walls, lobster traps hanging from the ceilings. And the warm scent of hot butter and the salty, mouth-watering taste of the cook's latest catch from the bay. "I knew this place," he said more soberly than he realized.

"What was it?" asked Emon.

"A haven for Andarian food, the best food in the world."

"Oh." Emon made a disapproving noise. "Andarian food was garbage, good riddance. Guess Antares did the world a favor after all." He laughed darkly but Caythis didn't.

"You didn't laugh," said Emon. "That means you're holding it in. You know I was joking. So why deprive yourself of the chance to laugh? To relax? Life is already hard enough as it is, so take every opportunity you get to laugh some of it off. Throw something back into the wind. I hate it when people think being edgy and sensitive is somehow respectful or proper or something like that. That's just more stress you don't need, so relax. You knew I was joking. Except about the food part. That wasn't a joke. Andarian food really is garbage."

Caythis managed a smirk at Emon's rambling, but he didn't laugh. He was too moved by this place, the awesome tragedy of it, and distracted by several small memories continuing to unlock in his brain.

They reached a cluster of buildings that were mostly standing. The fire that had once scorched them had caused them to collapse in parts so they looked bombed out.

Caythis was drawn to what he knew had once been an enforcer barracks. It had been three stories tall, comfortable but not elegant, a regular dormitory for young enforcer trainees studying abroad. He remembered it vividly, like he'd been stationed here a dozen times. He slowed his bike.

Not far away was an old games hall. He'd spent some time there too, and remembered the billiards tables and the card games. He was never very good at those activities, but he'd spent many lonely afternoons engaged in them. Talking to friends. Complaining about girls or school. He couldn't remember the name of the building, but he could still smell the smoke of the cigar lounge.

Another building stood out. It was the crushed remains of Skylight Tower. A restaurant and resort hotel that had been marked by many young lovers as the most romantic destination in the city and as a supreme lookout point. His fellow students and young enforcers had many escapades there, but no such memories filled Caythis's head. Only the image of staring out in the darkness, looking down on the bright lights of the city, like jewels, and holding someone's hand. Her fingers had been narrow, but warm, and had held his tightly. He took in a deep breath and smiled.

It was stunning, the wave of nostalgia; it overwhelmed him with conflicting emotions. Teasing an appetite he had suppressed, a hunger to know more, to experience more. To remember everything. But these images, mostly happy and precious, were long forgotten and barely retrievable. Stolen by time. Like childhood. Lost forever. Never to live again. And now skeletons barely remained, thanks to Antares who had scorched it all into oblivion. Caythis wondered what memories Antares had had here, wondered how they'd been painful enough to cause him to raze them all. To purge their existence from the world. Caythis almost pitied Antares.

Caythis slowed the bike to a full stop and landed on the ground. He found himself in the most familiar place yet. Compared to the others, this spot made the others simply empty dust.

He stood in the remains of Silvermoon Square. He could see it all around him. The lights. The color. The buildings. He ripped off his helmet and tasted the air without the filter. Every smell was three times stronger. This place was different now, but he remembered how it used to be.

The pleasant atmosphere, the deeply set cobblestone roads, the couples walking closely together with umbrellas over their heads. It was raining this night, in his memory, and the crescent moon was bright over the rooftops. The sound of music filled the air, soft but pleasant; the notes of the piano and some string instruments sang sadly and beautifully, in a language only the heart could understand. Caythis had been young then.

He stepped forward into the building. Barely aware that he was actually stepping through dust and ashes. All he saw was a decorated dance hall. A doorman took his coat and hat when he entered.

Everyone was dressed in such exquisite clothing, formal and breathtaking. Young men and women of all kinds were paired off over the glossy floor, dancing together, glass chandeliers hung above them. In the corner, a trio of musicians played. Not far away, a group of young men were joking together. He felt suddenly distant, alone. Like he was expecting someone who had never arrived. It was only the echo of a feeling, but the emptiness was profound. And then his eyes glimpsed someone else. A stunning yellow dress and brilliant bright hair. She was elegant and alone. Their eyes met, hers blue as sapphires. A wallflower whose beauty surpassed all the others. She flashed the hint of a smile, gleaming pearly teeth. She'd been neglected by most of the boys, because her beauty was so intimidating. But not to him. He drew closer. Wholly compelled to ask her to dance. She'd been a stranger in this memory, a new acquaintance. And yet, somewhere in his present mind, a name tugged at him. He remembered her. She'd been important.

They met and danced. It was a simple dance, and they said few words. But the connection between them was palpable. The musicians played a tune with melancholy beauty. Almost dark, almost tragic. Like a whispered warning, strung together with notes of love that were like binding, unbreakable chains. It was a gorgeous melody. And it ran through his mind clearly until the memory faded, the girl along with it.

He was alone again, standing in the ashen remains of what had once been the great dance hall. He'd met that girl here, and she'd been very important to him. Had she been Miriam?

He was so connected to this spot, he felt a few tears warm his eyes. So many emotions, of all flavors, all stabbing into him at once. He trembled, unsure what to think. A light, steady rain had drenched his hair and was washing over his face, making it a sooty, dirty mess. But he gave it little thought. It was raining, just like in his memories. To him, this place would always include raining.

"Are you all right?" asked Emon.

"I was here," said Caythis emphatically. Clutching to his past with a new grip. It felt closer than ever. "I was here!" He repeated, realizing how precious it was, to have found these few broken pieces. The void of what he'd lost stung him like a wound that had reopened. It wasn't fair. He deserved to know everything!

"Of course you were," said Emon casually. "This was the best spot to get hooked up. You'd have to be a complete loser to not have memories here."

Caythis knew Emon couldn't understand. It had been infinitely more than that. Emon couldn't see what Caythis saw in his mind, what he felt deep inside his core. Even he could barely understand what it meant. But his connection to these memories was undeniable. And, as he looked ahead, he saw the remains of a narrow lane that led to what, once upon a time, had been elegant urban estates not far away. He saw the girl in his mind again; she was a bit older. They were walking that road together. Laughing. Her smile took away his breath, even just the memory of it. He felt weak. And yet absolutely compelled to follow this lane. To unbury whatever other memories he could. It was the most important thing to him, and it was a journey he wanted to take alone.

"You go ahead, Emon," said Caythis.

"Are you kidding me? You're bailing on this meeting too?"

"I don't know how much use I would be anyway. Besides, I'm too distracted. For the first time I am remembering my past. You have no idea how much I've wanted this." He wished he knew better words to communicate the avalanche of emotions building inside him. "I have to see where it leads me."

Emon smiled. It was a quirky, toothy smile. "It's fine. I understand. Meetings are boring as hell. Don't worry. I'll take care of it."

"It isn't that."

"Of course not." He chuckled. "If you find her, tell her hi for me." He mounted his bike and took off.

Clearly thinking Caythis was here to hook up with an old girlfriend or something. But no, he was here for a much more important purpose. He wanted to reconnect with himself. To recover his identity. Armed with that, knowing what made Caythis Caythis, he'd be much more dangerous to Rigil. Undistracted and purely focused.

When the whine of Emon's jetbike was far away, Caythis continued down the path. Seeking no cover from the rain. He held out his arms, welcoming it, letting it drench him. And closed his eyes for a moment, just to see the ghosts dancing in his memory one last time, then he continued on. Following the lane of memories just ahead.
Chapter 21

There she was, just like he'd expected.

Her hair was wet and pulled back, and her clothes were worn and dirty. The bright redness in her cheeks had faded—the past few years hadn't been kind—and she had radiation scars on her face and arms. But, somehow, she was still beautiful. And kept a certain dignity despite her surroundings of soot and dirt. She was digging with her hands through a pile of debris. A young child stood at her side, looking no more than six years old. He shared her dark blue eyes which grew wide when he spotted Caythis approaching. The boy tugged the woman's pant leg. She looked up curiously.

Caythis absorbed every detail. This had been her house once. With ornately decorated walls, eclectic furnishings, exquisite antiques in every room. He had been here several times but had never liked it. Had always preferred taking her away from here. And now here she was, a ghost from his past, standing before him, flesh and blood. The missing piece . . . He almost believed she was an illusion.

"Ariana?" he asked weakly; the name came to him easily.

The woman's eyes perked up at the sound of her name, but her brow furrowed ever-so-slightly. "Yes? Do I know you?"

He came closer. "I was going to ask you the same question." He smiled warmly, ignoring the cold rain, believing that now, finally, everything would come back to him.

"Your voice sounds familiar," she said.

"I'm Caythis Ceteris." He came closer, brushing his wet hair from his face, and their eyes locked. "Do you remember me?"

Ariana's face blanched, turning ghostly white. Panic sharpened her eyes, and she gasped. Taking two steps back. Shaking her head. "It can't be," she said in a hoarse, hostile whisper. "Tell me it isn't true. You died."

Not quite the reaction he'd expected. "I'm alive. I thought that would make you happy."

"Murderer!" she shrieked and hurled the vase in her hands. It shattered against his armor. She grabbed her child's arm and retreated several steps until her back was pressed against a wall.

What the hell?

"Please, calm down," he said gingerly, stopping his advance. He raised his hands in a friendly gesture. All the while, his mind raced to understand what was happening.

"You do not speak to me," she said. "How dare you come here. After what you did to Merak . . ."

That name rang loudly in his head. It was extremely familiar. And carried a mixture of emotions, most of them bitter.

Only then did he spot the simple silver ring on her finger, and he was swept away into memory.

He saw this place from years before. It was draped in shadow. He was here, glowing sword in his hand, helmet pulled tight over his face. He was searching for something or someone. And inside him . . . an agony burned ferociously. With menace. Fires deep inside him begged to be released, calling to him through his deep connection to magic. A sense of betrayal stabbed through his heart. A thirst for vindication possessed him.

And he saw her, cowering in the corner, weeping and screaming. She was afraid of him and . . . that shattered his heart—crushing that last tiny fragment of hope he'd held onto. He had no desire to hurt her. Never had. Never could—despite the pain she'd inflicted upon him. He wasn't here for justice or revenge. Only to apologize. To show regret for what he'd done.

But he could not find the words, and never had a chance to explain because something came at him from the shadows. He turned to see the sweeping stroke of a burning blade aimed to carve him in two. He parried. The style was familiar, as was the blue armor of his enemy. Merak. Once his best friend. Now trying to kill him—not understanding why he'd come.

Caythis fought back ferociously, releasing all his hate and pent-up anger, venting all the pain he felt because of Merak's betrayal. He lost control. And, in an instant, had ended his former friend. Merak slumped to the ground. Having believed he was defending his small family. And failed.

Ariana exploded with grief. Caythis had loved her. And now he'd made her a widower. And slain a man who was a much greater person than Caythis was.

In that moment he broke. An infinite storm of negative emotions flared up, torching him, drowning him, consuming the deepest, most desperate places in his soul. It was a rushing wind of regret. Frustration. Sorrow. And, most of all, wrath. He felt pressure inside, crushing him from the inside out, forces no one could possibly understand or hope to bear.

Ariana was at Merak's side then. Not caring about the radiation pouring into her. She stroked his face as tears flowed from her ruby-red eyes. Then she looked up. Met his gaze. Showed him her heartbreak and disbelief, the very feelings he'd carried and now had cast upon her. There were words between them, but they were lost. More like a rush of wind, only the emotions and distress were clear. The overwhelming, mind-bending feelings that shattered both rhyme and reason. He couldn't breathe for a moment, choked with emotion and energy. And a feeling swallowed him. Desperation to survive. To escape. Despite everything. Despite his self-loathing. He looked at her one last time. Felt something inside him twist with anguish and die forever.

The memory faded and he stood there, in the soot and ash, looking upon this woman he'd once loved. Remembering how he'd slain her husband right before her eyes. And he couldn't believe it. He felt weak.

Anger and fear split her face, and her eyes were bright with menace and hate. He understood her reaction now. And regretted coming.

"How dare you?" Ariana whispered hatefully, her voice quivering, struggling to spit out the words. "How dare you profane that honorable name!" She gained volume and confidence. "Caythis was a good man. The only good Ceteris."

"What?"

"You're not Caythis, you evil bastard. You're Antares!"

The accusation should have been ridiculous. He should have laughed at her. It was insane. But something inside him clicked. And he remembered. He remembered everything. All that had happened in his distant past came rushing back, a horrible torrent of images and feelings that shook him forcefully.

And he knew who he was. Antares Ceteris. Antares of Andar. Antares the Destroyer. The lost, broken soul who had inflicted so much pain upon the world.

The reality was crippling. And seeing Ariana here, who he'd once claimed to love with all his heart and soul, standing before him, fatherless child at her side, in the ashes of her own home—the very place where he'd made her a widow, it was far too much to bear.

"I am so sorry," he said. The words came out softly, sincerely. But infinitely inadequate.

She looked at him with so much pain. He couldn't meet her gaze. She took her son by the arm and ran.

Leaving him alone.

He felt the weight of the world land upon his shoulders, extinguishing his spirit. He crashed to his knees and wept. Tears of shock and rage filled his eyes as he scooped up a handful of ashes, crushing them mercilessly in his hands.

"What have I done?" he asked over and over, in broken whispers, as the consequences of his tormented youth stared at him from all directions. How could his mistakes spread so far and affect so many? What sick fate had given him so much power and so little wisdom to guide it?

He could feel the burning in his eyes, drips rolling down his face. And he stayed there for a very long time, head bowed, the wind cold against his skin. The rain continued to pour. He couldn't move or think, only feel—drowned in an ocean of truth, the sharpest blade of all.

Eventually he pulled himself to his feet and felt compelled to look up at the sky. It was ominous and gray, full of rain. Exactly as it had been on that night. He raised his left hand, palm flat to the sky. Felt the echo of what it had been like. The tortured outcry he'd made. Swollen with hate and fear. Exploding with emotions he couldn't grapple with. Wishing he'd never been born. Then, in his mind's eye, he remembered the white stone ring glowing on his middle finger.

The inferno had poured from his hand in a volume that surpassed even his imagination. Had rained down an endless blizzard of terrible fire in all directions, arcing over the whole city. Farther than his eyes had been able to see. The pain in his hand had been immense, almost overwhelming, yet he'd relished it. For several minutes the flow had refused to stop—his surging emotions fueling it. Something else had been there too, under everything. Despair. He'd given up. His life had ceased mattering.

He had been fully taken by an overpowering desire to shake the foundations of the world. The world that'd held him prisoner. The same one that had slapped him with injustice, tragedy, failure, and the imperative to pursue happiness that was always out of reach.

It'd racked him, had consumed him, and he'd snapped. His lonely soul had ripped to countless pieces, unleashing a power never before seen. A power he hadn't known he had carried. It had been unforgiving and unstoppable. Fueled mostly by hate. Hate toward the world, hate toward his enemies, hate toward his friends—who'd betrayed him—and, most of all, hate toward himself. It had piled up and tortured him every single day. Now the world shared his grief.

He stared up at the present sky. No fire poured from his hand today. And no ring glowed from his finger. But he was every bit as broken as he had been then. Forced to make sense of feelings that, despite being mere echoes of that day, were still powerful.

He could smell the ash. Taste it in his mouth. It stung his wet eyes.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered again.

He wiped his eyes and nose, and stormed into the downpour, staggering, almost slipping as he went. At first, he didn't care where he was going, just wanted to get away. To escape. To be alone forever. But all around him, small vivid memories jumped out from the darkness, plaguing him, torturing him, like monsters around every corner. He tried to close his mind, to force them away, but one overpowered him completely.

He was in the road, the lightly trafficked lane that had once connected the enforcer barracks to the very near dance hall where he'd met Ariana. The two were alone, but distant, and several feet apart. She stood on the top of the stairs, and he looked up from the bottom. His left hand clutched a crumpled letter, but it wasn't from her. And the message it contained shook him deeply. He was afraid, more than ever, and that was why he'd sought her out.

And she'd come.

He stared into her eyes. They were sore, a look of conflict in them. But her voice was serene as she denied his last, most desperate plea to take him back. He didn't recall all of what she'd said, or what his own mouth had fumbled out in protest, but her last words echoed in his mind with absolute clarity.

"I'm sorry, but I love Merak with all my heart. And he loves me. You and I don't work. I know that now. I believe I've always known that."

He'd been crushed by those words. His eyes caught the glint of a new silver ring on the same delicate finger where his used to be. She was his last connection to the world he had grown up in, the reality he understood. Now everything was upside down. All that had been certain was erased.

He felt betrayed, wanted to escape, to run, anything to get away and to never be seen again. The memory dissipated as the winds changed, and he stood there frozen in the burned ruins all around.

"It's not possible!" he said to the emptiness.

He didn't know what he wanted anymore. And wished he'd never been born. Part of him begged to lie down and die. But there were questions he couldn't answer, questions that couldn't be ignored. And they tugged at him, propelling him. He closed his eyes, and thoughts of Emon and the assault were pushed far away.

How had he gotten here? Why had the whole world deceived him? Made him believe he was a man who he wasn't? He had to know the complete truth.

"I'm truly sorry," he whispered to the wind one final time. Listening to it moan.

Then Antares turned around and swept away.
Chapter 22

In many ways, this was where it'd all begun.

He climbed off his jetbike and looked up. It was dark now, and the stars shone with brilliance like nowhere else in the world. This place was lost inside the emptiest region of no-man's-land. A secret place of deep, ancient magic. Few spoke of it. But it had been here that his life had changed forever.

The night was still, and crickets chirped from all around. He searched among the caves and eventually found the one with the enforcer's seal. It was overrun with cobwebs and other signs of inactivity; he doubted it had been visited in years. He brushed aside the cobwebs and went in deeper.

Using light from his helmet, he found the thin tunnel that took him to the door; it had no handle. He fumbled in the darkness for the pressure plates and some stones to weight them with. A simple puzzle that'd taken him far too long to solve the last time he'd come.

Inside there would be no light. No matter what spectrum he switched his visor to, or how brightly he lit his helmet's torch, he could see nothing. It was a place clouded by magical darkness so, out of necessity, everyone who ventured inside was risking his life. Only hoping he could find his way out. Antares removed his helmet and tossed it aside before entering.

He felt along the wall, trying to remember his way. His fingers traced runes and symbols whose meaning were not even known to the academy masters. This was the last truly magical place in the world, and so it had been devoted to the most sacred of all rituals. The enforcer's Crucible.

Eventually he let go of the wall and stepped boldly into the darkness. It scared him. The feeling that he was letting go of safety and drifting out into the depths of a black ocean. Helpless. Asking to be drowned. It carried a feeling of entrapment, and he knew that, should he become lost, no one would ever find him.

He encountered one of the pillars. It glowed once he was within a few feet of it. Its light did not penetrate far, so he didn't know where the next pillar was, but it was still a welcome sight. Even if it seemed too bright to his eyes.

There was a small outcropping on which sat a dish of murky silver liquid. He looked down into it, almost afraid of what he'd see. Instead of his reflection, the liquid stirred and formed the shape of a symbol. Last time it had been the symbol of death, which had dampened his excitement to continue the trial. This time it formed the rune of the undying light. He'd never seen it before, except in texts, and wasn't sure what it meant. Like last time, he was forced to continue on without understanding the clue the pillar had given him.

Again he braved the blackness. Wandering helplessly. Groping for something, anything, to give him bearings. The longer he wandered without finding another pillar, the more panic he felt. It took discipline to control his fear.

A brilliant light scorched his eyes. He'd found another pillar. He squinted and approached. This time, as he leaned over the dish and watched the silver liquid shift, it showed him his reflection. But it wasn't how he looked today. It was his face as a youth, more of a boy than a man. Bright blue eyes were curious and determined. The face he'd worn last time he'd been here. At that time, when he'd found this pillar, it had shown him the face of an anguished man. The face he wore today.

He was moved by the sight of his younger self. The innocence in his eyes. If only he could go back to that time, or tell himself to take a different path, how much better life would be.

The image vanished, and the silvery liquid turned black. He didn't understand the clue any better than he had the last time he'd been here, so he continued on impulse, gritting his teeth as he took another leap of faith into the blackness. Lost again. Wandering for what felt like hours until he found the third pillar. This one revealed the path to the door, a great black gate that blended into the carved walls like a chameleon. He looked into the final dish.

The silver liquid swirled and seemed to take a long time to settle. He remembered last time, when, to his horror, the symbol of death had made a second appearance. But this time, something happened that shouldn't have been possible. The liquid kept changing shape, alternating between three different symbols. As if unable to decide.

At first, he saw the symbol of Life, then the symbol of Death, which stayed in place for a while before transforming into the symbol of Truth. This pattern repeated without change for some time before settling into black. The last symbol to form clearly was Truth.

It was a fascinating thing to witness but ultimately told him nothing. He turned away and, guided by the pillar's light, approached the revealed door. His footsteps walked along what had always been called Destiny's Path leading to the Serenity Gate. When he reached it, he placed both palms flat upon it, just like last time, and waited. The silence seemed to stretch on forever.

Eventually a tiny breeze brushed him as the magical winds moaned. He listened carefully; under the moaning, a message was being repeated.

"What seek you?" the wind asked. The same question it'd asked him before.

"To enter," he said.

It was a true answer, but not the truest, and the gate did not budge. He frowned and thought hard to himself. It was not possible to lie to the gate and surprisingly difficult to be completely honest with himself. As much as he wanted to.

"Truth," he said. Again the gate refused to open.

He searched his heart and felt the weight of his guilt crush him. "Penance," he said. "Restitution." No reaction from the gate. He searched himself even deeper, scouring for things that he was passionate about, thoughts that shocked him with emotion. "The past," he said, among a dozen other things.

As simple at the gate's question was, this process could take a very long time, perhaps forever. And, last time he'd come, it'd taken several hours before the gate moved. His answer at that time had been "Respect." He tried it again but to no avail.

He sighed in frustration and let his mind relax. His concerns and fears slipped away. He found a measure of harmony as he thought of the stars outside, stabbing through a black tapestry, eternally silent and constant.

Finally his lips parted and formed the word "Forgiveness." It was barely a whisper, but the gate understood it and made way.

He heard water rushing and could smell wet, stale air. He entered this new room, a cavern. The walls dripped and were carved out like a huge imperfect dome. The ground at his feet was a hard glassy rock surface full of tiny holes and twists. He stepped across, to the cliff's edge, and peered down at the black lagoon a hundred feet below. Jagged rocks stabbed up through the water, breaking the surface like spears. He remembered this place vividly, and the same paralyzing fear that gripped him then returned.

Feeling a bit dizzy, he took half a step back. Trying not to think of how easily he could fall into the eerie blackness. Was it shallow? Was it deep? Could he miss the rocks? Would he ever find a way out if he survived the plunge? These were questions that had stormed his mind then, those years ago, when he'd stared for eternity at the challenge before him, trying to think of another way, to cheat, to keep the victory but avoid the dive.

There hadn't been one. And, in the end, he had failed by refusing to try. He'd left the woman tied up below. Perhaps she'd been alive and real, perhaps she was long dead, or perhaps she'd been an illusion. He would never know. But that moment here, that refusal, had special meaning to him. Because it marked the beginning of the end.

Until that initial failure, he'd been the envy of every other student at the academy. The prodigy. His skill with magic came so easily and naturally. He'd been named champion-elect, the youngest ever. Of course he would succeed in his Crucible, which he'd taken a year earlier than most—practically every graduating enforcer succeeded. And he was the best. Sure, everyone's challenges were unique, but why should he fail when others, much weaker than him, succeeded? His failure was a possibility that had entered no one's mind, least of all his own, until it became reality.

His eyes combed the waters as the potent memory flowed richly in his mind. And he wondered if, given the same challenge, he could jump today. If he had it within himself to throw his life into the hands of fate for someone else.

He didn't know the answer, and tonight nobody was down below waiting to be rescued. Only the eerie black water waited to greet anyone who took the bone-chilling plunge. He stared at it, as if challenging it.

Then, after a long time, and much introspection, he turned away from the cliff's edge.

***

The pale moon was full, and it lit the way. His bike climbed the shadowy peak to the center of Skyhaven. The upper plateau glowed like the top of a candle with all its lights.

Antares wanted to remain under the radar. He wasn't here for the government or the war, and he didn't care about the state of the city right now. He was here for only one thing, the academy.

Ever since he'd left the magical cave, he couldn't resist following the path of memories that'd led him to this place. All of his most powerful memories, in some way, were connected to this tall, mystical tower. With all of its secrets and darkness, it was the link. And he knew he had to see it again for himself, with his eyes, to achieve closure.

He brought the bike to a slower speed as he entered the top of the city. It hummed quietly, gliding along the main road that trailed the south end. The city was no more familiar than it'd felt before, but now he realized why. New buildings had been built, and old ones replaced. New colors and personality had altered the ancient sophistication that had gripped the Skyhaven atmosphere. That and, when he'd lived here, most of his time had been spent within the confines of the academy grounds.

Not many people were out this late. Inevitably he attracted a few curious glances, but no one bothered him. He took the east road which, though longer, allowed him to stay on his jetbike. It wound around the outskirts of the plateau and took him to the edge of the academy grounds. Briefly he was sure he was being followed, but, when he checked behind him, he didn't see anyone.

He remembered the wrought-iron gate, how it had looked many years ago. It'd stood polished and open as if welcoming the world.

In his mind's eyes he saw Sierra standing next to it. Gazing up as it loomed over them both. She looked very much like he did, though softer and more angular. She was his fraternal twin, and her tiny hands held a worn-out bag filled with her few meager possessions. There was a sad but peaceful expression on her face.

She was going away.

They were forcing her to leave the academy for lack of magic talent. It stung to relive the experience of seeing her go. It'd happened at the end of his first year, and, for reasons he did not accept at the time, she'd had to leave. They'd never been apart before. Had always been together, even in his earliest memories at the orphanage. They'd looked to each other for strength and friendship. So life without her didn't make sense.

She gave him a gentle smile and a wave. "Have fun," his memory of her said. He recalled running to her, throwing his arms around her, begging her to stay. But it hadn't been her choice.

"Sierra," a deep voice said. "We're going to be late." It was one of the masters, so his words were law.

She stiffened and looked up.

The master took her bag and reached for her hand. "Come on, time to go."

"Not yet," she said and ran to the hedge and picked a simple blue flower. She gave it to Antares who was so devastated. "Here." She smiled sweetly. "Be brave."

He watched her go, waving from behind the gate. And then she was gone. The memory fading with her.

Now the gate was rusted and locked. Instead of trying to force it, he climbed over the fence. The grounds were the worst he'd ever seen them. Totally neglected. The grass was long; weeds were everywhere, yet among the chaos was a simple blue flower. He picked it.

He remembered putting Sierra's flower on his stand in his dormitory after she'd gone. He'd kept it there for days and had meant to keep it forever, or until he could see her again, but another boy had stolen it and tore it up. He never found out who it was.

Now he held a flower just like it in his hand. Like clutching a memory. He turned it, looking at it. Reliving a few choice moments. Then he closed his eyes and let go. Moving on.

The path to the tower was broken and overtaken with weeds, passing an old pavilion. He stopped there and stood under its white roof. Spread his hands across the splintery wooden surface of a table. Recalled sitting here waiting, excited and eager, as a brand-new student. He watched the other children come through the gate. They were so small and young, just like he was, and they intimidated him. They each had dreams and high expectations, and none of them knew the world that awaited them inside this dark tower.

He was already the exception and would never fit in. Partially because he'd never had a family or friend before, other than Sierra. But mostly because he'd already summoned a tiny spark of magic. All by himself. Without anyone teaching him how.

The students shuffled closer, being led by one of the masters. Some were being hushed. There was a lot of laughter and playful pushing. How quickly they all seemed to be making friends. He was glad to have Sierra with him this first day. Now that they'd left the orphanage behind, things could only get better. He looked at her sitting next to him, and she smiled. New places were supposed to be scary, but, when the twins were together, nothing could frighten them.

A blond boy yelled to get everyone's attention. He had several scratches, probably from climbing a tree and falling, but he was both confident and independent. He announced to everyone that he could do magic already. And to prove it, he formed a few drops of water on his palm and let them fall to the ground. He was squinting with pain, but making a great show of being tough enough to take it.

Everyone cheered, except Antares who frowned, realizing he wasn't as unique as he'd thought.

The others clustered around the blond boy with cries of "Again! Again!"

But Antares kept his distance.

Shaking away the memory, he left the pavilion and returned to the overrun path. In the courtyard, there had once been gardens on either side. Now the mulch was old, and overflowing with junk plants and too many insects—it was eerie seeing it this way. Once it had been extraordinarily beautiful, and students used to come here between classes. Some of the older students would read, but the younger ones would run and play.

He had many memories here, and they spanned several years. He thought of one of the oldest.

He was a young initiate. Classes were over for the day, and he was outside running, his fingers cocked like a handgun. He ran up to other children yelling, "Bang, bang, you're dead." Some of them pretended to fight back—insisting they were not dead; he was the one who was dead—but the girls were no fun. They would tell him to go away or else ignore him. He was halfway into a battle with another boy when he spotted Sierra out of the corner of his eye. She wasn't with the other girls; she was with Merak, the blond boy who could do magic already.

Antares looked at them. He didn't like Merak; they always competed at everything. Merak made it hard to be the best. Now Antares watched his rival push Sierra and pull her hair, really hard. She started to cry. That was all it took.

Antares bolted over and knocked Merak to the ground without warning. Antares felt so much anger, it fueled him as he punched and kicked.

Merak fought back and tried to wiggle away; the other children gathered around and chanted.

Merak was slippery and hard to keep pinned, but Antares held him down. And while Merak's arms flailed about madly, Antares thought about his punches, tried to aim them. Wanted them to hurt. His tiny fists slammed down repeatedly as Merak squealed like a girl.

One voice pierced the noise. "Don't hurt him," said Sierra.

But Antares couldn't stop, he just kept railing on Merak, making him bleed. A second later, a firm hand ripped Antares from the ground and held his arms back. Another master caught Merak, who jumped up, fists curled. He had a black eye and a bleeding nose, and one of his teeth was missing, but he made a big show about wanting to keep fighting.

In his eyes, though, Antares saw Merak's submission. They were filled with tears. Both Antares and Merak were dragged away for punishment, and Antares never forgot that look in Merak's eyes.

It had all happened about here. Antares stared at the spot in the moonlight. His eyes darted from where Sierra had stood to the place he and Merak had tangled. He shook his head. For some reason, after their fight, he and Merak respected each other. They even became best friends.

His eyes darted to one of the windows of the tower. The dormitory of the fourth-year students. Older boys. They had thrown eggs out that window at Antares and Merak, and the rest of their class. He recalled sneaking into their room and vandalizing it. He and Merak had pulled mattresses onto the floor, overturned chairs, soaked their homework in water, and—most pointedly of all—smeared eggs all over so they'd know who'd done it. And they could never tattletale without admitting they'd thrown eggs in the first place.

It didn't matter to Antares and Merak that they'd declared war on older students; together they felt unstoppable. Invincible. And, now that Antares thought back on it, there had been another person with them. A third quieter member of the gang. Rigil. The shy white-haired boy. The silent outcast. Their friend because nobody else would take him. He was the slowest at magic and never seemed happy, but he tagged along and cooperated with all of their schemes and pranks.

How young and stupid we were . . .

He let go of the memory and continued along the path until it touched the edge of a small woods. Tucked away, in the corner of the courtyard, was a thicket of trees surrounding a little stream. It had dried up now, but he could still hear it flowing in his memory. A short fence used to exist along the side of the woods, meant to keep some of the unwanted fauna out of the courtyard. He was sitting there again, in his mind, side by side with Ariana. Their hands clasped together. It was so blissful. She'd come to visit him here and had brightened everything.

She had cousins in this city and was allowed by her parents to stay with her aunt and uncle to attend school in Skyhaven. She'd done it for Antares; he knew that. And he had been so certain that they would be together forever. Had believed that, ever since his first glimpse of her that fateful night at the dance hall. Life without her seemed empty. He lived for her.

On this occasion they were talking about everything—the weather, the future, what they wanted from life—when suddenly something hard smacked Antares in the back of the head. He yelped and gingerly uncurled himself from Ariana, turning just in time to catch another pebble in the chin.

He lit his hand afire for a second, as a warning, and stormed into the woods—where he found his attacker standing next to the tree where he'd carved Antares + Ariana Forever.

Merak stood smiling, another pebble in his hand.

"Oh, now you're going to get it," said Antares. But another pair of arms seized him around his chest, and Merak rushed him, grabbed his legs. Antares stiffened and wrestled viciously to break free while they dragged him toward the stream. Just as he was sure they would throw him in, they let go and began laughing.

"You should have seen the look on your face, lover boy," said Merak, his eyes watering.

Rigil too was getting a kick out of this prank.

"Is that so?" Antares snapped a branch off the nearest tree and swatted Merak with it. Before long they all were fighting with sticks and laughing. They practiced some of the techniques they'd learned in school, but in no time Antares and Merak had to join forces to keep Rigil at bay. They'd been among the top of their class, but somehow Rigil's sword mastery had far exceeded theirs and everyone else's. Antares and Merak were forced to surrender after taking several scratches and bruises.

"We give up already," said Merak, barely able to speak around his own laughter.

Rigil looked pleased with himself.

"You boys never grow up."

They turned to see Ariana. She was shaking her head and pretending to be annoyed, but Antares knew better. The hint of a smile on her curled lips and the dancing in her eyes confirmed that she'd been in on this birthday surprise all along.

Antares ran to her and, without warning, lifted her off the ground, spinning once. She laughed, and he set her down gently. "Why would I ever want to grow up?" He looked into her sparkling eyes. "When I can stay young with you forever."

Seeing Ariana's smile again, its warmth, youth, and energy all focused on him—It was a very pleasant memory, and it made him wonder, not for the first time, what might have been.

That birthday, on that warm afternoon, had been the last time he and Ariana had seen each other without some kind of awkwardness or tension between them.

His mind returned to the desolate present day, and he looked at the overrun woods; they were spooky now. He found the spot where he'd carved their names. They'd been crossed out since. A thick X had been cut into the tree. How fitting. He sighed, kicking the dirt.

It was a warm memory, but distant. Like reaching out for happiness but being blocked by the invisible, impenetrable glass of time.

He and Ariana had grown apart after that. No, he realized, he'd been the one who'd grown apart. He'd chosen to dive into his studies, and, as the masters gave him more and more attention, he gave her less and less. He'd become obsessed with fulfilling everyone's expectations. All that had been on his mind in those days were the upcoming trials—especially the Crucible. So he rarely made time for Ariana.

He was at the paramount of his training, the defining moment where the young champion-elect would get offers from all four Enforcer Combines. High positions, captaincy, maybe even the role of a junior overseer. He would have it all. And some sad part of him was convinced he was doing it for her. Believed that this was what Ariana wanted. That she liked him because of his success, not in spite of it.

It had been his first and last thought every day. And once nothing else mattered, he lost everything.

He recalled too easily how many times he hadn't put her first, hadn't listened to her, had avoided telling her the whole truth, or hadn't confided in her. He even forgot dinners together, walks in the woods, had stopped making light conversation, and wouldn't set aside time every day just to be with her. Those things had been trivial to him, but they added up over time. Forgetting to do all of those little things had seemed so insignificant, yet had ended up as one of the greatest mistakes of his life.

Too late for regrets now. He looked away from the carving and left the woods. He reached the base of the old tower and climbed the short staircase leading to the door. As he conquered it one step at a time, he felt a splash of anguish course through him. The last time he'd ascended these stairs, it was with a sword in his hand and Rigil at his side. Allowing absolutely nothing to get in their way.

This night, he was surprised to find it unlocked. He pulled the metal handle, and the door creaked open, letting the moonlight spill silver into the murky blackness. He slipped inside.

A dark, deathly chill crept along his spine as he remembered why he and Rigil had come here together, for what was meant to be the last time. And his eyes stung all over again with the tears which he just couldn't cry. Sierra had been the reason he led Rigil with weapons drawn. He recalled marching across this marble floor, ignoring the glances of confusion from his peers. He shoved people out of the way. Motivated by a single overarching purpose.

Tonight the tower, much like the grounds, was unkempt and abandoned. It hadn't been in use since that fateful night when he'd razed Andar. He stared into the ominous darkness and lit his hand ablaze, using it as a torch. As he walked farther inside, he remembered it as it used to be.

Young initiates walked up and down the staircase to get to their studies or dormitories. The older students wandered the main hall, studying out of ancient books. All of them carried the fear that they'd be punished for doing, for not doing, due to the masters' fleeting whims. It silenced their joy and shackled their free spirits.

Antares once believed he loved this place. But now, as the images of fear and frustration came back, and the faces of his fellow students seemed to pass him like spirits in the darkness, he realized how bitter his academy years had been. And that too had made it easy for him to do what he'd chosen to do, that last time he'd come.

He arrived outside a plain brown door, which he pushed open. There were no windows inside; it was simply another room. One of a dozen he'd passed. But this one was different. The etched stone above the doorway read Master Quintus. And the image of a tall man with long brown hair and a dark blue cloak came to mind. His gray beard was well kept, and his eyes seemed wise and infallible.

This man had taken Antares as a young apprentice and had taught him the crafts of magic, swordsmanship, and other scholarly disciplines. He'd shown Antares all four cities of the world, taught him the importance of culture and philosophy, and Antares had idolized him. Admired him with an enthusiasm that was even stronger than his fear of punishment. And, for a brief moment of his youth, his greatest aspiration was to become a master. Exactly like Master Quintus. Be everything he was.

How distant those thoughts had been the last time he'd come, when he'd stormed into this office unannounced and uninvited. Throwing the door aside, practically ripping it from its hinges. Antares recalled marching up to Master Quintus, hate in his eyes as he thought of what his old mentor had done.

He blinked back to the present and stepped into the black, dusty office. It was filled with shadows because of his firelight but was empty. The bare walls were charred black, and, like an echo, he remembered torching them that way.

Saw again Quintus's strange yellow eyes as Antares threw him into the wall. Heard the crunch of bone. Antares screamed at him with hate for what he'd done. Demanded to know if this place, his office, had been where he'd done the deed. It took everything not to let his imagination run wild. He didn't want to think of how it had been when Master Quintus had taken Sierra against her will.

I know it was you! Antares had yelled down at him. And there wasn't a doubt. Quintus had always had eyes for Sierra, and had allowed her to return to the academy and work, despite having been expelled many years before. Antares had been grateful then and had no idea what Quintus's true motives had been. Sierra had come, just as Antares had requested. Had he never had the idea, she never would have been here. Never would have become a victim. So, in some strange way, Antares blamed himself. Had it not been for him, this would never have happened, and she would still be alive. It was this guilty feeling, mixed with his furious wrath, that'd guided his next actions.

He recalled blasting the room with fire. Drowning it with flames. Scorching it to its barest stone. Torching everything inside it. Master Quintus screamed in agony and died, leaving behind less than a skeleton. Even after Quintus had expired, Antares continued roasting the room for several more seconds, his mind racing as he thought of how, to hide the deed, Quintus had killed Sierra. Had strangled her to death.

She'd been buried in a closed casket before Antares could return for the services, and Skyhaven's police had chosen not to investigate the murder. They didn't pursue the case because the prime suspect was an academy master. His reputation, and that of the enforcers, and the academy—around which the entire city had been based—needed to be protected. But Antares didn't care about that. All he knew was that his first, greatest, and most valuable connection to the world had been tortured, killed, and cast aside. It gave him more hate than he could have imagined; it was boundless, untempered, and had no limit.

When his fire ceased, he rejoined Rigil in the hall. Believing that to be the end of it. His sister had been avenged, and some small, inadequate measure of justice—the justice of a brother—had been fulfilled.

He remembered the masters swooping in. Descending on them. Pouring out from their offices, quarters, and other rooms. Closing in on him and Rigil. Swords lit bright, magic flowing from their palms. Determined to strike Antares down for murdering Quintus. And the masters feared for their own lives.

Antares and Rigil stood against them. Not forgetting all the torture and agony the masters had heaped upon others. Not forgiving them for their other dark deeds and closeted skeletons. And not willing to die in this place.

Antares's magic, which was unmatched, bathed the tower in fire. And Rigil's brilliant swordsmanship held even the best masters at bay. It was pure and total chaos. But even together they couldn't have hoped to prevail. Not alone.

Other students joined the fray. Unleashed their own hate upon the masters who'd tormented and mistreated them. Who'd punished them in cruel ways for minor infractions. The masters who'd forced upon them an atmosphere of terror and unquestioning submission. They lashed back, together, and the masters began to fall.

Then Orion came. And many of the students who'd joined in had now cowered back, afraid for their lives. Before them was one of the strongest masters, and believed to be the greatest swordsman who'd ever lived. He cleaved through some of the students, even ones who hadn't taken part in the fight, and ordered the rest to stand down and accept punishment.

Antares refused but it had been Rigil who'd stepped forward and answered Orion's challenge.

Antares feared for Rigil. Believing that once he fell—and he was certain to—Orion would kill the rest of them. And Antares could not scorch Orion to death, because Orion, like Antares, was impervious to fire.

Rigil and Orion crossed blades, clashing with a speed and commitment never before seen. And, to everyone's surprise, the battle was over within seconds. Orion's helmet rolled down the hall, his head inside it. Rigil stood triumphant, sword raised. The students flocked to him, like a rallying cry, and threw their blades and magics against the masters with increased vigor.

The masters tried to escape, but most never made it outside. They were thrown into walls with magic, drowned, burned, and cut into pieces by dozens and dozens of swords.

The violent, brutal images came back with perfect clarity. The kind of mental echoes that would give even the bravest war veteran horrible nightmares years after combat. And for Antares, being in this place again, everything was so potent and palpable, even the deaths seemed to come alive. The same feelings he'd felt then poured through him now, and the terrible sounds bounced off the walls like a distant, bloodcurdling scream.

He continued on, walking through this old, tortured tower. Letting the memories flow inside him unrestrained. He reached another door and pushed it open.

It was the remnants of what had once been the disciplinarium. A torture chamber with all kinds of sickly creative means of breaking one's spirit, body, and identity. There had been small cages here, just large enough for students to be hunched in, hanging from the ceiling. The nearest wall held a rack; above it were steel cuffs. Antares himself had been left hanging there overnight once, for accidentally tripping another student.

Most of the torture devices were missing. Various cutting and prodding tools, an electric shocking device, and perhaps most notorious of all, the post and stake for picket torture.

Students had died at the academy; he was sure many of those deaths had been torture related. He had been fortunate, once he had been apprenticed to Quintus, that his master never allowed him to be tortured again.

That protection wasn't extended to others. And Rigil and Merak both told stories long into the night about how awful their time in the torture chamber had been. Its existence was only allowed because of the same sick reason that kept Quintus out of prison: the influence of the masters over the city government. A corruption that seemed as deep and old as time itself. And the public did not know the truth.

Antares left the room and went to another. It was a blank, empty room that had once boasted a dozen small magical torches. On the west wall was a series of runes and carvings. Some of the stones had been forcibly removed, but most were intact, including the imprint of a hand. He stepped to it and pressed his own palm against it.

"I am champion-elect," he said.

The wall became warm and part of it slid aside, revealing a small, elaborate room. It tingled with magical energy and was lit bright by magical fires that danced from their perches. Glowing lights cut through walls of unmeltable ice, like a prism, and a chilly wind flowed in a circular path, whispering. It was the sanctuary of elements. A place meant to represent every discipline of magic. In the center was a stone mat where the champion-elect was meant to sit and ponder. To unravel both mysteries as wide stretching as the universe and those deeply buried within his own heart and soul.

Not even the masters had been allowed here. It was one of the last links to the old world and the ancient magics. There was a lot of speculation about it, about what a champion-elect might someday learn from this place. But so far none had been able to interpret the symbols or tap into much of its power.

The only thing he recognized was a column of dark gray elderstones set in each corner. They carried an amazing property: the ability to negate the magic of everyone nearby. Allowing only the magic of the person they recognized as their master to exist. Everyone else's magic would be suppressed and blocked. He glanced at his own hand and saw that no fire could spring forth. The elderstones did not recognize him.

He'd spent many hours here, kneeling on the mat and listening to the whispers in the wind. But he'd never been able to understand the voice, as if it had been another language. Very calmly he silenced his thoughts and listened once again. He heard words, like a mumble, but they were breathy and indiscernible. The harder he listened, the faster the message seemed to fade away.

He left, and the entrance resealed itself. There was one more place he wanted to see. He arrived at the archive room. The door's lock had been smashed, and there were several cuts and other marks, indicating that someone had tried to force the door, eventually succeeding. The damage looked recent.

As he was about to step inside, he heard something. Footsteps? He looked behind him, down the long hall, and saw nothing but shadow. He increased his fire's intensity, brightening the hall considerably, but still saw nothing.

He dismissed it as his imagination and entered the archive room. It was in total disarray. Shelves had been emptied, their contents spilled onto the floor, and various boxes and containers had been ransacked. Most curious of all was the disorder on the center table. One of the smaller boxes, labeled Historical Archives, Copies, Number 27, was on its side, half open. Several papers and photographs had spilled out onto the table. On top of them all were several copies of the same photograph. He recognized it.

The caption read "From left to right: Miriam Ceteris, Caythis Ceteris, Sierra Ceteris, and Antares Ceteris."

It showed four people smiling in front of the Andar beach. He recognized them now. Miriam, who had been Caythis's wife, was somewhat plump and had a gentle smile. She had rosy cheeks and blond hair. Caythis, who'd been Antares's cousin, looked to be in his early twenties. His hair shimmered gold in the sun's light. His pale skin somewhat washed out. Sierra and Antares were both fifteen and had midnight-colored hair. Their smiles were similarly fake. He remembered when this picture was taken. Seven years ago. Caythis had somehow gotten it in his head that a trip together to the Andar beach would be a way for the cousins to bond. It hadn't been a great success.

Antares didn't need this final proof to know who he was; he didn't need to recognize his own younger face attached to the name "Antares Ceteris" in cold black ink. But it lay before him anyway. And he couldn't help but look at it, now remembering, and wonder why he hadn't figured it out sooner. It was almost like something inside him had tried to force his memories to stay buried. He looked at Caythis. Saw a little of himself in the man. So similar and yet so different. Same family name. Same ambition. Same opportunities to be named champion-elect . . . And now, he thought, Caythis was most likely dead.

It was a sober realization, seeing the ghosts in this picture, knowing that every person in the photo had died—except for him, who deserved death the most.

Footsteps entered the room. Antares whirled to see Jaden in full uniform, weapon drawn.

"What are you doing here?" asked Antares.

"I followed you here, Antares."

Antares looked at the photos on the table. There was no way Jaden could see it from where he stood. "So I take it you were the one digging through all the boxes in here."

"That's right. I was here today. I was hoping to find out more about Rigil. Something to leverage against him. Discover some weakness he has. Instead I found your secret." He spat. "So I followed you here, to kill you."

Antares's heart accelerated. "Then why haven't you fired?"

"Because I want you to tell me something first. Tell me why you did it. Why'd you fool us all into believing you were Caythis?"

"I was the puppet not the puppet master. You'll have to ask Dr. Erikson."

"I don't believe you." Jaden raised his firearm. "I believed you were Caythis for years. I was a fool all this time."

"I tried to save your father," said Antares. "I fought alongside you against Lucida and the enforcers. I fought to protect your city. Everything we've done, I've meant it. I may not have known my true name, but I'm still the same person."

"That's what I'm afraid of. That you're still the same sick bastard who torched Andar. The same person who stormed this very academy and slaughtered all of its masters. The same one who, wherever he goes, death follows."

"You don't understand."

"I don't want to. Nothing can excuse what you've done."

"Maybe not. But I mean you no harm. And know this, as long as I am alive, I am Rigil's most dangerous enemy."

Jaden seemed conflicted for a moment. His hand trembled slightly. Perhaps he didn't have the guts to pull the trigger after all. "If you so much as look at Kira again," he said menacingly, "I swear . . . I'll put a bullet in your head."

With that, Jaden left, cautiously keeping his weapon trained on Antares until Jaden was out of sight.

Antares let him go. If he'd wanted to protect his identity, he could have gone after him. But that wasn't important now. All he truly cared about was uncovering the whole truth.

And no one would stop him.
Chapter 23

He camped the night in no-man's-land. Where no one could find him. Then took the bike to the outskirts of Silverwind the next day.

The sun beat down on the ruined city, which was in worse disrepair than he'd remembered. He didn't know if another rocket attack had struck Silverwind, but many of the streets and buildings were still bombed out, and there were telltale signs of ongoing urban warfare. The Rigilians and other dissidents had a tight grip on the southern boroughs. One that, while slipping, was not going down easily. That would make it very difficult for Silverwind to find the troops to commit to an attack against Rigil. But that didn't matter now. That wasn't why he was here.

Because he wore his enforcer armor, which might mark him as a target for some of the dissidents, he avoided the more chaotic parts of the city and stuck to the main roads.

The sun was hot and worsened the putrid, rotting smells of decay and destruction. Smoke filled the air in places, as some small fires burned throughout the city, and the sweet, wet scent of the river was gone. Overpowered by something dead. Trucks packed with troops, like sardines, moved from place to place. And Antares decided Silverwind was more of a battlefield than a city.

He blasted through the checkpoint guarding Manors Borough and eventually arrived at the bombed-out palace. Half of it was ruined, but the half that still stood had been propped up and put to use. A number of people, mostly in uniform, staffed the building, and seemed very busy and overworked.

He parked the jetbike and entered the building, sword on his back, willing to turn the whole place upside down if he had to.

"Captain Ceteris?" asked an aide. A few other petty officials glanced his way.

"Where is Dr. Erikson?" he demanded.

"He's been relocated to the underground."

"Where?"

"It's classified. I'm sorry. I don't know."

Antares nodded. He knew exactly where Dr. Erikson was holed up. The Hiding Place must have been repaired and returned to service. Antares couldn't think of a more perfect place to confront the District and get the answers he deserved.

He left the palace and sought out the secret entrance to the underground. He wandered through the poorly lit maze until he arrived at the Hiding Place's door. No sentry stood outside watching. Clearly the District no longer believed itself to be in imminent danger, now that Lucida was dead.

He strode into the facility. It still showed wear and damage from the enforcers' attack, but it had been gutted, cleaned out, refurnished, and returned to full service. Soldiers stood guard at every door, and the main room was fully staffed with people coming and going.

No one objected to his presence. Doubtless his bronze armor identified him as Caythis. Little did they know who he really was. The most feared person in the world.

He threw open the doors leading to the conference room, believing this was the most likely place he'd find Dr. Erikson and the others. Yet no one was here.

That didn't matter. There were still answers to be found. He thought of the secret door that connected to this room, leading to a hidden passage. The same one a soldier had led him through after the enforcer attack. He found the hairline crack in the wall, copied the method the soldier had used, and forced it open.

Instead of going toward the tiny room with stone walls, which held the mysterious casket, Antares went straight for the steel security door. He knew cracking the code would be impossible so he drew his sword and ignited it. He carved the door free from the wall, and it collapsed with a loud thud. He stepped over it.

Before him was a deceptively large storage room. Boxes and boxes were stacked on top of each other, filling most of the space. Against the far wall was a computer. It wasn't running but had its own generator plugged into it. He counted ten redundant hard drives wired together. Considering that, and the many stacks of crates and lockboxes, it was obvious this place held the answers to all kinds of important questions.

He turned over the closest box and let its contents spill onto the floor. Sifting through it, he realized there was nothing of value to him. Much of it was impossible to understand, written in shorthand or code, or which referenced specific things he'd never heard of. He kicked it aside and stepped deeper into the room, noticing a dark, oily gleam in the far corner.

He unburied a large box. It contained several pieces of enforcer armor. The pieces had been red originally but coated on top was some kind of black tar. He recognized it. The same armor he'd been looking at when he'd first met Lucida. His armor. The armor he wore the night he had razed Andar and had fought Caythis. It was so familiar now. A little too small, which made sense—he must have grown some in the past five years, but otherwise it felt as much a part of him as his hands and arms.

This armor was his past. Looking at it was like seeing his younger, more tortured self. He wondered briefly how the District had come to possess it and decided they must have retrieved it when they had raided the Elite Quarter.

He traced the burn mark on the cuirass. It, like everything else, had been a lie. A part of the great illusion. Antares hadn't been stabbed that night; he hadn't been slain by Caythis. This wasn't a wound from battle. This had happened after the fact. This was by design.

He noticed the sword was there too, and he picked it up. It, like the armor, was not a good fit for his present height. But it had been his then. He held it, felt its familiarity. Remembered wielding it against the masters at the academy. Remembered wielding it against Caythis . . .

He'd almost recognized it when Lucida had shown it to him before. He wondered why she'd let him near it. Surely she must have known that he was not Caythis. Perhaps it had been a test. To see how thoroughly brainwashed he was.

Among other materials—presumably seized during the invasion of the Elite Quarter—was an alligator-green briefcase with several locks on it. They'd been pried open, and the case couldn't fully close anymore. He dumped out its contents and sifted through the papers.

They were all written by hand, and the penmanship was incredibly difficult to read. He skimmed through them, noting several recurring names. Resurrection Project stood out the most.

He read the entries connected to it.

I will not be able to return to the District. They are starting to suspect me. Lucida is afraid they will move the Hiding Place before we are ready to strike. She has nothing to fear though. They can't pack up fast enough unless they want to abandon the Resurrection Project. And I don't think Lukas Erikson is willing to terminate Patient One.

Antares wondered if Patient One referred to him. Had he been their Resurrection Project? Their effort to take their greatest enemy and somehow distort him into becoming their greatest asset by convincing him that he was someone else?

The strike was a success in part. We managed to get Patient One away from the District, but he was conscious when we found him. He fought back, and Almach failed to capture him. Now he's escaped into the underground. From what I saw of him, I believe that the Resurrection Project was a success, at least in the short term. Patient One seems to genuinely accept his assigned identity for now. Making him all the more valuable. It is unlikely he has a way of contacting the District, so he's on his own. We've begun sweeping the underground, but that'll take time. It's a colossal labyrinth, and he could be anywhere. At least we know the District doesn't have him either.

There were sketches of what the Hiding Place looked like. It was clearly a different one than the Hiding Place he stood in now.

We captured a criminal today. He's one of the so-called vigilantes who are waging war against the other dissidents. This captive gave us information about the District and, more important, the location of Patient One. He wasn't forthcoming at first but became much more so under torture. When we were finished, we cut off his head.

Antares thought back to his last mission with Raven, working for the CTC—how he'd been surprised and disgusted to see Max's severed head on the ground. He had trouble reading the next document. It detailed the capture of Patient One, including the detainment of several "compatriots" and the termination of one female ringleader, Raven. The photo of her melted remains was attached to the paper and shook him.

Scans reveal only inconclusive results. Patient One seems not to have rejected the brain matter from Patient Two, but there is damage to some nerves and brain cells that could be permanent. There is evidence of some healing over the past few years, but it's very difficult to tell how much. It seems more and more likely that total recall was never achieved because the operation is and will forever remain incomplete. Additional host matter from Patient Two has long been impossible to obtain. Unfortunately the core was never completely removed, just disconnected. So total recall is possible. The surgeries were never finished, probably because of our attack, so it's anybody's guess what Patient One's state is. But the biggest question is, . . . who does Patient One think he is?

He turned the page and read the final entry.

Lucida doesn't trust Rigil to keep his part of the bargain, so she's accelerated the process. She is impatient, and that may cause us to lose everything. At 0800 we are going to revive Patient One and begin a study of his behavior. There will be a continuous watch on him by at least three enforcers at all times. If he has achieved total recall, he will be terminated. Otherwise we can weaponize him.

He frowned. Not sure what to think. He believed he understood what the entries were saying, what they'd done to him—or tried to, but it was too strange and unnerving to readily accept.

There were also diagrams, X-rays, brain schematics, and other documents, including pictures of him lying naked and comatose on a medical table. Notes about blood pressure, a medical chart, and other details of his physiology were included.

On one of the documents was scribbled a note:

Process was completed at 0635. We had to rush the final stages, and I do not know what the outcome will be. But as I told Dr. Ferguson, either it will set or the patient will die. She has had reservations about this process and believes we are playing god, but that's foolishness. We have an opportunity here. One that might determine whether or not our city can be liberated.

Antares had just finished reading it when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned to see Dr. Erikson.

"They said you came in here. That you were looking for me." The older man was well-composed, even if his eyes betrayed his concern. Obviously he had hoped Antares hadn't solved the mystery yet.

Antares dropped the stack of papers in his hand and approached Dr. Erikson.

The older man held his ground.

"I'll give you one chance to tell me the truth, Doc."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I know what you did. The sick thing you tried to do. But it didn't work. I remember who I really am. And who I'm not."

Antares resisted the urge to grab Dr. Erikson by the throat and press him against the wall. He was outraged at the deceit, what Dr. Erikson had tried to do to him, and how he'd desecrated both Caythis's memory and Caythis himself. It truly was a sick idea born of a disturbed mind.

"I don't know what you're doing, Caythis, but don't play games with me. This is my facility. That's my army outside that door, and they will come for me if they don't see me very soon."

Antares grabbed Dr. Erikson by the collar, not giving him a window to slip away. They locked eyes. "I told you. I know who I am. Now I want you to tell me everything. I want to hear it from your lips. In return, I'll let you live."

Dr. Erikson looked conflicted. As if part of him wanted to continue the charade, salvage the situation, somehow convince Antares that he was Caythis, so he could still be a tool. But another part feared for his life. Antares could see it in Dr. Erikson's eyes.

"You know me, Doc," said Antares. "You know what I'm capable of."

"What do you want to know?" Dr. Erikson eventually said, his voice weak and submissive.

"What happened at the summit? Why am I still breathing? And did I kill Caythis?"

Dr. Erikson's brow wrinkled as he thought back. "I don't know exactly what happened that night. Caythis left Citadel along with an advance force he had organized. Soldiers who'd chosen to desert the capital because they wanted to save Andar, if it wasn't too late. Caythis found you, and you fought him."

"Yes, I remember now," said Antares, the images came back to him easily. He recalled his surprise at seeing Caythis come at him. He hadn't wanted to fight Caythis. Antares had just wanted to survive. He knew an army was coming to stop him, and had arranged for Rigil and half his force to flank the attackers. But Rigil had betrayed Antares, leaving him alone. Forced him to face the enemy without aid. An enemy whose face had been all too familiar.

"What I told you before was true. The District was organized to protect Kira and Gavin, and we were running to Silverwind when we found you. We'd expected your force to be on the main highway, so we cut through Andar on our way to Silverwind. Thinking the safest route to go was where you'd already been. We ran into the remains of your force. They were few after your battle with Caythis, but still dangerous. We fought them, and they scattered. I was shocked when I saw how many of them wore the colors of Andar, soldiers who'd turned on their own government. I wanted to move quickly for Silverwind, but our group decided to search through the dead and collect the wounded. Only a few were still breathing. We were hoping to find Caythis, and that's when we found you."

Antares braced himself emotionally. He needed to know. But was afraid of what he'd hear.

"There in the ruins of your battle," Dr. Erikson continued. "You were broken. Your sword deactivated and tossed aside. You were bent over Caythis who lay dying at your feet. You'd removed your helmet, and his, and were weeping. You seemed so weak. We formed a perimeter and approached cautiously. When we came at you, you'd already passed out. And looked like you were dead."

"I was dead," said Antares darkly, remembering some of the moment—Caythis's bronze armor lying before him, scarred by plasma. He recalled sending away his army, choosing to remain with his fallen cousin. Choosing to die with him. Hating himself for what he'd done.

"We took you with us. You and Caythis. Even though he'd died before we surrounded you. We meant to put you on trial in Silverwind for crimes against humanity. We wanted to show the world that you'd been brought to justice. And then we'd give Caythis a hero's funeral."

"But you didn't."

"No," admitted Dr. Erikson. His eyes glanced away briefly. "Without Caythis we had nothing. Skyhaven had been damaged by your flight out of the city. Andar was totally destroyed. Citadel had fallen to Rigil and the rest of your rebellion. Only Silverwind had been untouched. And it has never been a stable city."

"So you hoped to resurrect Caythis. Give me Caythis's memories. Make me believe I was him. Yet still have my magical abilities. You would have harnessed the power of Antares, yet leashed him. I was to be your weapon against Rigil and any who opposed you. Was that the plan, Doc?"

Dr. Erikson's face flushed. "I convinced King Talonis to go along with it. But it was always my idea. I believed that, even in death, Caythis was still our brightest hope. If I could make him live again, I would."

"That was a sick thing you did."

"Was it? No one knew what Antares or Caythis looked like, now that the masters were slain. Just suits of armor, mysterious and powerful. Imagine if we could get you to believe you were Caythis, and to support those ideals he believed in—our cause. With his reputation and your power, we could win this war. And we could give back hope to the people by announcing Antares had been killed, and Caythis had lived to fight another day. We could rally the forces of Silverwind and Skyhaven and the scattered armies of Andar, and take back Citadel!"

"But it didn't work. I don't have Caythis's memories. I have my memories. They'd been suppressed for a while, but they're back now. I am Antares once more."

"That wasn't supposed to happen. We grafted part of Caythis's brain into your head, and we meant to remove as many memories of yours as we could, and give you his."

Antares shook his head. He'd read this; he'd discovered this, but hearing it from Dr. Erikson's own lips filled him with an even greater level of disgust.

"Julia Ferguson felt the same way you do. That it was wrong. Especially because the original plan involved handing Caythis's corpse to the people claiming it was Antares."

"And let them desecrate it?" Antares felt truly nauseated. "You would honor your enemy and feed your fallen hero to the dogs? Let them spit on his body and burn it? That's how you'd honor Caythis's memory?"

"Let me tell you something. The dead are nothing. It is only the welfare of the living that counts. The dead have no desires, and they feel no pain. And know this too. If Caythis had been alive to make the choice, he would have agreed. He was ready to do anything to restore order to the world. Especially since his wife was already dead, and he had no children."

"You knew Miriam was dead, didn't you? You sent me to find her, to manipulate me into going to Skyhaven, knowing I would only find her grave. That she wouldn't be able to tell me that I wasn't Caythis."

"Of course," said Dr. Erikson.

"You have no conscience, Doc."

"Funny thing to hear coming from you."

"So after your operation on me, Lucida caught wind of what you were doing and decided she wanted a piece of me herself. Wanted to control Antares's great power." He looked at his left hand. Scarred and seemingly so weak. And yet a window of almost unlimited fire. "She attacked you. You and I were separated, and the rest is history."

Dr. Erikson nodded. "That's right. And when we found you again, and you believed you were Caythis, it was a true miracle—for a moment I almost believed in God. And who's to say you were wrong? Who's to say you weren't Caythis? You had his memories inside you. Part of his brain. You believed you were him. Surely, in some sense, you truly were him."

Antares almost couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Dr. Erikson? Are you all right?" Captain Grayson's voice could be heard from around the corner.

"Tell me one last thing," said Antares. "Was Kira in on it? Does she know who I really am?" He needed to know. His heart still stung for her, and it would be crushed if he learned that she too had been deceiving him this whole time.

"Why does it matter?" asked Dr. Erikson.

"Just tell me."

"No. She was only a child. We never told her."

Antares closed his eyes. Letting all this new information soak in. Finally, at long last, the puzzle was assembled. He knew everything. Even if it made his skin crawl, and filled him with an ocean of guilt and self-enmity. At least having the knowledge gave him some measure of serenity. "Thank you," he whispered and tossed aside Dr. Erikson.

The doctor dusted himself off just as Captain Grayson and several soldiers, all from her elite guard and brandishing weapons, entered. "Is everything all right, sir?" she asked.

"Everything's fine. Stand down, everybody," said Dr. Erikson.

Captain Grayson gave the order, and the soldiers lowered their weapons.

Then, speaking to Antares, Dr. Erikson said, "You can still help us, you know. You can slay Rigil and free Citadel."

"We'll see." Antares felt he'd worn out his welcome, and the last place he wanted to be was here, where it'd all happened. He pushed his way through the soldiers and out toward the exit. He had his answers, and now felt empty and purposeless. He wondered briefly which was worse, a pleasant lie or a painful truth. He decided it was the truth.

Coming toward him, from the long end of the hall, was Kira. She seemed to glow with every virtue that he lacked. Innocence, beauty, and love. He wanted to see her, and hold her, more than anything. But that very desire felt tainted, now that he knew who he was, and how his actions had injured her. Cost her her city, her throne, and her parents. He wanted to see her smile, but he knew looking into those pure innocent eyes would be unbearable. Instead he turned away, even as he heard her shout, "Caythis!"

He didn't stop and headed back the other way. Through the secret door. Past the room where Dr. Erikson and Captain Grayson still stood. Making his way toward the surface exit he'd been led to after the enforcer attack.

He paused briefly in the tiny stone room. Looked at the casket encased in cement with the black flowers on top.

Here lay the true Caythis Ceteris, he realized. He bowed his head, paid his respects, and moved on.

"Caythis? Where are you going?" a warm voice called from behind. He turned to see Kira. She gave him a funny look that seemed to blend confusion, irritation, and pleasant surprise.

Seeing her made him weak. She was so lovely; even in this grim place, her smile invoked some truly powerful emotions within him. He loved her. And yet everything bad that had ever happened to her had, ultimately, been his fault. He thought of how much pain and suffering he'd caused her and felt a burning in the back of his eyes. "Hello, Kira."

"Where are you going in such a hurry? You owe me an apology, you know." She looked stern, though playful. "For going to Skyhaven without even saying good-bye."

He looked into her face, stared into those majestic brown eyes. "No, Kira. I owe you so much more than that." His words were sober and came out slowly. When he finished them, he looked away.

He felt her hand on his armor. "Caythis, what's wrong?"

And he couldn't keep his face away from hers; their connection was electric. His heart pounded, and, with each beat, it felt like it was stabbing itself with a needle.

She was looking up at him, concern deep inside those piercing brown eyes that couldn't be lied to. Giving him compassion that he didn't deserve.

He took her hands in his, still gazing into her eyes, and gave her a gentle, affectionate squeeze. Then, with tremendous effort, he let her go. "I'm so sorry, Kira. But they lied to me." He stared at the casket. "They lied to me about everything."

"Who lied to you?"

"I . . ." The words he had to say were the hardest to ever come from his lips. "I'm not Caythis." He pointed to the casket. "He is." His eyes met hers once more. "I'm Antares."

She didn't react immediately. Her eyes narrowed, and confusion crossed her uncomprehending face, but when it was clear he wasn't joking, her eyes widened, and the hint of a smile on her lips disappeared. She knew the truth. And that was more important than any future they might have shared.

Antares swept away, toward the exit.

"Wait, don't go." Her voice was like a whisper.

It took him completely by surprise. Not a trace of anger in her words, only quiet grief, and even compassion.

"Don't leave me."

Deep inside he wanted to stay. To close his mind and forget everything. To take her hands again and to hold her. But the idea made him sick, knowing who he was. Like he'd be taking advantage of her. He knew he had to leave. Had to be alone.

"I'm sorry, Kira." He held out his left palm flat toward the ground, focusing. "But where I'm going, nobody may follow." He blasted a concentrated jet of fire directly onto the stone floor, very careful to keep it away from her. With nothing to burn, the magical fire dissipated on contact with the stone. But it left behind a wall of smoke, and he used it as a screen to slip away.

Eventually he returned to his jetbike and left Silverwind. Vowing never to return.
Chapter 24

The blackened remains spreading out before him seemed endless. Covering the land in crumbled ruins from horizon to horizon. He watched the distant tide, for a time, as it charged into the bay. The view from the top of the cliff was spectacular, and, as the sun set, he was bathed in a red sky, like a burgundy fire.

This is where it should have ended.

He stood in the same place he'd taken Emon, at the summit where Antares and Caythis had met for the last time. There had been something hauntingly familiar about this place when he'd stood here last, but now he remembered everything—the clarity was like crystal. And the phantoms surrounding him were almost tangible.

The ashen remains of a thick black circle around the flattened summit stood out. In his mind, the ring of fire still burned hot. Echoes of gunfire and screams repeated, and, as he looked upon the fallen city, he imagined it as it once was. Its culture, splendor, and majesty rolled out before him. And then he saw the fires. Burning everything. Towering flames that licked the horizon and huge columns of smoke that stretched into the blackened sky.

He thought of the man leaping from the jetbike, as it exploded. How only then his bronze armor became clear. Then that feeling of dread and remorse as he crossed blades with the man he most admired.

Antares heard his own voice in his mind. "You." It wasn't a question; it was a plea. A forlorn hope that somehow Caythis, being more like an older brother, could set things right. But still knowing it was impossible.

"You shouldn't have come," Antares remembered saying. He'd never wanted to hurt Caythis, and he feared him.

"You shouldn't have started this," Caythis had said. There had been no trace of sympathy.

As Antares had stood there, he'd thought of all that had happened to him. How it had all began. His failure, his loss of Ariana, Merak's death, but more than anything else he thought of Sierra. He longed for her. He missed her. And it tortured him that he hadn't protected her. That he'd allowed her to suffer the way she did.

"Sierra," he recalled saying. "This was for Sierra." The words were broken. He hadn't come to Andar to burn it to the ground. He'd never wanted this. Hadn't meant for this to happen.

"How dare you hide your evil deeds behind her good name?" Caythis had said.

And Antares had known he was right, that Sierra never would have wanted this.

"Please . . . don't be my enemy, Caythis," he'd said. "No one understands. I need you to understand." The words had been jumbled; he hadn't known what to say. Despite that, his heart knew Caythis was Antares's last hope. Yet he was given no sympathy. Antares recalled the fear that came over him as Caythis readied his attack stance.

"There's no going back, Antares. I can't let you leave this place alive. We both know what you deserve."

Caythis's words had been cold, and they'd broken the last ounce of hope that had remained in Antares's spirit. Forced him to realize that, no matter how tall his regrets, he'd reached a point of no return. And the wounded remains of his soul bled dry.

"It's not my fault . . ." Antares had said desperately. Not wanting to think about what he'd done. Instead his mind was filled with images of Quintus, Ariana, Merak, and Sierra. "It's not true. It isn't true! I've only done what was forced upon me!"

"Antares, you bring this upon yourself!"

Those final words repeated in his mind. Inside them was absoluteness and inevitability.

He tried not to think of their fight. The furious blows they'd exchanged. How, no matter how much he had hated himself, he had refused to die. Was willing to kill to save his worthless life. Was so terrified by the black unknown.

He tried not to think of his sword carving into his cousin's chest. Mortally wounding him. He remembered Caythis falling to the ground. Antares had screamed then, with the power of all the emotions tormenting him inside. He couldn't accept what he'd just done. What'd just happened. He remembered taking off his helmet, and Caythis's. How he'd held his cousin's head in those final moments as the throes of death overcame Caythis. How Antares had begged and begged for Caythis's forgiveness.

Then the darkness came. That was his final memory . . . He scooped up some of the ashes and threw them into the wind. They were carried off the cliff.

This was where it was supposed to end. This was where Antares should have fallen. Where Caythis should have stood above the world, victorious, rallying hope from Silverwind to Skyhaven.

But Caythis had not prevailed. And Antares still lived. Something was broken. The world felt horribly wrong.

He stepped to the edge of the cliff and gazed out over the ruined city once more. It seemed even more desolate in the twilight, the sun having moved below the horizon. He realized a reckoning was required. The world deserved its vengeance. And he owed it to everyone.

He put his toes over the edge and looked straight down. It would be a very long, very painful drop. At the very bottom lay several jagged rocks stabbing up at him.

Was this his path now? Would this final action make some kind of atonement? Allow him some measure of peace despite all he'd done? Perhaps the world required Antares's death before it could heal.

He held his breath but couldn't close his eyes, couldn't even look away from the incredible drop. His heart pounded in his ears, and he was overtaken by a paralyzing fear. It held him rigidly in place, stiff and immobile.

The Crucible flashed before his eyes. The black lagoon far below, the rocks stabbing up at him, the girl tied in the waters. Would he jump? Would he surrender his life to fate?

He couldn't jump then. But he must jump now. He had every feeling compelling him to do so, and almost no reason holding him back. It would be easy, just one more step. . . .

He closed his eyes, trying to steel himself. But they popped open a second later and glued themselves to the eternally long drop. The view made him dizzy, and he recoiled, taking a step backward. Hating that he lacked the courage then and still lacked the courage now. Even here, in this place, where everything reminded him of his sins, and the very ashes cried to him for his blood, he could not jump. Could not let go of his fate.

He was crushed inside and felt hot tears streak down his face. Why? Why did it have to be this way?

All the terrible memories pouring through his mind stretched him and clawed at him and tore his insides. How could this have happened? He bowed his head, looking away from the destruction. How did he become the enemy of the world?

Everything stretching out before him spelled death; everywhere he'd gone he'd brought death. Again he felt the urge to take a few steps forward. To join all that he had destroyed. What would happen then? Could he really hope to vanish into nothing? To fade away and leave all of his pain and agony behind? Or could pain follow him in death? Like an immortal chain squeezing his soul for eternity?

Each day was a step closer to inevitable death. Regardless of what he did, the process couldn't be stopped. The end couldn't be avoided.

Antares realized how futile everything seemed, and he wondered if life had any kind of purpose at all. This thought made it easier to inch his way back to the cliff's edge.

But as much as he wanted to stop existing, to never have been born, or even to plunge from the edge of that cliff—hoping he could leave everything behind—he simply couldn't do it. So he stood there, toes stretched over the edge, frozen in stalemate. Feeling the icy wind against his stiffened face and black undersuit—his helmet and armor having been tossed aside. Gradually he would be able to feel no more, become numb like death.

"Don't do it. It's not worth it."

A woman's voice startled him, and he took a step backward. The words had been crackly and a little too loud; they came from the external speaker of an enforcer helmet. He turned to see a woman in silver armor, a sword strapped to her back.

His heart raced, and he looked to where his sword lay on the ground, half-expecting a fight. Adrenaline pumped through him, and his instincts took over, ready to defend the life he thought he didn't value.

"Here to finish what Caythis started?" asked Antares.

"What? No." The silver enforcer didn't reach for her blade; instead she held out her hands in a gesture of peace. "It's me." She pulled off her helmet and shook loose a stream of beautiful hair and showed her sharp brown eyes.

"Kira?" Seeing her in the silver armor, she was breathtaking. But he had no idea how she could possibly be an enforcer. Or how she'd known he was here. "How—how did you find me?"

She gave him a strange look. "It wasn't exactly difficult. A freshly carved jetbike trail leading off the beaten path is hard to miss."

Why would she follow him? Didn't she know who he was? Wasn't it clear what he'd done? Perhaps standing here, with a perfect view of the ruined city, she would realize. "Why are you here, Kira?"

"Why do we do any of the things we do?" she asked. "It's because we think the end result is worth the effort."

"But sometimes we're wrong," Antares was quick to say. "Sometimes the things we do, the choices we make, aren't worth it. Sometimes the end result is far worse than we ever could have imagined."

"But most of the time we're right," she said. "That's why we try."

"I don't know why you're here, Kira, but, trust me, I'm not worth it." He appreciated her, what she was trying to do, and even now he longed for her. But he didn't want her to be here, didn't want her to become mixed in with the terrible memories of this place. "I owe the world too much," he said. "And now it's time to give back what I can." He stepped out to the cliff's edge once again. His eyes instantly drifted to the bottom. It looked very, very far away.

"Don't do it, Antares," said Kira. Her voice was a soft but fervent plea. It was the first time she'd ever called him by his true name.

"What other choice do I have?"

"To not jump."

"I owe the world too much."

"And, after you jump, after you die, what then? Do you expect Andar to rise from the ashes?" Her voice was even and calm.

"I expect," he said thoughtfully, "the world will be able to say that Antares got his in the end. And that can be a small, meaningful tribute. Allowing me to enter death with one last tiny dignity."

"There's no dignity in suicide." Her voice was absolute. "It cannot repair broken bridges or rebuild ruined cities. It cannot heal deep wounds." She paused, letting him soak in her words. "It doesn't help anyone. It's nothing more than an escape. A way for you to get away from the world, and all its hardship, leaving it for the rest of us to carry alone, without your help."

He looked at her; she was stepping toward him, cautiously, slowly coming closer.

"Suicide is not one final tiny tribute," she said. "It's one final enormous act of cowardice. And certainly the most selfish thing a person could possibly do."

She was standing next to him now, and he was completely stunned. Couldn't even open his mouth.

"What happened here"—she pointed at the remains of Andar—"is a tragedy. But ending your life doesn't make it any better. No, that would just be another tragedy to add to the rest."

"How could Antares's death be a tragedy?" He wanted to believe her, but that seemed so selfish, so wrong.

"Because it would hurt me." She reached around him, embracing him.

And he felt shock prickle through him. Could she mean it? It seemed impossible, but he saw sincerity in her and felt something new, something warm, inside his soul. His breath quickened for an instant, and he reached around her, pulling her tightly. And though her armor stood between them, he had never felt closer to another person in all his life.

"I don't know everything about you," said Kira, looking up at him. "But I've seen tenderness in you." Their gazes locked, and she brushed a tear from his face. "I've seen mercy, and kindness. Antares, you are a good person . . . if you want to be."

Her words were soothing and bright; they seemed to still the darkness within him. But his head was clouded and full of doubts, though his heart screamed at him, begging him to believe her. Just to be able to believe in something once more.

He silenced his mind and soaked in the moment, feeling a surge of mixed emotions pour through him, stinging him, like the feeling of numbed fingers slowly regaining sensation. He reached tighter around her waist and held her even closer. Their eyes met and he whispered, "I think I love you."

She smiled softly, and he released her. She removed her gloves and took his hand. They looked out over the cliff's edge; it was getting dark and some of the stars were beginning to appear.

Kira's presence, her kindness, it filled him with warmth and meaning. And he decided there was a purpose to life after all. Regardless of whether or not he lived after death, he had purpose now, and that was friendship. Companionship. It was her. It was the effect she had on him. She lifted him from the very depths of his wounded soul. And he could lift others. Even if their actions, as individuals, were hopelessly lost in time, they were still very powerful and significant in the moment. And nothing could take away that moment. Even if no one remembered it.

This rekindled sense of hope and companionship filled him like a fresh breath of the sweetest air he'd ever tasted.

But could it really be so easy? He let go of her hand and walked away a few steps. He gazed upon the ruined city. It was difficult to see now, but, even in darkness, the image seemed to cry foul. Standing there alone, facing it, the world seemed very grim again. Could Antares be a good person? He wondered this, after all that had happened, after everything he'd done. Could it really be as easy as that?

"How do I do it?" he asked himself and the world.

He heard Kira come up behind him. She stopped at his side and slipped her arms around his. He took her hands. Felt her soft, warm skin. It made him melt.

"You do it," she said, "by looking forward. By choosing what you do today, and every day afterward, instead of thinking about what you did yesterday and every day before."

He breathed in deeply. The cold, ash-scented air cleared his mind. "Kira," he said softly, "even in a thousand years I could never do enough to make up for what I've already done."

"Virtue," she replied gingerly, "isn't a balancing scale with all the good on one side and all the bad on the other. It's about what is in your heart. About what you want, and what you're trying to do now." She squeezed his hands and he squeezed back.

And for the first time since that cruel moment where he had seen Ariana, and all of his memories had returned, he didn't see only bleakness. Now there was a tiny light, the beginnings of a new hope.

"Thank you," he whispered. There was a peaceful silence between them. They stood together, gazing out at the stars as they filled the sky.

Antares thought of the connection between them, about how peaceful and safe it felt to be near her. Kira gave him that sense of stability he had been searching for, the feeling he had missed since Sierra had passed away.

"I had a twin sister once," he said gently, daring to open his mind to his memories. "She was a lot like you. Her name was Sierra."

"Were you very close?"

"Yes. We were. But something very terrible happened to her." He let out an anguished sigh. "I've never forgiven myself for not being there for her."

"What happened?"

"When I was at the academy, she came to live on the grounds as a servant to the masters. I wanted her to come and got special permission from my mentor, Master Quintus. But he had other interests in her . . . I was so happy to have her near again that I pretended not to notice his eyes following her." He squeezed Kira's hands tightly and closed his eyes.

"I wanted to believe she was safe so desperately that I convinced myself of it, and I was so busy with my own life, my own ambitions, that I wasn't there for her." He paused, unable to speak for a moment. "He took her one day, against her will. And did . . . things to her . . . The police found her in the river. Strangled."

Kira didn't say anything right away. Eventually her voice cracked, "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," he said.

"It's not your fault either, Antares. You can't blame yourself for a wrong you didn't do. It's not fair, and it's not healthy."

He inhaled deeply. "If I had acted differently, . . . it never would have happened."

"You didn't do it. And you didn't want for it to happen. So it isn't your fault."

"Maybe, but that doesn't change the way I feel. Even now it shakes me inside. And then, . . . then it filled me with so much wrath."

"What did you do?"

"I confronted him. I wanted vindication. No, I wanted revenge. I couldn't ignore Sierra's screams from the grave, and I could think of nothing else but my hate. At that time in my life, I felt like I had nothing more to lose, that I'd lost everything already. Sierra had been my last and truest connection to the world, and now she was gone.

"When you've lost everything, it's strangely liberating. You don't care anymore. You don't care about consequences. You are free to do anything, and that made it easy. I attacked him in his own office. And, in that instant, I became a murderer." The word was difficult to say, but he wouldn't soften the truth. Kira deserved to know what he was. "I took the law into my own hands, and that was how everything started."

Her eyes begged to learn more, but her lips were too respectful to ask. Instead she just looked at him, full of concern and compassion, waiting for him to speak.

"The academy was a very dark, cruel place. With brutality that no one knew about outside of the school. When I slew Quintus, . . . the students lashed out against the other masters too. I couldn't control them. I didn't stop them. I helped them. We fought for our lives. Or for our revenge. Or just because we didn't know what else to do.

"When it was over, we realized we weren't safe, so we ran away. Left Skyhaven. Only fought those who tried to stop us. Only destroyed what stood in our way. I went to Andar . . . here." He looked out at the fallen city. It was almost impossible to see now. "And they followed me. Because they were afraid. We were all afraid. We didn't know where to go. Where we could be safe."

"Andar was your home, wasn't it?" she asked. "And that's why you came?"

"Yes. I came because I had an emotional connection to Andar. And I had several . . . unresolved feelings here."

She looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

He frowned and let go of her hand. "I was in love once, or thought I was." He looked away. "She meant the world to me. We were even supposed to marry. But it didn't work out. And she left me for my best friend, Merak. I never got over that. And I wasn't able to forgive either of them for what, to me, felt like a terrible betrayal.

"They settled down together in Andar, purchased a house, and had a baby. He'd left the academy a year early to begin his life with her, so he wasn't with us when we slew the masters. He wasn't a part of my so-called rebellion. So when he heard what we did, and that we were coming to Andar, he feared for his family. Believed I'd snapped and was exacting vengeance on any who'd wronged me. He was certain that I was coming and that I'd make him pay for his betrayal. And indeed I came. But I wasn't interested in vengeance . . ."

"You wanted help," said Kira perceptively. "You wanted your friends to help you fix what you'd done. You were looking for support."

"I came back to see Ariana. . . . I don't know why. I don't remember what my intentions were exactly, but I thought she could help me. And I sought closure to scars that were still bleeding inside me. So I followed my feelings and nothing else. I went to the place where my feelings were strongest. And, when I arrived, Merak attacked me. There was no way for me to explain why I had come. That I meant no harm. And . . . he died right before Ariana's eyes. . . ." Antares looked at the ground.

"That sounds like self-defense," said Kira.

"Partially," said Antares. "But there was more to it than that. Yes, I wanted to survive, and, yes, I felt threatened, but there was something more. Something smaller I felt, just for an instant, when I stabbed my sword into him. . . . Vindication, I think, for my envy. He had made for himself the life I always dreamed was rightfully mine. If I couldn't have it, then I didn't want him to have it either. Even if it was just a tiny bit, and, for only a moment, the feeling was there."

Kira said nothing, simply listened. She was difficult to read.

"Merak was a good man, in every way. And I realized in that moment, when he hit the ground, that I could never justify what I'd done. And seeing the anguish in Ariana's eyes . . . remembering how much I'd cared for her and realizing that I'd just caused her a lifetime's worth of pain, . . . it was surreal." He stared out into the distance. "Like everything in the world slammed into me at the same time. I stared up at the sky, wanting to scream. And raised my hand, letting all my emotions flow. Never before and never since have I tapped into magic so deeply, like I did on that night. All of my agony fueled that flame, amplified by a ring I never needed. And that's when the city caught fire. . . .

"We left, fighting our way out just like we'd fought our way in. The city had already been unstable, and this new chaos was just the spark it needed to explode into civil war. I didn't want to stay. My last hope rested in Caythis, my second cousin. I didn't know him well, but I admired him greatly. And believed, as much as I could, that he might be able to put things right. Somehow. Or tell me what to do."

Antares paused, collecting his thoughts. "As we left for Citadel, we heard that an army was coming to intercept us. I split our force and gave Rigil instructions to ambush the army once they'd engaged me and my men. That never happened. Rigil simply left and, . . . well, . . . you know where he went and what he did. As I fought for my life, with those who hadn't deserted me, against soldiers who'd abandoned Citadel to kill us, I came to this very place . . ." He disentangled himself from her and looked around.

"This is where Caythis appeared." He pointed to a spot in the ash black circle. "I didn't know what to tell him, to make him understand all the confusion and agony I felt. All the regret inside me. I couldn't make him understand, . . . and he said he'd come to kill me. I was so afraid . . ." Antares looked up bitterly. "So I killed him first. Because I was too scared to die, . . . and then I couldn't take it anymore. I was weak. I . . . begged his forgiveness, in his final moments. That's all I remember. . . . Then the District must have found me. I believe you were with them."

"Yes, I was," said Kira. "We were running from Citadel, leaving Mom and Dad behind. We were crying, Gavin and I, and we just didn't understand what was happening. I wanted to help. I knew I could help, but that was a secret Dad told me never to share. And then, when we were near Andar, there was a firefight. Dr. Erikson made us stay far away until the shooting was over. It was very frightening for Gavin, so I stayed near him, holding his hand. When it was over, a lot of the men went up to the summit, this spot, but we weren't allowed to go. They never told us what they found up here. While I waited, I remember watching the fires that wouldn't go out."

"They found me here," said Antares. "And Caythis too. He was dead. I wasn't."

She flinched slightly.

"Dr. Erikson and the others dragged me to Silverwind where they got the perverse idea to surgically replace my memories with those of Caythis's. They wanted me to become him, so your champion would still be alive."

Kira turned pale. "Yes, I know. I made Dr. Erikson tell me everything after you left. I needed to know why you claimed to be Antares. I needed to know the truth. So he told me."

Antares nodded. "So now you know everything."

"Thank you," she said softly.

"For what?"

"For opening up to me. For trusting me."

He took her hand again and smiled. "Caythis was a good man. A truly great man. I wish he were still alive."

"Part of him is," she said.

Antares raised an eyebrow, not sure what she meant. "Oh," he said, figuring it out. He pointed to his head, thinking of Caythis's memories inside him. "In here."

"No." Kira shook her head. "In here." She pointed to his heart.

He let the peaceful silence return, sharing his thoughts again only after a long pause. "It makes me wonder," he said. "You say you see goodness in me, but how much of that is really me? And how much of that is just the residue of Caythis's mind inside my own head?"

"Antares, everyone has goodness inside them if they choose to see it," she said, squeezing him. "And as people, we're constantly changing, constantly adding and subtracting from ourselves, constantly growing and learning. What once belonged to Caythis and is now yours is no less a part of you than your own hand or foot." She looked up at him. "Or heart."

She slipped away from him, to remove her cuirass, in order to be closer to him. When she returned, he pulled her tightly against him, feeling her softness and warmth. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his head on hers. They stood together for a long time.

"I love you," he whispered into her ear. "Are you even real?" He hugged her tighter for a moment. "Don't go away. Never go away."

"I'm not planning on it," she whispered back.

He pulled back to see her face, her hair glistening, her face lit up by the pale light of the moon. Behind her was a tapestry the color of midnight with thousands of shining stars. "You've never been more beautiful."

She smiled. "And you're okay looking." They both laughed.

"I want to be with you forever," he said with a huge smile.

"Me too." Her voice was a whisper, and she closed her eyes, resting her head on his chest.

He held her close again, rubbing her back. Thinking about everything. He imagined a home of his own, and she would be there. His ring on her finger. To have his own family, their family, the thought melted him with joy. It was everything he'd ever wanted and more.

But the bliss faded as he realized what he was truly asking. He felt himself grow stiff, and she pulled herself away to look into his eyes.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"It can never work," he said.

"Why not?"

"Because you'll be the queen of Citadel soon. And the people will never accept Antares with the queen."

"Let Gavin be the king. He's a Paribus too."

"I could never take your throne away from you." He felt as though he'd stolen too much from her already.

"That one isn't your choice. It's mine," she said. "And I never wanted to be the queen anyway."

"I don't believe you," Antares said, but he was teasing her now.

She smiled. "Being the queen sounds extremely boring."

"But Gavin's too young to be the king."

Kira looked squarely into his eyes and took his hand. "Maybe I'm insane, Antares, but I love you. And if you love me back, we can find a way."

He brushed her hair from her face then bent low and kissed her, deeply and passionately. And, as they held each other close in the moonlight, time lost all its meaning.
Chapter 25

"You never told me how you're an enforcer," said Antares. He pitched his jetbike left, to avoid a boulder on the trail.

"You never asked," replied Kira. She was flying parallel to him, about five meters away. The sky ahead was bathed in bright scarlet as the rising sun filled their view. It was glorious.

They were heading to Skyhaven, for better or worse. Hoping to join the attack against Rigil—if there still would be one.

"I know you never went to the enforcer academy. Is it because you're royalty?" he pressed her.

"Yes and no. My father knew what the academy was like, how the students were treated, and he didn't want me to go there. So they hid my talent and taught me to keep it a secret."

"So honored King Paribus broke the law?" Antares chuckled.

"Well, he didn't really break Citadel law. But I guess he violated the Codes of Coalition, since they require all so-called 'persons of magic' to be 'rightly trained' at the academy. He told us that it was because I was royalty, so I was exempt, but I knew that wasn't true. Or else I wouldn't have to hide my talent. Of course, the real story is one of a father not wanting to send his daughter to a place like that. You saw it for what it was. Can you blame him?"

"No. Not really." Antares was chilled by the thought of Kira being taken to the punishment room. He put the image out of his mind. "Your skills are very impressive for not going to the academy."

"Thanks. I was trained since I was very little. I had three different trainers over the years. The last one was Caythis."

Antares imagined his cousin, with no instructor training, trying to teach a young, impetuous Kira about magic, culture, and combat. He wondered if the uniqueness of her magic made things difficult. He thought of what it had looked like, when he'd seen it, how her hand had glowed blindingly white.

"Tell me about your magic," said Antares. "I've never seen anything like it before."

"Oh, you mean this?" Her voice was bittersweet. She let go of her handlebar and raised her hand. Like an orb, it began to glow until Antares's visor went berserk—frantic to deal with the surge in brightness. Then it faded.

"You're the first person to connect with ancient magic since the End of the World. I think everyone else has either been fire, water, or air."

"It is unique," Kira admitted. "But not very powerful. Helpful if you need to find something in the dark, but . . . that's about it."

"There's always a higher level to reach. Who knows what your magic is capable of."

"Caythis was of that opinion as well. He always told me that he believed I could access greater power if I really wanted to. But I think he was only saying that to make me feel better. Since there's no way he could have known."

Their bikes were shooting over farmland now, fast approaching the rising climb toward Skyhaven.

"Don't sell yourself short. Ancient magic is deep and mysterious. I wouldn't put any cap on your limits."

"That's sweet," she said. "Even if I'm just the equivalent of a magical flashlight."

He laughed, and she joined in.

They slowed to a safer speed and climbed into the city. Following the bending, perilous road to the plateau.

The ambient red light of the rising sun was gradually becoming yellow, but frost still covered the little vegetation they had passed. It was early, but the roads were congested with military vehicles. Soldiers in full uniform stood in force, guarding nothing in particular. The hotel signs all blinked No Vacancy, and several tents had been erected on open land.

"They're preparing for war," said Antares. "Looks like our attack is still on." He noted the mixture of colors as forces from Silverwind, and to a lesser extent New Andar, were quartered throughout the city in addition to the Skyhaven troops.

They landed their jetbikes, took off their helmets, and entered the city on foot. Antares led Kira away from the pandemonium, and they took narrow side streets to avoid attention.

Eventually the capitol was just across the street.

The pearly marble structure was surrounded by mobs of people—soldiers, curious civilians, and protestors.

"Here we are," he said, not sure what to expect. He thought of Jaden. Wondered if the man would make good on his threat to kill him. Antares didn't want to fight another good person just to save his own life.

"Yes, here we are."

The blink of her eyes and the crease of her smile gave him so much joy. He realized again how very important she was. His only hope. His only reason to believe in himself. He thought of a tiny flame. How even the tiniest, weakest fire still had the potential to become the greatest firestorm—if it was cared for and not blown out completely. His hope was like that fire and Kira, sweet wonderful Kira, was his reason not to blow it out. He couldn't lose her.

"Are you all right?" she asked, noticing his thoughtful pause.

"Look, Kira," he said, trying to find the right words. "When I go to fight Rigil, maybe you shouldn't come."

"What? Why not?"

"Rigil is deadly. More dangerous than you can imagine. If you come with me, . . . I don't know if I can protect you."

"Oh, please," she said, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "I have to go to protect you."

He smiled. He loved this about her. Her spirit. Her confidence. Her strength. How she radiated goodness and yet was so stubborn. Somehow she believed in him. Made him believe in himself. She'd helped him carry his burden every step so far and had clearly refused to let him handle it alone. As much as he wanted to keep her safe, he knew he would be taking something away from her if he refused to let her come. And that, if he tried to refuse, she'd still come anyway.

That meant his only choice was to stand between Kira and Rigil, when the time came. And incinerate Rigil with every drop of magic in his soul before he could even dream of harming Kira.

"I really, really love you," said Antares with a smile.

She laughed pleasantly. "Stop being so sentimental."

"Are you ready?" he asked, looking at the steps of the capitol.

"Only if you are."

"Okay. Let's go."

***

The noise of arguing spilled out into the hallways. Antares and Kira were ushered through the main concourse and into the throne room. It was a well-decorated hall with pillars and a smooth marble floor. The queen could be seen on her throne, surrounded by officials, while various politicians—including delegations from Silverwind and New Andar—each pressed their case urgently. In the thick of them all, Jaden and Emon could both be seen.

"And I say it's suicide!" a man in an enforcer armor said. His was orange, marking him as the Skyhaven overseer.

Antares and Kira stepped to the center of the room, and the arguing dissipated.

"Captain Ceteris, and who is the other one?" asked the queen.

"You left me hanging there in Andar, buddy," snapped Emon from Antares's right.

Antares kept his eyes on the queen.

"This is Kira Paribus of Citadel," said Antares.

Jaden fought his way to the front of the crowd. His eyes were wide. As if he couldn't process that Kira was both in enforcer armor and standing next to Antares.

"Welcome to my court, Lady Paribus. Forgive the breach of propriety. You were unannounced. As for you, Captain Ceteris, your assistance is welcome and your absence regrettable. As you can see, we have a situation. The delegation from Silverwind, notably Prefect Jaden Turk and Overseer Emon-Zed have, through tremendous efforts, gained sufficient support from Silverwind and New Andar to fulfill Silverwind's original commitment.

"They therefore expect, as do I, that Skyhaven will fulfill its pledge, and provide the necessary troops and resources to liberate Citadel. However, there is resistance among some of the members of parliament. And, at this time, Captain Ceteris, I—"

"Stop calling him that!" yelled Jaden.

Everyone was shocked by the outburst. He'd interrupted the queen, and in such an abrasive manner. There were gasps of surprise, and everyone's attention turned to the young prefect—whose face was as red as his hair. His eyes burned, and he fumed, looking from Kira to Antares and back again. As if he could tell how devoted they were to each other, see the romantic spark between them. An avalanche of envy and hate had reached a breaking point inside him.

"How dare you speak like that in this court?" said the Skyhaven overseer.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," Jaden said, looking at the queen. Then he pointed to Antares. "This man is an imposter. He's none other than Antares himself!"

This accusation sent an even greater shock wave of surprise through the room. A few people were startled and confused, but most seemed to think the young prefect was insane.

"The Antares?" asked someone. "That's preposterous. He's dead."

"I can prove it," said Jaden. "Check the records at the academy. You'll see his face. He's Antares. And he's been deceiving us all along."

"Enough of this," said the queen. "I will not have this session be hijacked by absurd accusations. Guard-captain, escort the Silverwind Prefect off the premises."

A man in Skyhaven colors approached Jaden and grabbed him by the shoulder.

"You're making a mistake, Queen," said Jaden. "You can't trust him. Find those records. You'll see that I'm telling the truth."

"What if he's right?" asked one of the politicians. "What if that man is Antares?"

"Preposterous."

"Wait!" said Antares, before Jaden could be completely removed. Antares knew they would not trust him if they knew the truth. But he was unwilling to live the lie anymore. "I am Antares. What he says is true."

He expected gasps of shock but was met with only frozen silence. No outcries. No anxious whispers. Only quiet terror and total confusion.

Antares looked into the queen's eyes. Her air of absolute confidence had been ripped away like a curtain. She had no idea what to say.

"I'm here, standing before you now," said Antares, "because I want to help liberate Citadel. We all agree that Rigil must be removed. His skytechnology has brought chaos and death, and he continues to oppress those under his rule. We are in this together, all of us. You must let me help you."

The air of distrust was thick and conflicted. He guessed some of them believed him, that his intentions were noble, but the shock was too incredible for even them to speak up on his behalf. Here before them was a figure from recent history, the same who'd slaughtered the academy masters, had razed part of this very city, and had led a violent exodus to Andar. Ultimately destroying it. He was, in their eyes, the worst person to ever live since the End of the World.

"I will go alone, if I have to," said Antares. "But I will remove Rigil from power. I can't undo my sins. No matter how much I want to. But maybe, if I end Rigil, I can help the world begin to heal."

"We should be executing you, not trusting you," one of them spoke up at last.

This sparked outcries from the others, and an argument ensued. The emotions that'd held the room hostage were unleashed, and there was a furious exchange of words. Some wanted to trust him or at least use him. They feared Rigil's skytechnology more than they feared Antares.

Others disagreed, believing that the sudden resurgence of their greatest enemy was not something to take lying down. They wanted to string him up, show the world that Antares had finally paid for his crimes. A few wanted to sell him to Rigil for a promise of a cease fire—one that would never work—and others thought he and Rigil were in this together. That somehow Antares's sudden arrival was part of a larger, fouler design.

Antares tried to think of what to add. Of what he could possibly say to sway them into trusting him. But it was Kira who spoke.

"I am Kira Paribus of Citadel," she said loudly, getting the attention of the whole room. "And my family lost everything five years ago because of the rebellion. Yet I trust this man with my life." She pointed to Antares. There was force and thunder behind her voice that he did not expect. "He is a good man. Because he has a good heart."

There were objections, but she spoke over them.

"Yesterday he was someone else. But today he stands here before you all. Wanting only to help. Wanting to set things right as best he can. The past can't be changed. And no amount of hate or retribution will bring back what was lost. But today we can make a difference. My people are suffering. They are oppressed, plagued by disease, and dying. We can choose to help them. Please, I urge you. Come with us. Come with Antares. Come with me. I beg of you, as a daughter of Citadel, look away from the past and toward the future. Toward the people who need us now. No one is safe until Rigil's skytechnology has been shut down forever. We have to act immediately. All of us do. Together."

Antares was humbled by her words. That she'd assert so much confidence in him, and defend him, despite all he'd done. Despite how he'd crippled the world and brought about so much death. That she could choose to believe in him, and declare that belief publicly, was moving. And made him all the more determined to live up to the faith she had in him. A faith, he hoped, was not misplaced.

The room filled with conflicting voices once again.

Jaden, no longer restrained by the guard-captain, stepped to the center. He looked Kira directly in the eyes, only a few feet away. "Do you know who this is?" he asked, as if Antares weren't there.

"Yes. He is the man who will stop Rigil. He's Antares of Andar."

"How can you say it like that? This man killed your parents."

"No, he didn't," snapped Kira. "Rigil did."

"Antares was an instrument of their deaths. He enabled Rigil to overpower them. Without Antares, your parents would still be alive. So it's his fault too."

"How dare you hang a burden around his neck that isn't his. He never hurt my family. He never even saw them." Her words were fierce.

Antares was grateful for her unashamed acceptance of him, even though he wasn't sure she was right. He'd never hurt her family directly, but he had enabled Rigil.

"Kira, I am shocked," said Jaden. "How are you so blind? Everything is Antares's fault. Can't you see that, everybody?" He turned and faced the majority of the people. "The fact that Citadel is upside down and turned into a machine of war is his fault. The fact that we're here right now, afraid, arguing, trying to make the best of a horrible situation, it's all his fault. If he'd never been born, none of this would've ever happened."

Antares winced at the words but couldn't deny the truth behind them.

Kira's face reddened, and her eyes narrowed, but she kept her voice even. "The past cannot be changed, and yesterday will never come again, but tomorrow is the product of what we choose to do today. If we choose to do nothing, then we cannot complain about the outcome, because our blame could only fall upon ourselves. But if we set aside yesterday, and think about what we need to do today, we can save the world. I'm only asking you to try."

"Then perhaps you are asking too much," said Jaden.

"If we refuse to have hope, then we've lost already." A hint of desperation showed in Kira's voice.

"I will never trust Antares," said Jaden flatly.

There were cries of assent.

Kira frowned, and her eyes filled with sadness but her voice remained strong. "If you think you are too great to do small things, then perhaps you are too small to do great things. And both great and small are needed today."

"I can never undo what I've done," said Antares, adding his voice to Kira's. His tone was tender and compassionate, regretful yet resilient. "But I can make things a little bit better. I'll never ask you to forgive me, but I am asking you to help me. If you don't want to come, I understand. As I said, if I have to, . . . I'll go alone."

"Not alone," said Kira. Her voice was bittersweet and as gentle as a whisper as she took his hand. He looked into her eyes; they were sad but steadfast.

"You mean to stay with him?" asked Jaden. His acidic voice could not mask his envy.

"To the very end."

"But . . . why?"

"Because it's the right thing to do," said Kira. Her piercing eyes were focused intently on Jaden. "And sometimes the right thing to do isn't the safe thing."

"I'll go," said Emon from nowhere. "My enforcers can choose for themselves. But if anyone is going to go, I want it to be me. I owe Rigil an ass beating, and that debt is certainly overdue."

An argument exploded between the different Enforcer Combines. Those from Skyhaven were most resistant, not wanting to follow Antares, especially without the blessing of their government. Most of the enforcers from Silverwind were loyal enough to Emon to commit to joining the attack, and, to Antares's surprise, every enforcer from New Andar was willing to join them too.

"I will go," said Captain Grayson, on behalf of her elite platoon.

"What?" Jaden spun to face her.

"This is what we've been waiting for," said Captain Grayson. "This is our chance to take Citadel back, and that is my first duty. Just as yours is to your city. A city that is being actively bombed by Rigil. Perhaps you should think about that."

"Second company will go," said a young Skyhaven officer. Several around him voiced their assent.

"It most certainly will not," an older, higher-ranking Skyhaven officer said. His markings looked like that of a general. "No soldiers from Skyhaven will go, and anyone that does will be court-martialed to the highest degree."

"And when we return, we will surrender voluntarily," said another Skyhaven soldier from another part of the room. "But we will go."

"Don't you realize, if you go, you won't return at all?"

"Not just court-martialed," said the leader of parliament, "but also imprisoned. We can't afford to lose half our defenses on some ludicrous campaign. Following a madman into the lion's den, it's asinine!"

The reaction to his words was riotous, and the room filled with chaos. Everyone was shouting and arguing, mayhem impossible to follow. Even the queen made no effort to control it; her face was as conflicted as the words being thrown about.

Kira tugged at Antares's hand. He looked at her, and a smile formed automatically on his face. She led him away. They walked through the chaos together, apart from it. Not belonging. They slipped through the crowd and out the door. Accepting that whoever would come, would come. It was out of their hands now.
Chapter 26

It had been over a day since the meeting at Skyhaven capitol, and now the dusk was settling over the rough road leading toward Citadel. Antares walked the path, flanked by fourteen other enforcers. He kept an eye on the nearby forest. Knowing the TAC teams were hidden in the mesh of branches and leaves, moving parallel to Antares's group. They'd ditched their vehicles and were now on foot.

At his side was Kira, every bit the hardened enforcer the others were. Their group was a force to be reckoned with, from Silverwind, Andar, and Skyhaven. Each had come, some of them unlawfully, to help free Citadel. Antares thought of the irony, how his ragtag army resembled that of Caythis's from five years earlier. A group of deserters who chose to follow their hearts and give up everything for a chance to stop the terror. Except this time, instead of leaving Citadel, they were invading it.

In numbers, their force wasn't large, but that didn't matter. They had firepower and magic aplenty, and would make tactical use of relative superiority. Their objectives were simple: breach the city, incite the populace, destroy the skytechnology, and eliminate Rigil. Antares expected Rigil's forces to be thin and demoralized. Many of them would probably defect. And, even if they didn't, there was one more joker in the deck. Old intelligence gathered from Citadel spoke of a group known as GENESIS. A resistance cell that had, all this time, opposed Rigil's occupation. Any attack on Citadel was bound to gain their support. It would be bloody, but removing Rigil was possible. And Antares was willing to do whatever it took.

They were about half a mile from the city when it was fully in view. It was a tight urban circle. High-rising structures loomed over the walls like long stretched necks, shimmering just a bit in the dim light. The stone architecture forming the wall and edges was similar to how Andar's had been, though more majestic. And the tall buildings had the modern styling of Silverwind. A large gate was sealed ahead, one of four main gates. One for each district.

An armored vehicle with a mounted gun hovered in their direction. A patrol group, including several men and two trucks, followed. Just as Antares had expected.

"Follow me, step slowly, and remember, hands on your heads," said Antares.

The trucks screeched to a stop in a cloud of dust; their noisy engines idled, and the soldiers began piling out. They trained weapons on Antares and his group—high-powered rifles and grenade launchers. At the front were five enemy enforcers; their magic was impossible to guess because their armor was uniformly black. No doubt they were enforcers who'd helped overthrow the academy five years before. Enforcers who'd allowed Rigil to betray Antares, leaving him to fight Caythis alone.

"Keep your hands on your heads," their leader said. "And explain your presence here. This is Citadel territory."

Antares noted the anxiety on the enemy soldiers' faces. They'd never come up against enforcers before, most likely, and their own enforcers were outnumbered three to one.

"We're defectors," said Antares. "Outcasts. We've left our governments to join Rigil's cause. We're tired of the old ways. Evolution calls for an end to suppressing the natural source of power. And now we're here and demand an audience with Rigil."

Antares had borrowed the rhetoric from a letter Rigil had sent him years before. It had always been Rigil's philosophy that the enforcers had a right to rule, and civilian governments didn't. As he saw it, the enforcers had been endowed by nature with tangible power while the governments were merely the corrupt offspring of social interaction. A collection of the uninformed, ignorant, exploited masses, too stupid to see the big picture, manipulated into supporting the vainglorious ambitions of an elite few.

"You don't get to speak with Rigil," said the enemy enforcer. "You get to speak with me. And I'd better like what you have to say, or else. . . . Now tell me, what is your name?"

"My name isn't important," said Antares. "All that matters is that I'm the angel of death."

"What?"

A scream filled the air as rockets roared from the forest, slamming into the trucks—transforming them into fireballs of debris. Another rocket struck a group of soldiers, sending body parts everywhere.

The enemy returned fire, but it was sporadic and poorly targeted. They were confused and too busy scrambling for cover—not finding much—to fight back. Antares drew his sword in one fluid motion and activated it. He charged for the nearest enemy—a black-clad enforcer—and cut him down.

Kira and the other enforcers joined the fray. Some with swords and others with a firestorm of mixed magic that easily overpowered their remaining enemies. They dropped like flies. Those who ran, hastily retreating toward Citadel's gate, were cut down by sniper fire provided by Captain Grayson's elite soldiers.

The armored vehicle turned its heavy turret toward the forest and opened fire blindly at the hidden TAC teams. They responded with a volley of rockets that disabled the vehicle's turret and forced the machine to crash into the ground, mostly destroyed. A hatch popped open, and the vehicle's operators scrambled out. Snipers dropped them as they ran.

In seconds it was over. And the way to the gate was clear.

Antares and the other enforcers raised their hands and blasted the gate with their combined magic. The force of the water, accelerated by the wind, slammed into the gate like an enormous battering ram, while fire melted away at the gate's strength and integrity. It collapsed almost immediately, exposing the city.

A storm of bullets began crashing into their armor as soon as the gate went down. Antares gave the order, and they went prone, crawling closer to the gate. Still blasting magic, when they could, at their main targets. Meanwhile Captain Grayson's snipers and the TAC specialists continued picking off their enemies.

"This is the easy part," said Antares. "Once Rigil has mobilized his main army and his better enforcers, we'll be outnumbered severely."

"Keep moving," said Kira.

Once they were close, they stood up and charged into the city. Summoning an enormous spray of magic to provide cover. Behind them, the TAC teams and other soldiers followed. Upon entrance they sprinted for the best tactical positions they could find. Antares and his enforcers shielded them as much as possible with a blanket of magic.

They entered the commercial district with momentum on their side. The main guards were on the run, and Rigil's military was in chaos.

Antares's force was careful to take positions that prevented their enemies from utilizing bottlenecks to slow the advance into the city. They took cover in buildings and made use of rooftops to support their street-by-street push. TAC snipers found good positions and helped continue the chaos by taking out soldiers and police.

Now that they'd established a foothold in the city, they'd have to either dig in and buy some time, or else keep pushing and help comb the city, district by district, for the skytechnology infrastructure.

Emon was leading a separate group into a different section of the city. They would enter discretely and begin the search. Antares's group had to draw Rigil's attention in the meantime, so Emon could move swiftly.

As Antares and the main force made progress through the commercial district, they encountered increasingly more resistance. A steady outpour of soldiers took up positions against them and dug in their heels. These new arrivals were more organized and better equipped, including black-clad enforcers who actually knew how to fight, and who rallied the enemy's morale.

Both forces clashed, and it wasn't at all clear who would prevail. Antares's soldiers had better positioning but were outnumbered.

Fires licked buildings; roads were showered with debris. Bullets, rockets, and hand grenades were exchanged in the fighting—with limited effectiveness—creating a noisy, smoky haze of confusion.

Emon's voice crackled over the radio. "The tunnels are blocked."

"Can you get through quietly?" asked Antares.

"Negative, they're completely sealed off."

Antares had been afraid of that. The freight tunnels leading under the city were useless to Rigil because he had no trade relations with the other cities. Making them little more than an unwanted liability. Failing to seal them would've been an egregious security error.

"We're going to force our way in with charges," said Emon.

"Not very subtle. I think they'll notice you if you do, no matter how much noise we're making over here. If they find you, they'll bottle you in."

"Understood, but the plan's changed anyway. If we can't get through here, . . . we'll have to backtrack and use your entrance. That'll waste time and further delay our district-by-district search."

"You're right. Keep me informed," said Antares, while he ran to better cover. He blasted magic at an enemy truck barreling down the road; it exploded. This caught some unwanted attention, and a heavy machine-gun turned his way, forcing him to duck low.

Captain Grayson's voice came over the radio next, and her news wasn't better. "Our position's been compromised in the east towers. We're falling back a block."

Slowly but surely they were being squeezed out of their superior position as Rigil's commanders traded heavy casualties for regained ground.

"We need to either regroup or split up and head to different districts," said Kira. "If they don't know where we are, and we seem to be coming from everywhere, that might exaggerate our numbers. And confuse them." She was about a hundred yards away with a small part of the army. She seemed to be having better success than Antares.

"We can't regroup," said Antares. "There's no way we could search every district, if we're all together. We'd be too easily contained. We need help. And if we split up—"

A deep roar filled the sky, echoing off the mountain. In the distance, part of the city collapsed. A few tall sky-rising buildings on the western end crashed to the ground in a massive outpouring of smoke that shot along the streets, obscuring everything.

"Was that you, Emon?" asked Antares. "Did you get through? Report!"

"No, we didn't get through. The damn tunnels collapsed! And took out some supports and foundations. We even lost a man. We're not getting through this way."

"Regroup with us," said Antares, keeping calm despite his distress. This failure might mean their whole operation was in ruins.

"We're already on our way."

More soldiers were streaming out from around ruined vehicles, spraying automatic gunfire toward Antares's position and lobbing grenades. One went off nearby and blew a chunk of wall into his chest plate. It knocked the wind out of him, and he crashed to the ground with a new set of bruises. Pain screamed from his breastbone as he climbed back to his feet. He returned fire with a wave of magic. He ordered the rest of his force to fall back for better cover; they'd lost this road.

"This is Survey One Actual. Antares, do you copy? Over." This new voice belonged to the leader of the survey team that had been sent to scout and capture the broadcasting tower on the nearby mountain.

"I copy. Did you take the repeater tower?"

"Affirmative. We've hijacked the signal and are now spreading freedom's message to anyone in Citadel who's listening. A call to revolt is being broadcast on all major frequencies."

"Good work. Let's hope it amounts to something."

"Lights are coming up the road. Could be trouble. We'll hold this tower at all costs to keep broadcasting our message."

"Good luck."

"We'll report again in five minutes. Survey One Actual out."

An explosion rocked the building next to him, forcing him to retreat again. He and his men fell back and returned fire. Their defensive position was slipping away. "Kira, give me some good news," he said.

"We're still holding over here. I sent a team of three to do a hit-and-run strike from the east. That seems to have confused the enemy force that's been pushing on us."

"Good work." He was glad their attack wasn't completely in retreat. "We're having a little more difficulty over here." He fired another blast of magic and ducked back into cover. "And Captain Grayson's lost her sniping position."

"Do you want us to withdraw? We can support you." There was genuine concern in her voice.

He appreciated it but knew, if she let go of her position to help him, they'd all be forced into a full retreat.

"No, we'll come to you."

Mortar shells whistled loudly as they arced above and plunged down, blasting apart buildings and roads, completely overrunning Antares's position. Antares and his men scrambled from their cover and sprinted into the open, taking heavy fire, as they sought safer ground.

At least two of his enforcers were killed by the heavy fire.

"Who's still with us?" asked Antares. "All teams report."

Each team reported except for Survey One—which had been presumably wiped out. Remaining count was nine enforcers and about thirty other personnel. The TAC teams were nearly at full strength, but all other groups had taken significant losses. Now that they'd let go of their best cover, things would get a lot bloodier, and everyone knew it.

"Do we fall back? Do we abort?" people were asking. A nearby brick building was destroyed, throwing chunks of cement and other debris everywhere.

"They've retaken Main Street," someone else said.

Antares was at a loss. He hadn't come this far to give up now. They'd known this would happen, that they'd face overwhelming numbers and were likely to die. But now that the grim reality was plainly before them, it was much harder to swallow. Seeing the exploded city and the corpses in the road, the splinters of armor, the bits and pieces of their friends sprayed over the walls and buildings, . . . it was extremely hard to stay the course. And Antares couldn't help but wonder, had they done the right thing? Would their sacrifice mean anything when they were dead?

"Do we abort, sir?" asked Captain Grayson.

"No," said Antares. It was an impulse, a feral instinct; they had to keep fighting. If they didn't draw the line here, they'd never get a second chance. They were all in.

They held off another wave of soldiers, taking a few more losses. They checked their limited munitions—which were less than expected and braced themselves for the next wave. To their surprise, it didn't seem to be coming.

"What's happening?" asked Kira.

The dust and smoke made it difficult to discern what the enemy was doing. Three minutes passed, and everyone looked at each other, uncertain what to do. Far ahead they heard the rumble of explosions and the cracking of gunshots. The noise was coming from positions they'd already abandoned.

Antares increased the volume of his helmet, and, sure enough, he heard fighting. And, through the dust and smoke, he could barely make out faint muzzle flashes.

"Everyone move!" he ordered, charging ahead.

"Push their position?" asked Captain Grayson. She complied but sounded confused. No doubt a frontal assault seemed like the worst course of action possible.

"Push now!"

They followed him, retaking the streets they'd lost—meeting almost no resistance. Before long they'd reclaimed all their old ground and found the remains of Rigil's main army in splinters. His troops were locked in irregular combat with several urban guerillas in plainclothes—they seemed to be striking from all angles with all kinds of weapons.

"GENESIS!" someone said ecstatically.

"Open fire!" Antares yelled, and they engaged Rigil's army.

Rigil's forces broke rank and split for cover, floundering and disorganized. Their officers didn't know what to make of the mess coming at them from all sides.

"What's your situation?" asked Emon over the radio.

"We're pushing them back," said Antares. "We've been joined by GENESIS."

"Do you need further assistance?"

"Negative, this part of Rigil's army is crumbling. You head north and begin sweeping the districts. Find that skytechnology and destroy it. We'll keep pushing against Rigil's military."

"Understood."

The street and surrounding buildings were cut into dust by the exchange of magic that lit up the night. Bullets crossed, and explosions carved through the rubble. It was blinding and deafening, and before long it was over. The last traces of Rigil's detachment here threw down their weapons and surrendered. GENESIS collected the arms and distributed them to their sympathizers. Some of Rigil's soldiers even defected.

Their army moved east, following the retreat of Rigil's loyalists. Knowing that Rigil's army would make another stand in the next district over. Antares expected to break them there too. But, even if Rigil's forces held Antares's group—and GENESIS—at bay forever, Emon's team would still be searching for the skytechnology. And they had more than enough explosives to deal with it when they found it.

Emon's voice came over the radio again. "If we hurry, we can take the city center and seize the capitol before they lock it down. There seems to be a riot in progress over there. I think the security forces will be overrun if we help."

"We can't risk it," another voice came over the radio. It was Baene, the Enforcer Overseer of New Andar—he was with Emon's team. "We need to find the skytechnology silos and take them out. There are three more districts to search. Dealing with Rigil is a lesser priority."

"I'm going to the capitol," said Emon. "Baene, you take charge of the team and keep looking for those silos. I'm going after Rigil."

"I'll meet you there," said Antares.

Kira had taken command of the main force and seemed to have better success organizing them than Antares had. They were making slow but steady progress against Rigil's army, and Antares reasoned that Kira could command their attack better than he could. So he wasn't needed here. And if that meant Kira wasn't with him when he faced Rigil, all the better.

He had no doubt that she could help him. And knew she was both skilled and powerful. But he couldn't shake away the image of Rigil beheading Orion. Antares imagined it was Kira's head in the helmet as it rolled along the floor, and he shuddered. Rigil was truly deadly, and Antares would rather die a million deaths than lose Kira. Losing her would be unbearable. And his deepest intuition told him that, if Kira came to fight Rigil, she wouldn't be coming back. Maybe no one would. Nobody understood Rigil like Antares did. . . .

Motivated by these thoughts, Antares said nothing to Kira and slipped away. He would beat Rigil with overwhelming magic, letting no one stand in his way, bringing along no liabilities to protect. He would drown Rigil's entire existence in flames, like he'd done to Andar City, and offer no weaknesses for Rigil to take advantage of.

He headed for the center of the city. Taking in everything. It was a scene of such severe violence that it would scar anyone's memory who looked upon it. It reminded him of the uprising at Andar.

"What have we done, Rigil? What have we done to this world?" he whispered, feeling an icy, deathly chill snake through his body. He thought of the white-haired boy who'd once been his friend. Thought of how they'd both changed the world. Nearly destroying it. Most of it would never heal. Could never be the same again. It filled him with wrath, directed inward and outward, but he controlled it. Choosing instead to focus on the present. To end what he'd started. Once and for all. That meant confronting Rigil. Until Antares did that, it would never be over.

As he neared the city center, he heard a lot of noise. Plenty of shouting, a few gunshots, but it didn't sound like a battle. He approached the capitol and saw dozens of civilians wielding all kinds of makeshift weapons. A few had firearms. They'd smashed windows, looted everything, and were burning the capitol to the ground.

Antares looked at the building. It had been majestic once, and, even as it glowed with fire and was surrounded by a haze of smoke, it was still strangely beautiful. Even in the throes of death, as parts of it began collapsing, it carried a certain dignity. This was the spot where the Founders had first met and formed the Codes of Coalition. This was the original city. It took him back for a moment thinking about it.

"Emon, I'm at the capitol—it appears to be burning down. Where are you?"

"I'm here too. Those idiots. Don't they realize they're destroying their own heritage?"

"It's probably become a symbol of Rigil's oppression. But what matters now is Rigil himself. Where is he? Did you see him flee the capitol?"

"No, he didn't come out. I guess the captain wanted to go down with the ship."

"That doesn't sound right," said Antares. He knew Rigil. Rigil would never let himself die in any place for any cause. He'd escape if he couldn't win. And a crowd of civilians wielding rocks and sticks would never be able to kill him.

Antares's eyes looked toward the northern gate. It led to the elite district. Most of the mansions and estates seemed abandoned. Which made sense. Rigil had never liked seeing others live in excessive luxury.

In the distance, looming over them all, was the royal palace. An ornate edifice of polished stone and shimmering glass. It was the most secluded building, and the perfect symbol of Rigil's elitism and vanity; everything about it made Antares think of Rigil. Antares's gaze locked on it like a crosshair. Rigil was there.

"I know where Rigil is," said Antares. Then, to himself he said, I'm coming Rigil. Sure as the wrath of God, I'm coming.

"Where is he?" asked Emon as he scrambled down the steps of the capitol trying to catch up to Antares.

"He's in there." Antares pointed to the distant palace.

"Good thinking," said Emon, having caught up.

Antares questioned the wisdom of bringing Emon along. He seemed as likely to die facing Rigil as Kira. Which gave Antares second thoughts. Made him think he should face Rigil alone. He'd been the one, after all, to enable Rigil. He should be the one to destroy him. No one else need take the gamble or make the sacrifice.

"I need to do this," said Antares.

"So do I. I need to bag me a dead Rigil."

"You don't understand. I should go alone."

"What? Give me one good reason why we're better off if you go alone."

"Because this isn't going to be easy. If you go, you'll probably die."

"Sounds like an argument for why you need me, not why you don't."

"What about all that talk of survival being the most basic instinct, and the smartest thing is to look out for your own neck?" Antares thought of a conversation he'd once had with Emon.

"Oh, that stuff," said Emon. "It's all true. Saving your own ass is still the smart thing. But you're forgetting something. I'm Emon. I don't always do the smart thing."

"I see," said Antares. "In that case, good to have you. Just make sure you understand the risks."

"I'm not afraid. I'm with Antares." He chuckled darkly and gave Antares a slap on the back. "Don't forget, Antares won last time."

"So did Rigil."
Chapter 27

Antares and Emon climbed the polished stone staircase to the palace doors. They entered, having to carve their way in, and met no resistance. There were no lights on, and the hall was empty. It felt almost haunted.

"Like nobody's home," said Emon.

They went deeper inside the palace, heading toward the ballroom. What had once been a polished, glassy floor was scuffed and damaged. The delicate fixtures everywhere were filthy, missing, or smashed. Thick power cables traced along the walls and snaked their ways down the blackened corridors.

Antares adjusted his visor, and everything illuminated. He held out his sword, still activated, and pressed forward. Emon followed, keeping watch behind them.

"We've found the silos," Baene's voice came over the helmet speaker. "They're about fifty feet tall. There's at least twenty of them. We'll have to bomb them one at a time."

"Good work," said Antares. "Are they well guarded?"

"There are plenty of soldiers and vehicles moving around down there, but that's not the bad news."

"What's the bad news?"

"They're all loaded and ready to fire. Who knows where these rockets are pointed."

Antares winced. "Can you sabotage them, or take control before they can execute a launch?"

"Even if we start capturing them, that doesn't mean we can stop them from going off. They're wired."

"Wired?"

"Yeah, wired. They're waiting for some kind of radio signal to launch. Someone somewhere has a controller, and my guess is Rigil's finger is on the button."

"If that's so, it won't be a problem for long," said Antares as he followed the cables and approached the heavy door leading to the ballroom. "I'm in the palace now, and I will deal with Rigil."

"Good luck."

He pulled open the door and entered. It looked nothing like a ballroom anymore. Instead of bright colors, chandeliers, open spaces, and elaborate decorations, it was riddled with blinking lights and buzzing machinery. Several control panels were set up along the walls, with cables and tools spread all over the place. The wooden dance floor had been ripped out and replaced by much less flammable materials, mostly ceramic tiles and cement. By far the biggest change was the addition of steel catwalks at the top of the vaulted room. From their perches, more lights blinked, and computers hummed. The ballroom had been converted into some kind of makeshift command center.

Antares stepped to the middle of the room. There were several ladders leading up the catwalks, and, because of Rigil's many "improvements," it was difficult to see the entirety of the room.

"Ever since Andar, I always knew this day would come," said a smooth baritone voice. "Even when they told me that you were dead, I believed you were alive. And knew someday you'd want your revenge."

Rigil stepped out from around one of the pillars holding up the ceiling. He wore crisp white armor, and had his helmet in one hand and sword in the other. His long white-blond hair flowed down the sides of his narrow face, and his eyes were deeply set—like dark shadows.

"I'm not here for revenge," said Antares, raising his left palm, ready to summon all his magic.

"I'm sorry I had to betray you, Antares," said Rigil. "But, were our roles reversed, you would have done the same."

He wanted to strike Rigil now, kill him on the spot. Rid the world of him. But he thought of Kira and knew that, if she could believe in Antares—despite all of his sins—then perhaps Antares should believe in Rigil. At least give him the chance to change. The same chance Antares had been given.

"It's over, Rigil. Drop your sword." He doubted Rigil would go quietly, and part of Antares hoped Rigil didn't. But Antares felt too much respect for Kira not to try the more peaceful solution.

"And now you stand here. In Caythis's own armor. What delicious irony."

"I'm only giving you one chance," said Antares. "Now drop your sword, or I'll unleash hell upon you like you can't imagine."

A thin smile spread across Rigil's face. "Whenever I dreamed about this day, and I often have, those dreams didn't include a third person." He looked at Emon then back to Antares. "Who is he?"

"I'm Emon-Zed. The man who will kill you and feed your body parts to dogs."

Rigil raised an eyebrow. "Bold words from one who isn't even worthy to be here."

"I'm going to enjoy this!" said Emon with menace. "I'm going to take you apart piece by piece. Make you feel some of the horror you inflicted upon the world."

"You sound so angry, yet the man who's truly responsible for that horror is standing next to you, not in front of you."

Antares took a single step forward. "I won't deny it, Rigil. But that doesn't mean I have to accept it. I can reject what I used to be with all my heart. Today I aspire. Today I choose to be more. It's the present that matters now, not the past."

"Beautiful speech. I hope you get the chance to share it with the widows and orphans of Andar. I'm sure they'll find it very comforting."

Antares didn't flinch. "If you want to change, Rigil, you can. If you want to become someone better, something more, I will help you." He thought of Kira. How she'd had such a powerful healing effect on him. "Otherwise, I promise you, I will kill you today."

Rigil looked more amused than intimidated. "The great Antares, the god among men, the slaughterer, here now. Standing before me. Dripping with piety. It's unbelievable. Have you truly forgotten who we are, my former friend? What we did? There's no going back for us. We're rotten as hell. Might as well make the best of it."

"I don't accept that. I don't believe it's too late for us or anyone."

"Then you are a fool. They're using you, don't you see? They don't believe in you. They see you as a weapon. A tool. Nothing more. Something to be used and discarded. Because they know the truth. People like us, we can't just go back. We've passed the point of no return. Both of us have."

The words stung, and a prickle of doubt stabbed into his heart like a needle. Was he fooling himself? Could he ever find a place in the world that he'd so wounded?

He saw Kira's face in his mind and decided to push back against the dark thoughts. Reject the negativity. No matter what the outcome was, what the world chose to do with him, he had the chance to give back what he could. To make a positive difference, no matter how slight. "I chose to be here," he said, reminding himself. "I chose to come of my own free will."

"You've chosen to ignore all the blood on your hands? All the screams of people burning to death? The lives that were cut short? The lives that will never be? The crumbling ruins of a great city—oh, and how beautiful a sight it was when the masters fell one by one? And, most of all, can you truly ignore Merak? How you killed him right in front of Ariana's eyes? That may be the crown jewel of your dark legacy. You're damned a thousand times over. You can't come back."

Antares shuddered visibly, feeling his resolve crack under the strain of his guilt.

"You do remember. You can feel it. Don't be afraid. Throw away your doubts. We turned this world upside down. You and I. And we had a right to do so. Nature allowed us this power, ours to use, ours to choose. We had a duty to shape the world, to force its progress, and we did. That was our fate. There is no shame. The world was an overgrown forest, and we were the fire that burned it. Turned it black for a while. But, in the end, it's better off this way."

Antares thought of Kira once again, tried to remember her words, her sincerity. He wished he had her strength. "It isn't about the past now. It's about the future."

"Empty words. We made the future! We are the future! Those with power given by nature are those who should have power in our world. That is our right! The days of tradition are holding us back. Power given to people because of who their parents are? That's arbitrary and random. Inefficient! Power kept in the hands of the same families forever, while those with true power are forced to serve? Whipped into submission? . . . It is unnatural. And if there is such a thing as right and wrong, the old ways are wrong."

"What's the difference, Rigil?" asked Antares. "Born to be magical, or born to be noble, what's the difference truly? It's all random. It's all by accident."

"No, it isn't the same, Antares. One is true power. The other is fiction. One cannot be denied and must be respected. The other is simply arbitrary, invented by culture not by actuality. It is untrue power. Hollow. Whereas magic is true and rich, and there is nothing more beautiful than a display of true, awesome, natural power."

"I can think of one thing more beautiful," said Emon, taking a step forward to match Antares. "The soft, warm body of a woman. And you'd know that if you'd ever gotten near one."

"And hope is more beautiful still," whispered Antares.

Rigil laughed. He nodded once toward Emon. "I like that—it's a shame your sense of humor will have to die with you."

Emon raised his left hand, looking once toward Antares, clearly wanting to strike. But they'd agreed to do it together. To create a firestorm of wind and fire.

"I wanted you to see it, Antares," said Rigil. "I always hoped you would. I waited for you. I wanted you to be here with me in the end. Together. As we finish what we started. As everything we once believed in evaporates."

Antares was puzzled.

"You see these"—Rigil gestured toward the several controllers throughout the room, including three on the catwalks—"Any one of them can end a hundred years of weakness, fraud, and corruption."

Antares remembered what Baene had said, how the silos appeared to be controlled by remote. "This is where you launch your skytechnology, isn't it?"

"That's right. And now I have rockets pointed at every government building, city center, and military complex in the rest of the world. Think about it, Antares. Imagine it. We can give the world back to the people! Break the shackles of our society once and for all. Let a new civilization emerge. One of true order. Founded by true power. A greater world born from the chaos and ashes. I have worked every day for five years to achieve this dream. This is why I was born. Why we were born. This is our destiny. Embrace it!"

"My destiny, if I have one, is stopping this madness," said Antares. He stepped toward the nearest control panel, activated his sword, and slashed it.

"Meaningless," said Rigil, putting on his helmet. "I can launch the full spread from any one of these panels. And I will. That's a promise."

"I see I have no choice," said Antares. "Very well then, Rigil. I hope you find peace in death."

He looked to Emon, and they both raised their hands, ready to unleash hell upon Rigil. "Now!"

Their magic fizzled at their fingertips. Barely more than the cough of a flame and a tiny puff of wind.

"And now you realize it's over," said Rigil. He pointed toward the corner of the room where, set into the foundation, was an elderstone. It didn't recognize Antares or Emon as its master, so their magic was useless here.

"We've traveled a long way together. And accomplished so much. I couldn't have done it without you. For that you have my thanks. Now leave this world, Antares of Andar. Go into the deep black void!"

With no cover to duck behind and nowhere to run, Antares braced himself. Awaited the onslaught of Rigil's magical gale—more forceful than a high ocean tide. But it never came. Rigil's hand was raised, as if to do magic, but it didn't come. It fizzled. It was nothing. He too was not master of this place, despite having occupied it for five years.

"Ha!" said Emon.

"No matter," said Rigil. He dropped his hand and withdrew his sword. "Do you remember Orion?"

The chilling image of the great swordmaster being decapitated came to Antares's mind. And once again he thought of how Emon had no idea how much danger he was in. Antares would protect Emon, if Antares could.

"Looks like we get to do this the fun way after all," said Emon as his own sword snapped to life, energy surging around the blade. "Antares, you start wiping out those launchers. I'll hold him off."

Antares shook his head. "Trust me, we have to take him together. We kill him, none of those controllers will even matter. Go!"

They charged together.

Rigil stood his ground.

Antares aimed a swipe at Rigil's head, wanting him to retreat a few steps. But Rigil parried it expertly and fended off two fast jabs from Emon. Antares pressed his attack hard. Swiping and slicing, aiming for short, fast strokes meant to keep the pressure on Rigil. To keep him from attacking back.

Emon picked up on this idea and added his own ruthless strokes to the mix. Forcing Rigil to retreat a little. But, as fast as they were, Rigil was faster. His blade always managed to get in the way, blocking the kill.

Rigil continued on the defensive for some time, countering all of their efforts. He even managed to keep them away from the launch controllers. Antares could imagine the amused smirk plastered on Rigil's face. His every move radiated confidence. Even on the defensive he was in control. It angered Antares, made him attack more viciously.

Rigil artfully ducked and dodged, and managed to wedge Emon between himself and Antares often. It frustrated Antares's attack pattern and made it difficult for him and Emon to coordinate. As often as not, they were in each other's way.

They tried to corner Rigil, but he slipped between them, parrying their swords with ease, always keeping them on the same side—where he could focus on them both. Each time Antares or Emon tried to go around, to get at Rigil's undefended side, Rigil would sweep in with a fast attack and juggle them back together.

The fighting continued like a game of cat and mouse for a while. They would push Rigil back several feet, working together, and then Rigil would open up with full force. Sending them scrambling backward and rolling to the sides to escape his deft blows. In their retreat, they'd somehow manage to regroup and, together, stand their ground again. Gradually able to gain momentum.

Despite Rigil's impressive strikes, which came almost like clockwork, Antares got the feeling they hadn't really seen his best. Rigil's stance and strokes were more expert than Antares remembered—Rigil had improved, but it was impossible to shake the feeling they were being toyed with.

Antares knew he needed to change the game. Needed to take some kind of advantage. He scoured the room, searching for an opportunity in the mesh of catwalks, cables, and computers. There was nothing obvious to use. His best idea was to force Rigil's back against one of the six pillars holding up the ceiling.

They passed along the edge of a wall, and Emon managed to slice his sword into one of the controllers. That meant two down. There were several more to eliminate, but progress was being made. Seeing another of his control panels destroyed, Rigil became more aggressive. In a blur of motion—barely slow enough to be seen, Rigil struck twice, swatted Emon's blade aside, and thrust for the kill. Antares managed to parry the attack, but only narrowly. He stumbled backward, tripping over some cables, and Rigil swung low. Emon got in the way, somehow managing a block, and gave Antares the time he needed to regain his balance. They continued defending each other as much as possible but were still driven back—practically at a run, as they struggled to stave off Rigil's deadly blows.

Their retreat ended when Antares's back crashed against one of the stone pillars. Rigil came down on him, but Emon stepped in the way once again. Rigil swatted Emon's sword aside and, with a kick, sent him to his knees.

Antares knew he had to give Emon time to roll away. He angled himself and sprang forward, arm extended, aiming for Rigil's weaker side. Antares's brilliant blade cut through the air and crashed hard against Rigil's. A surge of light burned Antares's eyes as his visor blinked, trying to compensate. The force of the blow shook him, and he felt some pain in his joints. But that didn't slow him. He sent a second blow, and a third. Each attack was blocked, but he had managed to give Emon enough time to regain his footing. Now they were on opposite sides of Rigil.

Rigil, seeing that he was more exposed, retreated several steps. Accidentally backing into one of the pillars. It was the window Antares had been searching for.

Antares bolted forward, and Emon charged in from the other side. Rigil took up a defensive stance, ready.

They crashed hard, all three of them. A complete frenzy of swordplay that exploded in total chaos. Rigil swung his sword more desperately and more forcefully than ever before. Each stroke had blinding precision.

Antares and Emon kept the pressure on. Landing their strikes with full force and speed. Intending to end Rigil and offer him no hope of escape. In the pandemonium, all caution faded. They had him. They just couldn't let up.

Antares's visor blinked furiously. He could feel the sweat pouring down his face. He almost slipped on the smooth floor as he blocked a powerful blow. But he didn't let up. Didn't break his resolve. He gave it his full intensity. Rigil would die here and now.

Something struck Antares's helmet hard, throwing his head back. His sense of balance disappeared, and he crashed to the ground. He rolled aside immediately and sprang to his feet. Just in time to see Rigil's blade being withdrawn from Emon's chest.

Emon crashed to his knees, like an empty set of armor. His last words were lost to a garble of static as he collapsed on his face. His lifeless sword rolled a few feet away, chopped at the hilt, half a hand still stuck to it. Even his helmet had been slashed.

Antares couldn't believe it. He'd failed again. And Emon had paid the ultimate price. Antares's blood boiled, and he wished he'd never allowed Emon to come.

"The extra never belonged here in the first place," said Rigil.

They stood facing each other for a moment.

Rigil rolled Emon over with his foot, smearing blood along the floor.

Antares held his sword evenly. "We started this alone, Rigil. And now we finish it. Alone. Just like you wanted."

"Why do you keep fighting me, Antares? You know you can't win. Not with the sword. You've never been able to beat me with the sword."

"I've never had a good enough reason to. Until now."

"Pathetic last words."

Rigil and Antares charged each other. They clashed in a brief struggle that sent Antares ducking to the side, forced to dart back a few steps.

Their blades crossed again, sweeping and crashing into each other at high speed. Antares felt his arms grow stiff every time their blades collided. His glove slipped on the hilt, threatening to drop the sword. He squeezed harder and fought on. His feet slid as he moved, causing him to nearly stumble in his dodges and retreats.

He searched for opportunities to counterattack but found few. To keep alive, Antares played for the draw. Kept his distance, held his blade defensively, and focused on predicting Rigil's next move.

Rigil's sizzling blade blurred through the air near Antares's face, just centimeters away, again and again. But with luck, and intense focus, Antares managed to parry each blow. This frustrated Rigil who accelerated his attacks and assumed larger risks. His swipes started coming even closer, and it took everything Antares had to keep pace with Rigil. An enemy whose finesse and skill seemed boundless.

They crashed together again, sending Antares tumbling backward. He tucked and rolled to escape Rigil's next strike, barely evading him. Antares rebounded to his feet, refusing to give up—even though fatigue was starting to take hold. His breathing was sharper, and he knew he was wearing down. All around him the glowing lights of the launch controllers mocked him. He still had so many to destroy. He would not fail! He couldn't. Too much depended on him.

Rigil pressed forward again, his sword practically invisible as it glided. Antares threw himself into his block, nearly tripping. Rigil swiped at Antares, he dodged, and the offending sword burned into the pillar. Antares had an opportunity.

He surged forward, throwing everything into his attack. All other thoughts disappeared.

Rigil plucked his sword from the pillar just in time to block Antares's first strike. Antares threw a second, and then a third. A series of high-pressure blows aimed for the kill. Rigil managed to block each one, but he stumbled backward. Retreating.

They exchanged furious blows, gliding across the room. Their eyes burned from the bright flashes that their visors couldn't keep up with. Antares kept Rigil on the run, and Rigil used all his skill to hold Antares at bay, parrying attacks that were increasingly deadly. Something inside Antares raged and boiled, and he surrendered to his instincts, feeling faster than he'd ever been.

Antares's strikes threatened to kill Rigil repeatedly, but Antares's pace was slowing, and his adversary's blocks were getting stronger. Antares knew his control was slipping, so he threw himself into one final, desperate, all-or-nothing swipe.

Rigil dodged it masterfully. And counterattacked. All momentum shifted his way.

Unwilling to leap into a fast retreat, Antares dashed to the side. He eyed two controllers blinking at him. He sprinted for them and cut them to pieces. Then spun around, expecting to see Rigil bearing down on him.

But Rigil was just standing there. About four meters away. And then Antares realized he'd run, voluntarily, into a corner. That Rigil could charge him at any moment, and there was no retreat.

"As always, you are an instrument of your own destruction, Antares."

Antares refused to remain trapped. His heart thumped inside him like a machine-gun, and he charged. Sword ready to bear down.

They had a massive collision, an explosion of swordplay and desperation that threw Antares stumbling back. His sword was thrown from his hands—it slid along the ground, burning the floor as it went.

"I told you it was futile. Now kneel!" said Rigil.

Antares refused.

"So be it." Rigil swung to decapitate Antares.

Antares had predicted this and managed to duck Rigil's strike, somersaulting backward. Landing himself even deeper into the corner. Rigil approached slowly. Knowing Antares had nowhere to run.

Antares glanced at his sword several feet away, then back at Rigil, who'd stopped his advance about two meters from Antares.

"A noble but pointless sacrifice," said Rigil, gesturing toward the destroyed controllers. "There are, as you can see, several more. And all I need is one. So, before I kill you, I want you to understand something. Your death is completely meaningless."

Antares braced himself. The fear of death choked him, almost as much as the fear of failure—what that meant for the world—but a tiny part of him embraced his fate. A sliver of his soul believed he deserved this. It was a fitting end for a dark man who never should have been born.

Rigil's attack did not come. He'd become distracted by a noise. With a loud hiss and clank, a metal door unsealed itself and slid open. Instead of waiting to see who emerged, Antares used the opportunity to dive to the side and roll away. Escape the corner. He heard the whoosh of Rigil's sword just behind, a narrow miss.

Antares plucked his sword from the ground, and spun to face Rigil and the newcomer.

A female enforcer stepped into the room, sword ablaze. Her silver armor gleamed majestically.

"I thought we had a deal," said Kira. "I take my eyes off you for two seconds, and you're already in over your head."

"I've never been happier to see you," said Antares. But, as his eyes found Emon's corpse again, he feared for Kira. That he couldn't protect her any better than he had Emon.

"Interesting. . ." said Rigil, better angling himself to counter them both.

"Emon!" said Kira, now spotting the fallen figure. His armor was ruined, his helmet slashed, his chest pierced. . . . It was a gruesome sight, one that showed how dangerous Rigil could be.

Antares charged Rigil, weaving like a snake. Kira rushed him too.

Together they hit Rigil from opposite sides with full speed and fury.

Rigil caught Kira's blow first, repelling her attack before shifting to block Antares—who'd arrived half a second too late.

Antares and Kira pressed for the advantage, splitting Rigil's attention. Rigil began fumbling, gliding backward to give himself space to continue his defense. Antares moved with him, matching his strokes while Kira pressed at his side, angling to slip her blade past his lightning quick defenses. Using this tactic, they drove him back several feet.

It was a difficult position to recover from, but a pin Rigil managed to wiggle out of. He juggled them both to the same side where he could fight them more easily. Before long, he was pressing his own attack. Forcing Kira and Antares to compensate and retreat. Slowly but steadily they were being driven toward the wall.

Antares would not be cornered again! Especially if it meant Kira would be in danger. He threw himself at Rigil, almost recklessly, and the battle intensified. Kira helped defend Antares, whose attacks left him open, and her strokes improved. She was slowly adapting to Rigil's fighting style. Antares pressed to dominate Rigil, and Kira exploited the tiny weaknesses in Rigil's pattern.

Rigil managed to compensate, and the battle reached a standstill; one side managed to push the other a few feet before being driven back shortly afterward. This continued for quite some time, and Rigil's tricks became easier to predict—his advantage slowly faded. Antares and Kira worked together increasingly better. Moving fluidly, like music, their strokes reaching perfect harmony. Attacking together, blocking for each other, both carving through Rigil's defenses—making him progressively more frustrated.

Antares and Kira pushed Rigil on a steady retreat. He launched a few clever swipes of his own, but Kira and Antares batted them aside.

Rigil did everything to slow them down and block their attacks, readjusting himself to counter them in the most efficient ways. It felt impossible to get their blades near enough to kill him, but Rigil had no attacking chances. Antares and Kira complemented each other too well, and Rigil could only keep blocking—hoping to win by attrition. He was pushed ever closer to the wall, and the outcome seemed inevitable—he would lose.

Rigil switched tactics without warning. They passed a pillar, and Rigil threw himself at Antares, narrowly avoiding a swipe from Kira. Their blades crashed with the full momentum of Rigil's body, knocking Antares to the ground where he rolled to the side and bounced to his feet.

When he got up, Rigil was nowhere to be seen. He'd completely vanished.

Even Kira seemed surprised. "Where'd he go?" she asked.

"You mean, you didn't see?" Antares spun in a circle, not wanting Rigil to surprise him with a backstab.

"He went behind the pillar and disappeared."

They both turned circles, looking everywhere. Anxiety filled Antares's stomach. Made him uneasy. Forced him to wonder if Rigil was arming one of the controllers.

"You see those controllers," said Antares, pointing to the nearest one.

"Yes."

"We've got to destroy them all. They're able to launch the skytechnology." As Antares said this, he and Kira went instinctively back to back, and together combed the room, slowly, protecting each other, watching out for Rigil on all sides.

They reached a set of controllers and destroyed them. "That makes six down, . . . several more to go." He expected Rigil to leap from the shadows at any moment—especially when they'd walked into a corner to take out the controllers. But Rigil didn't.

They moved to another set of controllers without resistance. Antares listened for even the slightest movement. Feeling extremely uneasy.

They wiped out these two controllers also and continued sweeping the room. Antares nearly jumped at the sound of a sliding door slamming aside.

A man was there, wearing full red radiation gear and a helmet. He jogged into the room, carrying a shiny black assault rifle. His shoulder was marked with the emblem of Silverwind.

"You're the last person I expected to see," said Antares.

"Baene said I could find you here," said Jaden.

"Jaden? What are you doing here?" asked Kira. She sounded genuinely concerned for his safety.

"Someone I deeply respect helped me remember," he said, "that sometimes the right thing to do isn't the safe thing."

He approached, and Antares stepped aside, allowing Jaden into their defensive circle. It meant a lot to see Jaden, but Antares doubted Jaden understood the danger he'd placed himself in. And how useless his rifle would be when Rigil resurfaced.

"Careful, Jaden," said Antares. "Rigil is in here somewhere. Full combat armor. Keep your eyes peeled."

"We have to take out those controllers," said Kira. "They're wired to the skytechnology."

"Simple enough," said Jaden. His rifle blazed to life as bullets crashed into the nearest few controllers. After a few seconds, the clip ran dry, and he slapped in another. Antares and Kira guarded him on both sides, escorting him through the room while he blasted the controllers into sparking metal refuse.

The rifle ran dry again just as the last controller on the ground was destroyed. That left three in the catwalks. Jaden slapped in another clip, and Antares led them toward the nearest ladder. There was still no sign of Rigil; that made everyone uneasy. Especially Antares.

"We need to get up there. But Rigil could be waiting to decapitate the first person who tries. So I'll go first," said Antares. He climbed the ladder, sword in one hand.

He raised himself to the top of the metal catwalk. It was hard to see much, but there was no sign of Rigil. Cords ran everywhere; some torn open and sparking, and steel supports blocked his view. He pushed his way past a curtain of cables, moving along the catwalk toward the center. Jaden climbed up next and followed.

"Hurry up, Kira," said Antares.

"I'll be fine. Someone needs to guard the way down. Just hurry up!" she said. Antares got a sick feeling, he was not comfortable with leaving Kira down there alone. If Rigil were hiding on the ground . . .

"Make it quick!" snapped Antares, and Jaden crouched, stabilizing his firearm. It growled to life and blasted away one of the remaining controllers. As Jaden changed angles to get the other one, Antares moved out of the line of fire. He watched their backs, searching for any good hiding places. Unfortunately there were several.

"Almost done," said Jaden. He aimed his rifle at the last two targets, Antares looked away.

Jaden fired his weapon, then yelled, "Watch out!"

A whoosh of noise. Something moved behind him. Antares spun to see what it was but saw only Jaden's arm pushing him, knocking him over. Antares rolled off the side of the catwalk, barely catching the edge with his free hand to slow his fall before he crashed onto the hard ground below.

He leaped to his feet, sword at the ready, only to hear Kira's panicked voice. "Oh, no, no, please, no!"

Antares moved like a snake, sweeping in for a better view. Rigil stood on the catwalk, tall white armor that loomed over Jaden. He pulled his sword from the young soldier's corpse. Antares watched Jaden's helmet roll along the catwalk, somehow having been knocked loose from his head.

Only then did he realize what Jaden had done. Rigil's blow had been meant for Antares. Jaden had given his life . . . A sense of awe and remorse poured over him. It wasn't right for better people to die protecting him. Death was what he deserved, not them. His eyes flicked from Jaden, to Emon, then back to Rigil. And he felt both hate and fear. Hate that he'd failed to save yet another. And fear that Kira would be Rigil's next victim.

"Survival is meant for the fittest," said Rigil. "Nature must have disapproved of that one."

Rigil dropped to the ground, landing with the grace of a cat. Antares stared at Rigil's expressionless helmet, feeling wrath boil his blood, burning him. He could sense the magic inside him, steaming, begging to be released, restrained only by the elderstone's magic. The pressure was intolerable, and the sight of so much pointless slaughter was impossible to accept. They never should have had to die, but Emon and Jaden had given everything. And now it was his turn.

Antares stepped forward, blade raised. Rigil faced him. They stood opposite each other for barely a second before Antares charged, his sword a trail of sweeping fire; his teeth clenched, his muscles taut. Kira met Rigil on the other side, and together they fought him, pressing him back again, forcing him to retreat. Every stroke energized by a measure of hate and desperation that poured from an endless well inside Antares. He wouldn't let up. He wouldn't let go. Rigil was his.

This exchange was the most vicious yet, and Antares pressed himself to the front and center. Keeping Rigil in check and pushing with all Antares's might and vigor, blow after blow, swiping and slicing, every strike stretching for the kill. He'd never fought so aggressively in all his life or with such deadly force. Wrath and anger empowered him; desperation motivated him, and Antares surrendered to them all. Let them consume him. Absorbed the hunger for violence like a ravenous animal. He threw everything, including his humanity, into killing Rigil, into ending it all.

Antares dominated the battle as much as he could. Like a burning craving he just couldn't satisfy as he continued throwing himself at Rigil, wildly and impulsively.

In his fiery state, the harmony he and Kira had achieved earlier now evaporated. And though Antares struck with viciousness and passion, relentlessly charging and sweeping, he made it difficult for Kira to wedge herself into the battle.

His strokes were fierce and put Rigil on the defensive, but they were also clumsy and easily blocked. And, in his maddening charge, he'd left himself wide open, a window Rigil didn't miss as he sliced upward.

With reflexes faster than lightning, Antares lurched backward, mostly avoiding the blow. But the point of Rigil's blade caught him, scraping along the edge of his helmet. Sizzling as it went.

With a hiss, the seal was broken, and Antares had to duck away from the fighting to tear the burning helmet from his face. Some of it crumbled apart as he ripped it off. His naked face felt vulnerable to his sword's incredible heat so he switched it off and slipped behind a pillar to catch his breath. Kira darted to intercept Rigil and hold him at bay, and Antares could hear them fighting from the other side of the pillar. The noise moved farther away.

He had to get back in there. He had to save her.

He thought quickly, desperately. Knew he had to protect himself from the radiation and blinding light. He glanced toward Emon's corpse. Unfortunately Emon's helmet was already ruined. But Jaden's wasn't. Antares's gaze found where Jaden's helmet had rolled on the catwalk. Antares dashed for the nearest ladder and climbed it as swiftly as he could, his sword now behind his back.

He ducked by a beam and slipped past the mesh of cables. Directly ahead, on the far side of the catwalk, was Jaden's helmet. It looked intact. He ran for it, stopping only as he heard a light scream.

His heart exploded in panic, and he skidded to a halt, glancing over to where Kira had last been seen. Through the holes in the riveted catwalk floor, he could see her sword. It was snapped and ruined on the ground.

But she was still alive. That gave him enormous relief. Even though he was still terrified for her safety.

Rigil was holding her, his arm around her neck; his blade poised to carve into her at any moment. Seeing her helpless, and in such danger, Antares felt levels of panic and fire that he'd never known existed.

"Where are you, Antares?" asked Rigil. He whipped Kira around like an appendage as he spun about, searching.

Kira was safe for the moment. Rigil didn't know where Antares was. He looked back toward Jaden's helmet, and crept forward as quietly as he could. After a few steps, the catwalk creaked.

"Stop or she dies," said Rigil.

Antares froze in place.

Rigil's voice returned to its normal, smooth texture. "Not another step toward that controller."

Antares looked up, suddenly realizing Jaden's helmet lay next to the only intact controller. If Antares destroyed it, Rigil's threat to the world would be over. Potentially he'd be saving hundreds of thousands of lives. More even than had been lost in Andar those years ago.

"What do you want, Rigil?" asked Antares.

"I want you, Antares. I want to fight you alone." He said the last part with relish.

Antares caught a direct view of Rigil's sword; it looked like a blazing ball of white light, forcing him to squint and shield his eyes. He looked away, hesitant. If he fought Rigil, Antares couldn't hope to win; he would certainly die. Even if he prevailed, the tremendous amount of radiation pouring out from their swords would kill him. If only he had a radiation helmet. . . . He glanced back at Jaden's helmet—it was only steps away. And right next to the final launcher. He could go to it and destroy it if he wanted to, and Rigil couldn't stop him.

"One more step, and she dies this instant!" said Rigil.

"Don't listen to him, Antares!" screamed Kira. "Destroy the last controller!"

"Shut up, you!" said Rigil, knocking the hilt of his sword against her helmet as hard as he could. "Antares, this is your last and only chance."

Antares stared at the ground below him, realizing, if he jumped, he was likely to die. He looked at Kira tied up by Rigil's arm and thought of Antares's Crucible. Thought of the woman tied up below, a woman he might've been able to save—but didn't.

His eyes darted between Kira and the controller. He didn't have to do it. He didn't have to surrender his fate and the safety of so many people. It wouldn't be selfish to go for the helmet and the controller. Saving himself in the process. Kira even wanted him to make that choice. To do the safe thing. Save the hundreds of thousands. Rationality begged him to let her go. To do the right thing for the good of the many.

But when he looked down at her, everything around him—all of the chaos, all the destruction, and all the logic melted away. For once in his life, he knew what he wanted. And there was no conflict within him. It was the strongest feeling he'd ever experienced.

"I fight you, here and now, leaving that controller intact, and you let her live."

"I swear it," said Rigil.

Antares knew he couldn't trust Rigil. But Antares's heart had made his decision long before his head ever could. Without another thought, he stepped over the edge and dropped. Like he should have years ago, at that cliff. For that poor woman.

His knees bent to break his fall. Then he stood up straight, drew his sword, activated it, and held it high. He stared at Rigil through squinted eyes. Completely at his mercy.

Rigil tossed Kira aside with a powerful shove. She crashed into the nearest wall, rolling and crumpling to the ground. But she was still alive.

Antares stood his ground, letting Rigil come at him. The blur of white armor and blinding light flew closer. Antares threw his sword and all of his weight into it, connecting with Rigil's blade. It shook Antares. He groaned as the immense heat and brightness scorched him, but he gritted his teeth and held off Rigil's attacks. Managing even to throw in a few strikes of his own.

Their fighting accelerated, and still Antares yielded no ground. He kept pace with Rigil. Focused his mind. Swallowed his pain. Pushed back with everything that he had. Nothing else mattered anymore.

His own blade stabbed at him with deadly rays of heat and radiation, scalding him. A pain that further intensified when Rigil came near and their blades crashed, sending sparks and heat everywhere. Antares's skin burned, his vision filled up with foggy white scars from the flashes of the two swords.

Rigil's attacks came even faster and were becoming harder to predict. Antares parried them as best he could. Forcing himself to guess where the next would be. Trusting his instincts. The blinding white ball of Rigil's blade was like a vague, deadly blur. Roasting him and threatening to carve him open. Antares fought back fiercely, even though his own sword felt like a small star in his hand—a burning white orb that took every drop of will just to wield it.

Their duel stretched on, and Antares found himself pressing Rigil back, making him retreat. The fight continued, grueling blow after grueling blow, and Antares felt the enormous tax of his efforts. He lost his sense of direction, and now everything seemed to glow white. The sweat on his face evaporated as fast as it formed, and all over his body was a nasty, itching, burning sensation from the radiation poisoning. In the pit of his stomach he felt the almost overwhelming urge to vomit out all of his organs.

But he kept fighting. Turning his weaknesses into fuel, burning himself alive, squeezing his soul for stamina. Scraping his insides and finding strength he never knew he had.

The frenzy continued, blades crashing and sweeping against each other with unprecedented speed and force. A circular exchange that stretched Antares, stealing from him everything he had, every drop of will, powered by pure, raw, sheer desperation.

It enabled him to continue when his body begged him to stop. Encouraged him to throw his arms fast enough, grip his sword tight enough, and think clearly enough to keep pace with Rigil. And press him hard.

The white flashes were all but invisible now, blanketed over by a thin veil of blackness. Tears melted away as they formed over his scorching, burning eyes. And the skin of his face was tortured increasingly by each passing second. His body was consumed by a horrible sweltering, and his eyes stung with overwhelming pain.

But Antares fought on. Swinging more and more desperately. Guiding his blade as best he could, putting all his strength behind it. But, even though he'd driven Rigil back almost against the wall, Antares was breaking. His body was severely weakened. His sense of balance shook, and the entire world was spinning out from under him. It was almost impossible to distinguish Rigil's armor from his blade, and Antares felt himself become stiff and slow. His attacks slackened; his pace diminished. His limbs seemed to crumple under their own weight.

It was over.

Antares cursed himself. Hating that he'd failed. Hating that he wasn't able to save Emon or Jaden. Hating that he couldn't save the people of the world. And, most of all, hating that he couldn't protect Kira. Even giving his last full measure hadn't been enough.

With one last surge of desperation, Antares crossed blades with Rigil, aiming for a swift kill. His efforts were easily blocked. He felt himself crash to his knees, all strength sucked away. It took whatever was left just to keep from falling on his face.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered hoarsely, trembling, shaking all over. His body was sick and broken, and the whole world was trembling. He touched the ground with his free hand, searching for something steady to cling to, blinking, desperate to clear his eyes.

Rigil stood over him. He too was bent and battered. Their fight had taken a toll on him as well, but he was the victor. He still stood. Sword in his hands. Ready to deliver the death blow.

Antares felt the urge to close his eyes but couldn't. His eyelids were frozen, or else he lacked the strength. He felt he could do nothing, except watch his own death swing toward him like a pendulum. "I failed," he screamed to the world, but it came out less than a whisper.

A light—even more blinding than Rigil's sword—filled his vision. It chased away every shadow in the room. With it came a bolt of pure energy that arced toward Rigil and struck him with a powerful force. He was thrown aside, his armor boiling and smoking. He shook violently as he struggled back to his feet.

Antares could barely make out Kira standing firm, her palm held flat toward Rigil. Her silver armor shimmered in the brilliance of her own light. And from her hand came another wave of light and energy that slammed into Rigil, leaving him trembling, his armor partially melted. Rigil's tortured screaming could faintly be heard through his helmet, as he teetered off balance.

Antares realized, as Rigil must have, that Kira was the true master of this place. That the elderstone here would not block her. And she'd tapped into a power they would never understand. She stood there, majestic and unshakable. Radiant.

Antares regained his footing as he stood once more.

Rigil raised his blade and charged toward Antares, tumbling off balance as he did. He sprang through the air, his sword poised for the kill.

Kira slammed Rigil with another bolt of magic. He fell on Antares, aiming his sword down, backed by the full weight of his body.

Antares raised his own sword; his arms quaked, but he held it firmly. Pointed the blade upward just as Rigil came down—impaling himself upon it. Rigil's sword sparked to ruins as its hilt crossed paths with Antares's fiery blade. The weight of Rigil's body knocked Antares onto his back. He rolled out from under Rigil, remaining on the floor, and tossed aside his sword.

Antares stared up at the ceiling, struggling to breathe.

His vision faded to black, and his shaking lessened as his eyes closed. He could barely hear something. It was like a simple, pleasant melody but so very far away. It called his name, "Antares, Antares," like a scream hushed by the wind. Like an echo in a canyon. A tiny smiled formed on his lips.

He felt a tug at his foot and jerked as something gripped his ankle. He was dragged along the floor. The light lessened, and he heard the hiss of a closing door. He opened his eyes, blinking, trying to clear his vision.

Kira stood over him, her elegant silver armor looking down. Her helmet hovered just over his head. It was easy to imagine her beautiful face behind it, especially those lovely brown eyes.

Reality blacked in and out, and his view of her—when he could see—was like gazing into a reflection on rippling water. Unclear but still beautiful. He watched her, barely able to see and hear anything. She sounded concerned, but the words were lost to him. He tried to smile. To reassure her.

She began to take off her helmet, and he felt an ounce of strength. He caught her hand with his, stopping her. Even though he wanted to see her again, to look into those beautiful eyes one more time, and to kiss her. There was something he wanted even more. And that was her safety. He couldn't let her unseal her helmet. She'd be exposed to all the radiation. The poison he'd so deeply absorbed.

She seemed to understand and took his hand instead, holding it tightly. He barely felt her fingers slip between his, and he gave her a squeeze as best he could.

The physical pain seemed to drift away like a gentle tide.

She leaned over him, pressing her helmet against his head.

He blinked, staring through her visor, seeing her eyes behind it. They were red and damp but still bright and full of that sparkle of life he'd grown to love. Those all-forgiving eyes. He smiled, seeing them, and pressed his lips against her helmet, kissing it.

She would be fine. She was safe.

He relaxed some, letting his eyes close again.

All she'd done for him flashed through his mind. And he whispered the words, "I love you." They were too simple, but he could think of nothing better to say.

"And I love you," she said. Her voice seemed so distant.

"Is it over?" he asked the darkness, clinging to her—his last tie to the world.

"Yes, Antares, it's over." Her voice was tender.

He relaxed completely. Now the world's healing could begin. It wouldn't be easy, but, at least now, . . . it would be possible.

He squeezed her hand one last time. Thinking of her standing with him. On a sailboat. Riding a gentle tide out of Andar Cove. Together forever.

Never before had he felt such peace.

(The End)

Dear Reader, I hope you have enjoyed reading Secrets of Silverwind. If you have time, please leave a review in the ebookstore. I would greatly appreciate that.

Also be sure to check out the best-selling free ebook The Phoenix Conspiracy which is now also available as a free audiobook download from www.richardlsanders.com.

Thank you!

Acknowledgements

This book is dedicated to my little brother Russell who has always been there next to me through thick and thin. I would also like to thank my beta readers and friends who've helped me every step of the way. Especially Brandon and Ruth who've both consistently gone well beyond the call of duty to help me achieve my dreams.

