

### Alliance of Serpents

### Volume Two of The Fourth Dimension

by

Kevin Domenic

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PUBLISHED BY:

Kevin Domenic on Smashwords

The Fourth Dimension: Alliance of Serpents

Copyright © 2010 by Kevin Domenic

Cover Art: Philip Kurniawan

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

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

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### ALLIANCE OF SERPENTS

### VOLUME TWO OF THE FOURTH DIMENSION

### Chapter 1

Kindel wiped his fingerprints away with a soft cloth, leaving the golden amulet to shine with renewed beauty and luster. The three jewels embedded in each corner sparkled against the light of his eyes, though the absence of the lephadorite itself left a wide vacant notch in the center. _If anything happens to that stone, I'll have each and every one of their heads severed with a dull blade._ Releasing it to their possession had been quite a chore; it was not easy to let go of the thing. But what was done was done, and all he could do was wait for results. Scientists were never known for their speed, but Kindel had ordered that the lephadorite project take precedence over any and all other experiments and research that may have been underway.

He dropped the cloth on his desk and examined the amulet again, searching for any cracks or imperfections in the colored jewels. Any change in weight or molecular composure could affect the lephadorite's reaction. Everything had to be just so. It was a test of perfection for Kindel—luckily for him, he'd always been a perfectionist—and he did not want to imagine the consequences he'd face for abusing the power within that little rock. _If Barrine isn't careful with that thing, he may wind up killing us all._ What kind of experiments were they performing? Did they take him seriously when he told them the lephadorite was unstable and unpredictable?

The visitor alert toned from the door. "You may enter," he said, his eyes remaining fixed on the amulet.

The door slid open to admit Scimitar and Kalibur with their prisoner in tow. How they'd managed to nab this one was beyond Kindel, though the bloodstains on the man's vest likely had something to do with it. He was unshackled—Kalibur's report had stated he'd come willingly—but a crude bandage was taped around his shoulder, and he walked with the sort of lethargic exhaustion Thorus would expect from a man who'd just come from battle. Still, despite the glaze over his eyes and the slump of his shoulders, Sartan Truce wore an arrogant grin over his golden beard. Scimitar and Kalibur moved to Kindel's side of the desk, leaving him standing just inside the doorway. Thorus never took his eyes from the amulet.

Several moments passed before Truce spoke. "Aren't you even going to welcome me?"

"I have little time for nonsense, Sartan." Kindel made his voice as casual as he could. While it was true that he wanted to know what the Kyrosen had been up to that had drawn Aldoric's attention away from the Armada, it was never a good idea to give a prisoner any idea of the importance of his knowledge. A man as crafty as Sartan Truce would use any leverage he could manage to find to his advantage.

"Oh, you'll find time, I assure you." Truce suddenly stood up straight. The man was full of pride, just like his father.

"The last time I found time for you, I drove the Kyrosen to near extinction," Kindel responded, running his finger along the amulet's golden chain. "At least, that's what I remember."

Truce shrugged—he shrugged!—at the suggestion. "You didn't do us any favors, if that's what you're getting at."

"Regardless of who did what or how it was done, we find ourselves face to face today," Kindel tried not to grit his teeth. Showing anger would not prompt the man to reveal anything. "What is it that is so important for you to demand an audience with me tonight?"

Truce casually walked over to the various artifacts displayed on the cabinets along the wall. It was clear in his eyes that he was trying not to show the pain his body was in, but he wasn't fooling anyone, Kindel least of all. "Aratus Truce no longer leads the Kyrosen. I do."

"Yes, I'm aware of that," Kindel said, lifting the cloth to polish the back of the amulet.

Sartan paused a moment before continuing. "I assumed as much. At any rate, as you may or may not know, my father and I never saw eye to eye on the direction of the Kyrosen. We are, by nature, rogues; we wander the galaxy in search of a place to call home. When our battles with your Armada drove us near the brink of annihilation—I'm not ashamed to admit that's what you did—my father chose the technologically inept planet of Terranias as our new home. He thought that we could rebuild there and start fresh. None of us really felt—"

"Is there a point to this history lesson?" Kindel cut in, still avoiding eye contact.

Sartan picked up a small wooden statue of a man kneeling with a pike in his hands. It was an artifact Kindel had picked up on Merioun several years back. "My father was a fool, and I'll be the first to say it." Truce said, almost laughing as he did. "His barbarian ego got us into the mess we're in, but now that I am in control, I have employed a bit more intelligent and, dare I say, crafty approach."

"Good for you," Thorus made the remark sound condescending. He stood and moved toward the viewport, carrying the amulet with him. "What does that have to do with me?"

"Nice stuff you've got here." Kindel eyed him through the reflection in the glass. Truce's hand moved toward the long artifact that Thorus kept covered with a cloth. "What's under the rag—"

Snarling, Kindel whirled with an extended hand, and burst of wind threw Truce's body into the wall beside the door. The Mage's eyes bulged for a minute—the impact could not have felt good with his body in the shape it was in—before the arrogant smile returned. Kindel took one firm step forward. "Either tell me why you are here, or I'll instruct my assistants to make sure you eat every meal for the rest of your life through your—"

"I need your help," Truce said simply. He left a few moments of silence for the words to sink in, and when Kindel released the hold that kept him plastered to the wall, Sartan walked to the desk and slammed his hands down. "I have something you want, and you have something I want. I propose an exchange, one that will easily profit you more in the end."

Kindel stopped short, struggling to keep his face smooth. Had he let his emotions show, his jaw would have been on the floor. How could Truce have possibly learned about the lephadorite? What in the world could he possibly offer that would be _more_ profitable? The man had certainly grabbed his attention. Still, Kindel fought to keep himself composed. No leverage. "What . . . do you want?"

The answer was not what he'd expected, not even close. "Ships."

"Ships?"

Truce nodded. "That's right, ships. You have an entire army of ships at your disposal. I am trying to get the Kyrosen off of Terranias and back into space where we belong."

Kindel nearly exploded into laughter right in Sartan's face. "The Kyrosen were a thorn in my side for a good portion of two decades, and now you want me to _help_ you get them back on their feet?"

"I am prepared to make concessions," Sartan said, standing upright. "Even though we'll be using them, they will still be _your_ ships. You will retain ownership, and will even be able to track us if you wish. You'll know where we are and where we are headed at all times. And you can give us the ships with the weakest plating, if you wish, so that we can be easily destroyed if you feel we've betrayed you."

Kindel couldn't believe what he was hearing. There had to be a catch; only a great fool would take his enemy's word at face value. "Are you trying to tell me that the Kyrosen wish to join with the Vezulian Armada?"

Now Sartan openly laughed. "No, don't be absurd. We simply want to make a trade."

"And what is it that you want to trade?"

The next words out of Truce's mouth nearly made Kindel roll his eyes. "The perfect warrior."

Thorus wasted no time in shaking his head. "Absolutely not. Out of the question." He returned his gaze to the viewport, eyes shifting toward the tiny spec of a ship floating near the far side of the planet. The _Refuge_.

"Wait a minute. Think about it. The Armada is on an endless quest to strengthen itself, correct? You seek ways to grow in power so that you can defeat any enemy that steps in your way, right? Well this, Thorus, would transform each and every one of your men's children into the ultimate fighting machines."

"I'm not interested in—" He glanced back in disgust. "Did you say _children?"_

"I realize it doesn't sound like there is much potential, but after seeing the thing work with my own eyes, I am truly convinced that this weapon will change the face of battle as we know it, and whoever possesses it will be the most feared and respected entity across the universe."

Kindel pursed his lips in a wry smile before returning his attention to the _Refuge._ "Then why would you want to hand such an item over to me? Why not use it on me and be rid of me?"

"As I said before," Truce began, his boots clopping across the floor as he moved to Thorus' side, "I am not interested in power. I am simply trying to pull my people back from the edge of extinction, and I'll do whatever it takes to give them the chance to rebuild."

"And how do I know you won't turn on me once you _have_ rebuilt?"

"It will be years before that happens." Sartan's voice sounded almost sad. "But if it will make you feel better, I'll sign whatever treaties or agreements you wish to prevent the Kyrosen from waging war on the Armada."

It was a tempting deal, Kindel admitted to himself. But he was not foolish enough to trust the Kyrosen any more than he trusted the Aeden Alliance. "Have you brought this weapon with you to prove your claims?"

Sartan opened his mouth . . . and closed it again. He raised a finger and directed Kindel's eyes to the _Refuge_. "It was stolen. They have it."

The idea of Aldoric possessing such a weapon sent a chill down Kindel's spine. Still, it could all be some sort of trap laid by Truce and Aldoric to draw Kindel into a winless battle. There were interesting possibilities on both sides of the argument, but Kindel refused to allow himself to trust Sartan Truce. "I assume that means you want my help to recover it. How am I to know I won't find a trap waiting for me over there? I know the planet has held Aldoric's attention for quite some time, and I'm not entirely convinced that you and he haven't been plotting against me."

"If I may, Master?" Scimitar's raspy voice broke in. "We tracked Aldoric to the fortress of one of the kingdoms of this planet. It was there that he battled the Kyrosen, and it was there that Truce sustained the injuries he has. I can confirm that the two are not allied."

"Did either of you witness this weapon he speaks of?"

The two ninjas shook their heads. "Once we found Aldoric, we tracked him closely. But when they entered the fortress, we remained hidden outside. You instructed us not to engage in battle, and we followed those orders."

"I also ordered you not to take any prisoners," Kindel muttered. Not that it was a loss to have the leader of the Kyrosen in custody. He looked back at Truce, then at the _Refuge._ There was a great deal of risk in trusting anything Truce said. He'd shown no proof for any of his claims, giving Kindel every reason to believe that it was all a bluff. But if, by some chance, this alleged weapon did exist, then leaving in anyone else's hands could prove to be disastrous. It couldn't hurt to look into the matter; it would give Kindel legitimate reason to put a close eye on Aldoric's activities and an even closer eye on Truce and the Kyrosen. After all, if the weapon was truly in Aldoric's hands . . . "I shall consider your proposal, Sartan. For now, you will be confined to a prison cell until I can decide what to do with you." He glanced at Scimitar and Kalibur. "Escort him to a cell, and see that his injuries are properly treated."

They responded in unison. "As you wish, my Lord."

Truce kept his head turned and his eyes on Kindel until the door closed behind the three. Thorus looked back at the _Refuge_ and shook his head. "What are you up to, brother?"

*******

Sartan had to restrain his laughter as Scimitar and Kalibur led him to the lift. _The arrogance! To think for a moment that the Kyrosen would even consider bowing to his will!_ It was enough to make him want to dance like a giddy young boy. If Kindel fell for this, then the two biggest threats to the Kyrosen could eliminate themselves, Arus and the implant would be back in his hands, and the ships of the Armada would be there for the taking. _Only a fool trusts his enemy, Thorus. Treaties are but words, contracts simply paper. Neither can stop the sword, and all are inferior compared to the power of the Kyrosen._ Despite himself, he chuckled softly.

*******

Arus could still hear Kitreena screaming when he awoke, a sound that turned into a dull ringing in his ears as consciousness swept over him. He felt odd, as though he wasn't fully alive and yet not at all dead. Words couldn't describe the sensation, but he was sure it had to do with the implant. _Is it broken?_ The seemingly endless chatter of incoherent thoughts that had streamed through his brain were now silent, leaving him alone in his own head with nothing to listen to but his rhythmic breaths and that bloody ringing. _Did Kitreena damage it somehow?_ The last he remembered, she had transformed into some sort of . . . _thing_ —that was the only word he could use to describe it—and those glowing eyes of purple had been fixed on him. Everything after that seemed like nothing more than random images from dreams, including one where Kitreena was unconscious, falling from the ceiling of the Throne Room. _Had that really happened? Was any of it real? Where am I? What's going on?_ He unconsciously rubbed his eye with his right hand before opening it, but when he did he blinked. And again. And again.

His body was responding to his own instructions.

He could feel the smile spreading across his face as he lifted his right hand above him and examined it, flexing and turning it with the will of his own mind. There was no maroon tint to his vision, no sensor readings or energy gauges. The world was in color, though it suddenly seemed a bit smaller, and he could move his body once more. _The implant is no longer in control! I'm free!_ He tried to move the mechanical arm, but there was no response. It didn't feel numb; it was as if the thing didn't even exist. Using his human hand, he began to push himself upright.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a soft, deep voice said. An unseen hand on his left side pushed him back down. Even the slightest movement made his head swim, and he complied with the command. "Not unless you want to fall under Truce's control again."

The cushioned bed beneath him _did_ feel good, he had to admit. A thin white sheet had been pulled to his waist, covering almost half of his artificial limb. The room was an infirmary of some kind, with assorted machines and terminals lining the walls beneath glass cabinets filled with various medications. Everything from the counters to the bedposts to the floor to the cabinets seemed to be made of steel, or a steel-like material. It was hard to see through his impaired vision, but he could make out enough of it to get a sense of his surroundings.

"Your vision will clear in time."

It took a moment for Arus to realize that the world hadn't gotten smaller. He was only seeing through his human eye. The implant had apparently been deactivated, along with his cybernetic arm. "Where am I?" Having his own voice speak the words _he_ was thinking almost startled him.

"Onboard the _Refuge_ ," the voice responded. Arus rolled his head to the left as far as he could, and a man of pale-blue skin came into view, seated in a cushioned chair just beside the bed. He was like no one Arus had ever seen, shrouded by a dark cloak with hair of pure white that spilled well below his shoulders. His face seemed gentle despite his dark eyes, and the smile on his face, though small, spoke only of kindness. "You are safe from the Kyrosen for now, as is Asteria."

"The Kyrosen?"

The man laughed softly. "You know them as the Vermilion Mages."

The words registered slowly, as though everything that was happening to him was being processed a half-second late. "The _Refuge_ , you said? What is that?"

For a moment, the stranger eyed him, as though weighing some unapparent danger in his mind. Finally, he said, "It is a starship."

"A _what_?" Arus' voice rose to nearly a shout.

"Relax," the man said, rising from his chair. His height alone was enough to make Arus tremble. "There will be time for explanations later. For now, I must go check on Kitreena. Don't mess with those connectors running into your implant. Doc Nori will be in to examine you shortly."

Arus tried to comprehend it all, but there was too much he didn't understand. He barely managed to shout out "Wait!" before the door had closed completely. "Who are you?"

The man looked halfway back. "I am Damien. There is no need to be afraid, I assure you. We are friends." With that, the door slid closed.

Friend or not, the man was a frightening sight. Arus ran his fingers along the implant until he came to a series of wires running from the device and into a machine beside the bed. _What if he wants to use the implant to make me his slave just like the Mages did?_ For a moment, he contemplated pulling the wires loose. _Then again . . . what if they_ are _somehow keeping the implant from controlling me? I don't know what to do._ In any other situation, he would've asked Master Eaisan for advice, but . . . "Master Eaisan," he murmured as the reality of his memories hit him. "I murdered Master Eaisan!"

The flood of tears that followed could've filled the ocean twice. "I didn't mean to do it!" he sobbed aloud. "I tried so hard to resist!" Though he only had one eye to shed tears, he more than made up for it with the number that fell, soaking his pillow for what seemed like hours. "Father, I'm so sorry! Master Eaisan, please forgive me!" Every memory he had of his former master flashed in his mind, from the most intense training sessions to each and every telling of _The Blade of Kaleo_. He'd been just as much of a father to Arus as Dayne had been, and he'd been slain by Dayne's own sword, the blade Arus' father had told him to use to defend the helpless and protect the innocent. And Arus knew, no matter what the future brought, no matter what he accomplished, no matter how many people he helped or how many battles he won, nothing would atone for the sins he'd committed or the damage he'd done. Nothing would bring Eaisan back, and nothing would change the fact that it had been Arus who'd killed him.

"Now, now," another voice began beside him, "you mustn't cry like that!" Arus wiped his eye and looked up to see an elderly man with a billowing white beard standing over him. "You should be happy, for today you shall have your life back!"

"Who are you?" Arus whimpered, trying to force back the endless flow of sobs.

The pudgy old man drew himself up in regal fashion, smoothing his white coat as he did. "Doctor Antigones Nori at your service!" He smiled like a proud grandfather. "I've specialized in many fields throughout the course of my career, from internal medicine to biomechanics, cybernetics and . . ."

The old man rambled on about his various certifications—most of which Arus had never even heard of—before heading to the terminals on the far wall. He was lively for his age, Arus thought, full of energy and clearly happy to serve anyone he could. It was certainly a refreshing change from the Vermilion Mages, but then, just about anything would be. "Where are we?" he asked when the doctor's babbling finally wound down. "The man who was here—someone named Damien—said we're on a starship, but I don't know what that means."

The doctor peered at him quizzically. "Ah, yes!" he said, snapping his fingers. "Damien told me that your people were unfamiliar with the ways of the universe. Let me see here . . ." He trailed off on another string of incoherent ramble as he dug through some of the drawers beneath the cabinets. "Ah, here we are!" A long, rolled up piece of paper came out and was promptly unfurled across Arus' bed. It was mostly black, dotted with thousands of tiny white specks across its entire span. After donning a pair of round eyeglasses, the doctor cleared his throat. "The universe. You've looked up at the stars at night before, I'm sure?" Arus nodded. "Well, this is a graph of those stars." He pointed to a tiny cluster of dots near the left side of the diagram. "Terranias is here. We are currently orbiting Terranias," he made a circular motion with his finger, "like this."

Arus' jaw dropped open. "You mean we're in outer space?"

"Precisely!" Nori nodded with a smile.

"You mean, you're not from my planet? You and Damien are aliens?" Another realization hit him. "And _Kitreena,_ too?"

The doctor bellowed with laughter. "My boy, I'm just as human as you are. My ancestors came from Terranias many years ago, fearing that the planet was about to be destroyed. I grew up," he pointed to a dot near the upper left corner of the map, "right here. Tynest, it was called. Oh, what a marvelous world it was. And still is, I suppose. Haven't been back there in a long time, oh no."

"And Damien and Kitreena?"

"Well now, Damien is as alien as they come! He was born on the planet Zo'rhan, a cold planet near the Lycosite Quasar," he said, pointing to a group of dots near the bottom of the graph. "Kitreena is from a planet called Lavinia. The people there were once human, you see, but an unknown element in the atmosphere of the planet changed their genetic structures over time. Now, they are what most people refer to as Morphers, but she is still basically human."

Images of her transformation—and those terrifying eyes—flashed in his mind again. "I don't know that I'd call her that."

"Nonsense!" Nori laughed again. "I understand you witnessed her first transformation, eh? Well, do not be afraid. If what Damien says is true, she may have the potential to be the strongest Morpher in centuries!" He rolled up the map and returned it to the cabinet drawer.

The thought brought Arus no comfort. She had little control over her anger, whether it be in human form or otherwise, and he wasn't sure he wanted to be around the next time she blew her top. Still, she _was_ beautiful. A part of him would be willing to take the risk just to be near her, but the rest of him knew that it was foolish. _She's not interested in you, you love-struck fool. She'll tear your throat out just as quickly as she'd tear out Truce's._ "Is she going to be all right?"

Doctor Nori was working at the terminal beside his bed. "Hmm?" He looked up. "Oh, yes, she'll be quite all right. Smitten with her, are ya?"

Arus' eye bulged. "What? No! Why would you think that?"

Another chuckle from the old man. "I do apologize, but it just came across the terminal screen here. You see, we're plugged into the implant at the moment, so any thoughts your mind processes are sent to this terminal. You were thinking she was beautiful but deadly. Can't say I disagree with you there!" He laughed again.

The idea of having someone read his mind was unsettling, at best. Moving his thoughts away from Kitreena, he decided it was time to ask the question he'd been avoiding for fear of the answer. "Can you remove the implant?"

For once, the doctor didn't laugh. His face became somber, which pretty much told Arus the answer without the words. "I'm sorry, but it is permanently embedded within your brain. The two have a symbiotic relationship; they need each other to survive. Removing one would effectively kill the other."

Arus sighed and wiped another tear away. "So I'm stuck like this forever?"

Nori held up his hand as he studied readings of the terminal. The fact that Arus even knew what he was looking at bothered him; his time as Truce's slave had introduced him to computer terminals and their many uses. "I wouldn't go that far," the doctor said. "I may not be able to remove it, but with a bit of study, I may be able to minimize it."

"That won't help me," Arus muttered. "We're taught that machines are evil, and they are forbidden where I come from. If I try to go home like this, I'll either be killed, cast out, or thrown into the dungeons of Castle Asteria."

"Now, now, don't be so negative." Nori's warm smile returned. "You don't know for sure that's how they'll react."

Arus shrugged it off and rested his head against the feather pillow. It was all so much for him to take in at once. He used to stare at the stars, wondering if humans were alone in the galaxy, and now he was being treated in a spaceship _amidst_ those stars! He'd met two alien beings, a human who's ancestors traced back to a time before the Great War, been enslaved to a machine, now apparently freed, and it had all turned his world—his _universe_ , rather—completely upside down. _Perhaps it's all just an elaborate dream._ It didn't seem likely, but anything was preferable to his current situation.

"Ah! Here we go!" Nori exclaimed. His fingers rattled across the terminal keys. "This should do it." A sharp tingle surged through his mechanical arm, though how he could feel sensations through steel the way he felt them through his flesh was still beyond his understanding. The implant emitted a momentary electric hum, and rolling warmth spread across the length of the cybernetic limb. "All right, Arus. Try to lift your arm." He pointed at the polished steel.

The thing moved and _felt_ like his natural arm, flexing and rotating with only Arus' thoughts guiding it. The doctor took him through a series of exercises to test its mobility and responsiveness, flexing each finger and bending each joint. "I can't exactly say I'm happy to see this thing in action again," Arus mumbled.

"Two hands are better than one, that's what I always say!" Nori laughed again. Did the man ever finish a sentence _without_ laughing? How could anyone be so . . . so . . . jolly?

Arus sighed and let the arm fall to the bed. "Just as long as I'm the one controlling them."

Nori continued his work for quite some time, disconnecting and removing several bundles of wires from the circuits embedded in his scalp. Here and there, a mutter of "Oh, would you look at that?" and "That's interesting, I never would've thought of that!" slipped through the old man's lips, which didn't sit so well with Arus, of course. Did this guy even know what he was doing? And how could Arus be sure that he wasn't trying to gain control of the implant to force him into submission again? The idea of jumping from the bed and running for his life tempted Arus more than once, but he wasn't so sure his body could handle it, and if Damien had told the truth, they were only trying to help. Besides, where would he run to?

"Very well, that should do it for now," the old man said after a time, clapping his hands together. "I've removed all of the cables that controlled your motor functions, and erased the lines of code that overrode your brain's instructions. I also deactivated any other functions that the implant was controlling, such as pupil dilation and balance, among others. In short, your brain is now in complete control of your body, and the implant is just along for the ride at the moment. I am going to have to analyze the programming of your mechanical eye for a bit to determine which functions I need to reactivate in order to restore your vision on your left side without activating the laser weapon or any of the other additional functions that Truce added. For now, I'll have some food sent up for you. After all you've been through, you must be hungry, and you need your strength to recover!"

Arus watched Nori as he walked around the bed and headed for the door, and his eye came to rest on an unannounced visitor leaning against the counter. "Vultrel!" He was holding Arus' sword, examining it as though it was some sort of archeological find, and handling it with the same care and precision. It took him a few moments to bring his gaze to meet Arus' own, and even then it seemed like a chore.

"You know, I always thought this sword would one day be used to purge the Mages from Asteria," he began, turning his attention back to the blade. "I never thought it would wind up where it did. It was supposed to be Truce's heart, Arus. Not my father's."

"I know, Vultrel," Arus said, trying to force down the lump in his throat. "I know. But you have to understand, I was under Truce's—"

"Save it, Arus," Vultrel held up his hand as he placed the weapon on the counter. "Anton resisted. _Anton._ He wasn't the most talented or even the most intelligent student my father had, but he showed in the end that he certainly had the heart of a warrior. I always thought you had that same heart, Arus. I once believed you'd be better than me, not only with the sword, but in every aspect of life. I saw—or _thought_ I saw—that potential in you from the day my father gave us our first lesson. But in the end, you showed your true self, just as Anton did. You're weak, Arus. And your weakness cost Eaisan Lurei his life."

"Vultrel, that's now how it was!" Arus shouted, sitting upright. "You have no idea what it was like being under the control of that thing!"

"But Anton did!" Vultrel shot back through a clenched jaw. "And he managed to break free before he did something he would've regretted."

Arus shook his head vigorously, which in turn made the room spin a bit. "Whatever flaw existed in Anton's implant did not exist in my own," he said, closing his eye to allow the world to settle around him. "I fought with every ounce of my being, Vultrel. It was maddening! You have to understand me!"

"I kept telling myself that," Vultrel nodded, his eyes growing thin. "Even when you were fighting against me and my father, I kept telling myself that you were going to snap out of it before you did anything rash. I just believed that you would do the right thing in the end, because I couldn't picture you hurting one of us. So you can probably imagine how I felt when I saw you standing over my father's fallen body."

Arus could no longer hold back the tears. "I tried to stop it, Vultrel. You have to believe me! I tried with everything—"

"I'm sure you did," his voice was almost mocking now. "But you failed. And do you know why? Because you're weak. Well, I'm not so sure I want someone like that watching my back, so if you don't mind, I'll be going solo from now on."

"Listen to me, if I could've—"

The door slid closed behind Vultrel with a quiet whisk, leaving Arus alone in the infirmary. Living with the memories of what he'd done to Eaisan and the countless other soldiers he'd killed was going to be more than enough punishment for his crimes, but having his best friend turn on him during his darkest hour was akin to a knife in the back. _How could he blame me for this? I didn't want to do it! I fought it as much as anyone could've. Was there something more I could've done? Am I . . . weak?_

He didn't realize he'd gotten out of bed until he found himself holding his sword, staring at the red leather sheath as he rotated it in his hands. He tried not to let the mechanical arm catch his eye, but the shining steel reflected his face, giving him a view of the implant for the first time. It was a dreadfully large thing, completely consuming his entire left eye socket and stretching back toward his ear. The eye itself was composed of a steel cylinder which matched his nose in depth, its end covered by a clear lense of some sort. The hair along the side of his head was shaved away from his temple to just above the ear, replaced by a crude mess of connectors and wires strung in coils like a twisted mess of vines. The steel plating wrapped behind his ear and ran down the left side of his neck, though those plates seemed to serve no purpose other than to protect the wires running from the implant to his mechanical arm. The sight was more than enough to bring on another river of tears.

Master Eaisan was gone, killed by Arus' own hand. Vultrel had turned on him. He was disfigured for life. His village would never accept him back with the implant attached to his body, yet he couldn't survive if the device were removed. The life Arus had known was long gone, and nothing he could do would bring it back. Fourteen years old, and he'd never see his mother again. Never see his village. His people. His home. His life.

It was gone. All of it.

Time passed; Arus wasn't sure how long. He didn't remember slumping into the chair beside his bed, nor did he notice the nurse come to leave him a tray of hot food. A woman came to see him at one point—Carsynia, he thought her name was—and she claimed to be a counselor of some kind, but Arus paid little attention to her. What would some woman who'd never known him or the people in his life have to say that could help? She babbled in his ear for a while about coping with loss and remembering the lessons of those who've passed from this life, but Arus ignored it all. He was in no mood to be told to look for the good in life. There was no good in anything that had happened. Before she left, she told him to consider how he could use his experiences to help others, which he thought about for a good thirty seconds before shrugging it out of his head. _Help others? What about me? I dedicated myself to helping others a long time ago, but who's going to help me?_

Don't worry, Arus. I won't stop until Truce and his men have paid for what they've done to us.

Arus whipped his head around, expecting to see Kitreena standing in the doorway, but it was closed, and he was alone in the room. He knew he'd heard her voice, but where . . .?

"I must be losing my mind," he muttered, rising from the chair with a groggy shake of the head. He grabbed a few slices of fruit from the tray of food—they were still surprisingly moist despite how long they'd been left to sit—and stuffed them into his mouth before poking at the strange meat beside them. It looked like pork, but the smell of beef and assorted spices filled his nose. After a timid taste, he stuffed that into his mouth, too. It had been a long time since he'd eaten anything, and the more his body adjusted to being freed from the implant's control, the more he began to realize the empty void in his stomach. The plate was clean before he knew it, and the glass of juice was bone dry. When he'd finally swallowed the last bite, he wiped his mouth and grabbed his sword from the counter. With it securely latched to his belt where it belonged, it was time to explore the _Refuge._

The door slid away as he approached, opening the way to a vast corridor bustling with men and women in brown uniforms. It was an elegant looking hall, constructed mostly of steel or some other sort of polished metal and illuminated by glowing white tubes of glass that ran along either side of the ceiling. Arus suspected they were powered by something called "electricity," which was a seldom mentioned word used on Terranias to describe how machines were operated. The walls were separated by panels of polished wood, sometimes decorated with ornate carvings or used to hang messages for the crewmembers to read. A narrow strip of blue carpet ran down the center of the corridor, not quite reaching the walls. The overall beauty of the ship's construction was something that even the best laborers in Narleaha likely couldn't match.

Arus recognized the uniformed crewmembers immediately; they had accompanied Damien and Kitreena into the Throne Room back at Castle Asteria. He tried to be casual as he walked along, sneaking brief glances inside open doors and listening to bits of conversations. Most of it seemed fairly ordinary; a doctor headed to an appointment, students going to class, a soldier late for his shift. From the outside, the other rooms seemed pretty common as well. He passed a variety of offices and storage rooms before Damien emerged from a doorway to the left a few short paces away.

"You should be in bed," he noted. "Your body needs time to recover and realign itself to your brain's commands."

"I'm hungry," Arus said, though he hadn't intended on starting with that. "And I'd like some information. Why am I being held here? What happened to Lord Sarathon and the Vermilion Mages? Are we—"

"I understand your confusion, Arus," Damien put a comforting hand on his steel shoulder. "Vultrel has been quite vocal about his paranoia concerning us. The truth is that we have to keep you here until we can properly assess the threat to Terranias. We have reason to believe that returning you to your kingdom may jeopardize the safety of your world, so we're keeping you here as a precaution."

"So I'm a prisoner here?"

Damien visibly suppressed a laugh. "Not at all. If you wish to be returned to the surface, all you need to do is say the word, and it will be done."

_I can't go home anyway._ "It's not that," Arus shook his head. "You've treated me very well, and I appreciate it. I just don't understand half of what you say. Why would my return to the surface bring danger to the planet? Are you afraid the implant may take control of me again?"

"I admit, that is part of it," Damien nodded slowly. "But it isn't our main concern. As of right now, I cannot tell you any more. You see, history has taught us that interference with a primitive culture by an outside influence can bring about drastic consequences. Entire societies have been corrupted in the past when outsiders intervened and tried to impose their own will. Suppose we were to bring you home and insist that you are to be left unharmed despite your people's feelings about machines? There would inevitably be people who support you—friends, family, and other sympathizers—and there would be others who would oppose. There would be individuals on both sides who would see their will done no matter what the cost, and pretty soon you've got fighting, bloodshed, and perhaps even war."

Arus looked at him sideways. "You think Terranias will go to war over me if I go back?"

Damien shrugged. "I don't know. But I've seen similar things happen. Humans are easily frightened and even more easily angered. I've had enough experience with your race to know that many humans would sooner destroy something that makes them uncomfortable rather than learn from it, accept it, and embrace it. They fear the unknown, and they fear change."

"So . . . what happens to me now?"

"That's part of what I've been discussing with my associates. We want to find the safest way to return you to your people, but we don't know how that's going to be possible. I'm going to call a meeting a little later on. You and Vultrel are both welcome to come."

"I'll pass the message on if I see him," Arus said absentmindedly. _If I can even get him to listen to me._

"Good. For now, feel free to explore, but don't leave this deck. Here," Damien handed him a small silver device similar to Kitreena's communicator. "Take this. That way we can contact each other if we need to."

Arus had no idea how to work the gadget, and Damien well on his way down the hall before he looked up to ask. "Thanks," he murmured.

The door to the left remained open, and Arus could see Kitreena inside, sitting on a chair in the far corner, lacing up her black boots. Her dark hair obscured her face as she leaned down, working each lace through with a stiff tug that spoke volumes about her frustration. Not that he needed any more examples of Kitreena's anger. She glared at him when he approached. "Do you always enter people's rooms without permission?"

Arus raised his eyebrow as he glanced around. There was a desk in front of a cushioned red chair to the left, and cabinets of polished brown wood lined the wall beside her chair. Other than that, there was no much to the room except for an assortment of documents hanging from the walls. It didn't seem like a personal residence. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize this was your room."

"It's not," she said, pulling the black leather leg of her pants down over her boot. "But then, this isn't your ship."

"I'm sorry," he said again. Was there nothing he could do right around her? "I just wanted to see how you were feeling."

"Well," she glanced up at him before pulling the other leg down, "better than you, I suppose." When she stood, she threw her hair behind her back and tied it with a red ribbon. "You hungry?"

The question caught him off-guard. Kitreena never seemed like the kind of person who would invite him to dinner. "Well . . . yes, as a matter of fact, I am."

Her face seemed as hard as ever, but her voice softened a bit. "Come on. Let's see if we can find something at the cafeteria."

The cafeteria turned out to be a lot like the Serving Hall for the elders in Keroko. Dozens of dark wooden tables were spread across the floor, each surrounded by chairs with blue cushions and armrests made from silver. A serving bar stretched along most of the right wall where people lined up with trays to assemble their meal. People filled the room sparsely, many wearing the same brown uniforms Arus had become familiar with, others in what appeared to be casual clothes of varying colors and design. But it was the windows lining the far wall that really grabbed his attention.

"By the Maker . . ." he muttered, staring in disbelief as his feet carried him across the room. The vast abyss of space, in all of its unimaginable glory and splendor, seemed to swallow him up as he stared into the endless sea of stars. Terranias floated silently before them, its calm blue aura enhancing the beauty of the sight. Several smaller ships circled the _Refuge_ , passing the window periodically in tight formation. Another cluster of larger ships sat a good distance away near the right side of the planet.

Kitreena looked back to the serving bar. "I'm going to get a tray before that line gets longer. You coming?" Arus heard her, but his attention was fixed on the planet. "We can get a seat by the window, if you like." Finally, he nodded, but it was hard to pull his attention away.

The serving bar certainly wasn't lacking in variety, though Arus couldn't recognize most of the offerings. He slid his tray along the counter beside Kitreena's, scooping up a little of every type of meat he could find and even more fruit. She gave him a startled glance more than once—apparently certain types of meat weren't well-mixed—but in the end she told him to get whatever he wanted. After filling a glass with something called "Rasmban Punch," he followed Kitreena to one of the smaller tables beside the window and sat across from her.

"Manue doesn't mix with rufen," she was saying, pointing at the green-glazed meat on his plate. "If you're going to try them both, I suggest rinsing your mouth between bites."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said through a nervous laugh. "What is manue? For that matter, what is rufen? What is _any_ of this stuff I've got here?"

It wasn't something he expected, but Kitreena grinned through a bite of food. "Well, you wouldn't be familiar with any of them. They're from assorted animals from the homeworlds of crew members. Every cycle, the kitchen accepts votes for a new meal from the crew. Everything offered is from the home planet of one of us. That red meat in the blue gravy there is from my homeworld. It's called Kraktouis. It's a bird that lives on the ocean, feeding on the fish near the surface."

Arus took a deep breath and bit down on a fork-full of Kraktouis. After rolling it around in his mouth for a moment, he nodded and smiled. "Good choice," he said after he swallowed. "Tastes a little like chicken with a sour sauce on it."

Kitreena nodded and took another bite of her food. "I think they have chicken up there. When your people migrated across the galaxy, they brought a lot of their livestock with them."

With every word, her attitude seemed to be cooling down. Was she finally beginning to let go of her angry demeanor? " _My_ people? The doctor said that you descended from humans, too."

The grin vanished. She stared at him for a moment before responding. "I'm not supposed to talk about that. There are dangers—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Arus groaned, shaking his head. "But let's be realistic for a second here. I'm here, in this ship, talking to you about food from the distant planets of the universe. I know that you're not from my planet, and looking around at these soldiers, many of them clearly aren't human. I mean, even Damien isn't human! I don't know what more you intend to protect me from; the damage has already been done."

Her lips formed a sympathetic pout, but her eyes were still filled with suspicion. "But if you return to your planet—"

He slammed his fist down on the table, a gesture he certainly would've avoided had he thought twice. "I _can't_ return! I don't know if you've noticed or not," he knuckled the implant with his cybernetic hand, "but I'm a mechanical freak now! I'm stuck here, or wherever you people decide to send me to, whether I like it or not!"

Her mouth didn't move, but he heard her voice. _I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Arus! I don't know how, but I'll make it up to you somehow!_

And this time, there was no mistaking it. It was no hallucination, no figment of his imagination. "And why do I keep hearing your bloody voice in my head?"

Her eyes grew with surprise. "You . . . what?"

Caution hit him; the wrong words here would make him seem like a madman. _Maybe I_ am _a madman._ "I keep thinking I'm hearing your voice," he said, lowering his voice. "Maybe I'm just hearing things because of this bloody implant, I don't know." He knew that wasn't what it was, but for the sake of appearing sane, it seemed like the best story to give.

Kitreena's gaze was distant now. "Maybe . . ." she said, almost whispering.

The next several minutes passed in silence. They ate quietly, carefully avoiding eye contact with one another. Arus searched for what to say to smooth the situation over; he'd never meant to explode like that. But he suddenly felt like a homeless orphan with no one who wanted him, and that made it difficult to stay calm.

"You're not an orphan," she said, her eyes on her food. "You'll find your place. Everyone does sooner or later."

Arus' human eye grew. "I didn't say anything," he told her. "How did you know that's how I felt?"

"Yes, you did," Kitreena nodded as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I heard you say it. You said you felt like a homeless orphan with no one who wants you."

"Kitreena," he said, waiting until she looked at him before continuing. "I don't understand it, but you somehow heard what I was thinking. And I get the feeling that I've been hearing what you're thinking."

Now her face went pale, and she nearly dropped her fork. Her mouth worked silently, trying to coming up with some kind of response. Finally, she jumped from her chair. "I'm sorry, I have to go."

Before he could protest, she was off, running for the door as fast as she could. Arus rose to follow, but thought better of it. _Don't intrude on her space. Whatever is going on with her, she'll figure it out. Better to leave her alone, for now._ With a sigh, he sat back down and went back to work on his food. The next bite left him sputtering and grabbing for his drink. "I should've listened to her," he groaned between gulps. "Manue and rufen certainly do _not_ mix."

### Chapter 2

The little egg in the incubation chamber captivated Kindel. Not only had it been created from a single of the Lephadorite's cells, it had such an incredible growth rate that it had gone from a microscopic cell to the size of a pebble in only a few days. The death of Lady Almatha's second assistant was regrettable, but the price had been well worth it. The reproductive properties of the new _baharinda_ had fed on the lephadorite perfectly, allowing Barrine's team to create the egg. The researchers had given no real explanations for its incredible rate of growth, only stating that the stone was indeed a living organism and one of the most basic forms of matter they'd ever had the privilege to study. They theorized that, with the right tools, the lephadorite could be used to create anything from living tissue to titanium plating for a starship. How that could be possible, Kindel didn't understand, but science had never been his forte.

Behind him, Barrine was babbling on about the cellular makeup of the stone and how intriguing it had been to study such an unusual artifact. Kindel waved him away with a dismissive hand, and he was quickly replaced by Lieutenant Petreit. Scimitar and Kalibur had been ordered to keep all unauthorized personnel out of the Research Laboratory during his visit, so whatever Petreit had to say must've been important enough for them to go against orders. "What is it, Lieutenant?"

"Sir, I've searched every lead I could come up with in an attempt to hunt down the origin of the stone. So far, I've been unable to come up with a clear answer. However, a few comments made by some of my colleagues set my search in a different direction. Given what Dr. Barrine has found regarding the cellular structure of the lephadorite and the infinite possibilities it seems to possess, a few of my contacts at several biological research outposts suggested that I research something called Lifestone."

Kindel's ears perked at the name, and he faced Petreit with renewed interest. "Go on."

The soldier cleared his throat and flipped through several pages on his clipboard. "As I'm sure you know, of the thousands upon thousands of religions scattered throughout the universe, several have striking similarities in their mythology. The fall of a great city, the duel between an angel and the fallen one, the Maker's victory over evil, the taint of darkness that remained upon his Creation; all of it is described in similar fashion, different only in trivial ways. One of those stories deals with the initial forming of the universe itself, from the stars, planets, comets, and meteors, right down to the plants, animals, and people that inhabit them."

"The origin of matter itself," Thorus nodded. "The stories vary in how it was all done, but in the end, they each claim that the Maker began by creating an enormous stone, and it was from that stone that he formed every single planet, star, quasar, plant, animal, and everything else we see around us."

"That's right," Petreit said, smiling. Obviously, he was proud of himself, though he'd proven nothing thus far. "He took pieces of that stone, called Lifestone in the human's version of the story, and molded each piece into another planet or tree or rabbit or whatever he wanted to make. Everything is derived from it, or so the stories go."

"And I suppose you expect me to believe that the lephadorite is, in fact, Lifestone?"

The Lieutenant's smile vanished. "Well, Sir, you have to admit, it is certainly an odd find. I mean, you said yourself that many historical stories hold at least _some_ truth to them. Perhaps this is an example of that?"

Kindel purposely narrowed his eyes. It wasn't that he found Petreit's suggestion to be unbelievable—quite the opposite, considering the other artifact he kept covered on his cabinets—but if it was indeed true that the lephadorite was a fragment of unaltered Lifestone, then he could allow _no one_ to know about it. For now, Petreit had to be driven away from the possibility. "Or perhaps this is an example of a man with no answers grasping at straws?" Petreit took a step away from him, whether he'd realized it or not mattered little. "What I see, Lieutenant, is a soldier who has failed to complete the assignment I've given him, and instead has offered me a flimsy excuse of an answer that only a fool would believe." Regardless of whether the lephadorite was Lifestone or not, it still had to have come from _somewhere._ And Kindel was determined to find out where. "Now, you get back to your station, Lieutenant, and you are not to leave it until you have found the answers I'm looking for! Have I made myself perfectly clear?"

The blood had drained from Petreit's face, and his fingers quivered visibly around the clipboard. "Y-Y-Yes, Sir! Right away, Sir!" His exit was more than hasty.

When the door had slid closed once again, Kindel motioned for Barrine to return. "Doctor, how long until you can reproduce the stone in mass quantities?"

The lanky man looked up from his desk with lips pursed as though frustrated with the question. "As I said, I need to examine the test hatchling before I can determine whether or not the experiment was a success."

"How long, Doctor?"

Barrine sighed heavily, his unfocused eyes softening as he thought. "Even if this experiment goes well, it will still take months to produce the number you've requested."

Thorus ground his teeth and headed for the door. "That's not good enough, Doctor."

"Sir, due to the sensitive nature of the specimen and the complex analysis required to—" The door closed behind Kindel, cutting the doctor off in mid-sentence. His attention immediately shifted to his associates standing on either side of the door. "Why was Lieutenant Petreit allowed to enter? I ordered that no one be permitted access."

"The information he possessed seemed relevant, Master," Scimitar answered. "We thought you would want to hear it."

Kindel opened his mouth to admonish them, but thought better of it. The information _was_ important, if there were _any_ two members of the crew he'd share it with, it would be his assistants. "Keep whatever he told you to yourselves," he told them. "Come, we have one more stop to make."

The prison level was more quiet than usual, though the addition of the new guards likely had a good deal to do with that. Given the abilities of the most recent arrival to the ship, it was necessary to take considerable precautions when seeing to the security of his cell. Sartan Truce was a sorcerer; he could easily blast through the prison bars without the proper defenses in place. Placing two of his Zo'rhan soldiers beside his cell to hold a magical energy barrier in place around the man was a necessity. It would contain his magical abilities, and keep the ship's prison level in one piece.

The two soldiers, both Zo'rhan men uniformed in grey and well versed in the magical arts of their people, nodded slightly toward him as he and his assistants approached. They stood completely still, hands held palm-up at either side and eyes locked on Truce. The barrier would remain invisible unless attacked, but there was no doubt Sartan knew it was there. "No trust between allies, eh?" the bearded man laughed when he saw Kindel. "What, did you think I was gonna try and blow up the ship or something?"

"The thought had crossed my mind," Kindel responded flatly. "Tell me more about this weapon of yours."

Truce laughed again as he rose from the thin bed against the wall. "And give you all the leverage you need? I tell you everything, and then you don't need me anymore. Sorry, but I'm not the fool you think I am."

"You willingly walked into _my_ prison," Thorus shot back. "Some would consider that foolish."

"I call it a necessary risk," Sartan countered. "Perhaps, if you agree to a partnership, I might consider giving you limited schematics regarding the weapon. But for now, all I'm prepared to tell you is that your Aeden pals have it."

Kindel swallowed a growl and forced away a sneer. "I could easily kill you and then retrieve the weapon from Aldoric myself."

Truce's grin never faltered. "You could, but you wouldn't have a clue of how to work it. If anything, it would be _more_ dangerous to you."

"Why should I believe for a moment that an alliance with you would be any less so?"

Truce folded his arms and began pacing back and forth. "I admit that it does require at least a period of unconditional trust so that you can see that the Kyrosen will obey your orders."

"And why should I believe that your people are as trustworthy as you yourself claim to be?"

"My people follow my orders," Truce said simply. "If I order them to swear oaths of allegiance to you, they will be on their knees before I've finished the order."

"So you say," Kindel said through a wry smile. "But oaths don't give me any insurance."

"What would _you_ have me offer, Thorus? What will it take to convince you of my honesty?"

Kindel thought for a moment. The Kyrosen couldn't have much in the way of assets after living in a desert for so many years. What kind of collateral could he demand that would be significant enough to force Truce's loyalty? The man had already stated that he wasn't willing to give up the specifications of this weapon of his—a wise choice, considering it would pretty much eliminate any need for him or his people to be involved—and there was little else Sartan could offer. The Kyrosen didn't possess much, and material things were easily replaced anyway. Their society's main strength—and weakness, in Kindel's mind—was their interdependence on each other. On their own, each Kyrosen was nothing more than an average sorcerer. But together, they created a well-oiled machine capable of achieving just about any goal they set their sights on. However, if a key part of that machine were to be removed . . . "You shall be my collateral," Kindel finally said. "I will allow you to conduct a transmission—supervised, of course—to appoint a new leader to the Kyrosen while I keep you in custody. You will remain in my prison cells until I possess this weapon of yours. If the Kyrosen so much as fire one shot in my direction, or if the weapon turns out to be some kind of fairy tale invented to deceive me, you will die a slow, painful death, followed by the rest of your people. If all goes well, however, I will have you all on transports to wherever it is you want to go."

If there was any hesitation or unease about the plan, Truce never showed it. He slid his hand through the bar as soon as Kindel finished speaking. "You have a deal."

Thorus shook his hand, never breaking eye contact. "Don't think of betraying me, Sartan. You'll be pleading for mercy the instant you turn your back."

"You have nothing to worry about, Thorus," Sartan assured him. "From this moment on, the Kyrosen are loyal allies of the Vezulian Armada."

*******

"But I don't want him listening in on my thoughts!"

Damien slunk down in his chair, though Kitreena thought she saw the beginnings of a smile in the way the corners of his mouth were turned. They were alone in the conference room—one of the few times Kitreena had been able to corner Damien since the incident on the planet—and now he seemed almost amused by what had been happening to her. Imagine, her personal thoughts and feelings on display for Arus to hear! It was frightening and mortifying all at the same time.

She dropped into the black cushioned chair perpendicular to where Damien sat and let her arms hang lazily over the sides. Usually, nearly thirty people sat around the long polished table giving reports of their assigned patrols throughout the universe. The meetings took place every two weeks when Damien's Covert Operations team convened with the latest information on enemy activity, whether it be the Deltorian Pirates, the Vezulian Armada, or any other criminal faction out there that liked to stir up trouble. The huge screen in the wall at the far end of the table was often used to display fleet positioning and intelligence recordings, though it stood blank now. There would be no Covert Ops meeting today. More important matters needed to be addressed.

"It's going to take time," Damien finally said. "You'll learn to control your abilities, but first and foremost you must develop patience. Without that, anything you learn will be rushed and incomplete, and you'll never be able to truly and fully utilize the power you have within you."

"How?" she groaned, throwing her hands up. "You said it yourself; no one else out there has the same abilities as I do. Who's going to teach me how to control them if no one knows firsthand what I'm going through?" With another agonized groan, she put her head in her hands. "If I could just keep Arus out of my head, I'd be fine with taking the time necessary to learn the rest of my skills."

"Well, I've sent requests out to several of my connections of Malziar and Por'Alless. If anyone can give us some tips on how to control a telepathic connection, it would be them. I know their race is quite different from humans in many ways, but I can't imagine the process of telepathy can be all that different."

Kitreena looked at him skeptically. "And what do I do in the meantime? For all I know, Arus could be hearing my thoughts halfway across the ship!"

"Well, you might try explaining it to them. Now that we've decided to—"

The whisk of the door behind her cut him off, and Arus took a slow step into the room. "You . . . wanted to see me?"

Damien stood as he entered, and bowed deeply when the door had closed. The Zo'rhan were big on honor, something Kitreena had never fully understood. But she respected it anyway, for Damien's sake. "Welcome, Arus," he said once he was upright again. "Have a seat, make yourself comfortable. We have much to discuss."

Arus was visibly wary. He sat down with the appearance of a young man on his way to his own execution. "Have I done something wrong?"

"Not at all," Damien assured him. "I'll be happy to explain just as soon as Vultrel gets here. For the moment, however, let's get the awkward issue between you two out of the way."

Kitreena glanced at Arus, but consciously made an effort to avoid eye contact. Still, it was blatantly obvious that he was looking at her. _He's probably listening to my thoughts right now!_ "As you know by now, I'm a Morpher," she said, forcing herself to stare at the table. "As a child, a Morpher is just the same as any other human. However, throughout our teenage years, our abilities begin to manifest themselves through our emotions. The transformation you saw take place back at the castle was brought out of anger."

"And she's got _plenty_ of that," Damien muttered to no one in particular. A quick look from her erased his grin.

"As I was saying, my emotions bring out my talents. Many Morphers have different talents while many others possess the same. Unfortunately for you and I, it appears that I have the gift of telepathy, a talent which none of my people share. It is unique to me, for whatever reason, and I must learn to control it on my own. In the mean time, I ask that you ignore any of my stray thoughts that may wander into your head. I will try to learn to control it as best as I can, but it may take time."

Arus' surprise was mostly hidden behind the implant, though his hanging jaw gave it away. "Am I the only one who can hear you?"

Kitreena looked at Damien, but he only nodded. "It appears so," she answered after a sigh. "I don't know why. Maybe it's because you were closest to me both times I unconsciously tapped into my power. I can't tell you for sure, but I promise I'll do my best to overcome this problem and control it."

Arus held up his mechanical hand to wordlessly assure her he understood before he quickly switched to his human hand. "It's all right. Take your time. I'll ignore anything I hear, and I swear I'll repeat none of it to anyone, not even myself."

"There is much more about Morphers that we wish to share," Damien spoke up, sitting forward in his chair. "But I want to wait until Vultrel gets here to begin with all that. Have you seen him?

"I saw him once when I woke up," Arus replied. Kitreena flinched when she heard his voice in her head. _And he hates me now._ "I don't think he wants to see me right now."

Damien gave him a nod of understanding. "He is upset with you over what happened on the surface, I assume?" Arus' gaze turned downward as he nodded. "We can speak with him if you'd like."

"No! Please, don't press him. He's been dealt a great loss and I don't want to make things worse."

"As you wish. I'd never consider interfering against your wishes, of course."

The door slid open again to admit Vultrel. He seemed even more cautious than Arus had, hesitating to enter even after Damien invited him in. Once inside, he took a seat several chairs away from Arus. His made his disdain known with glares and pursed lips, but he did not say a word. Once comfortable, he turned his eyes to Damien and waited expectantly.

"Very well," Damien began, rising from his chair. "We've called you both here today because Kitreena and I have come to an important decision. Given that you already know so much, and because you, Arus, feel like you cannot return home, we've decided to let you in on everything. Who we are, who the Kyrosen are, where we're from, what we do, and just about anything else you want to know."

"And what about me?" Vultrel spoke up. "I can go home, can't I?"

"If that's what you've decided you'd like to do," Damien responded.

"But it's all right for me to know all this stuff?"

"Again, you know so much already," Kitreena explained. "Regardless of what we tell you now, Terranias' society has already been irreversibly affected by our interference."

Damien cleared his throat and continued. "Myself, Kitreena, and the crew of the _Refuge_ are part of an intergalactic military known as the Aeden Alliance. I am the Captain of this ship, though I don't like formal titles, so that's why you'll always hear people refer to me as Damien. Kitreena is second in command. I know she's young, but she has proven time and time again that she is capable of handling her duties. Our purpose is to protect and defend any planet which either accepts or requests our assistance in any number of assorted matters. We've liberated oppressed societies, rescued hostages from pirates, recovered stolen goods, and even managed to diffuse a few wars along the way."

"We learned about Truce's plans for a cybernetic implant when he made a transmission from the Underworld to a research outpost in the Sarangoda system," Kitreena added. "We intercepted the message and tracked it, and that's how we ended up here."

"The Underworld?" Arus repeated.

"That's what Truce called his little underground lair beneath your Mayahol Desert," Damien clarified. "I'm sure you've pieced some of the truth together on your own by now, but here's the full story. The Kyrosen, or Vermilion Mages as you know them, landed on your planet years ago in an attempt to escape extinction. Repeated battles with the Vezulian Armada—another military faction in space—had dwindled the Kyrosen's numbers so drastically that they needed a place to regroup and recover."

Kitreena's eyes shifted between Vultrel and Arus as she spoke. "Aratus Truce was a ruthless killer. His vision was for Terranias to become the new homeworld of the Kyrosen. He changed their name to the Vermilion Mages to try to conceal their true identity in case the Armada ever came looking for them. And then he proceeded to wage war on your people. He wanted to eliminate humanity, or at least enough of you to force the rest into submission."

"So that's what the Vermilion War was about?" Arus asked.

"That's right," Damien nodded. "Of course, your fathers spoiled his plans. When Aratus was killed, his son Sartan took over. His goal is quite different from his father's; he wants to get the Kyrosen back into space where he believes they belong. His plan with you, Arus, was to use the implant to conquer Asteria as proof of how powerful and useful the device can be. Once he'd succeeded, he was going to use the interstellar communication devices from their wrecked starships to shop for buyers. He figured he'd be able to trade the schematics and you for a few transport ships to get the Kyrosen back on their feet."

"You mean he never really wanted to conquer Terranias?" Vultrel asked.

"Aratus did," Kitreena told him. "But not Sartan. He simply wanted compelling evidence that his invention worked so that he could push buyers toward a higher price. And in the meantime, I'm sure he preferred the idea of living in a castle over living under a desert." While she was talking, she noticed Arus' head begin to hang. _I can't imagine how you must feel. I wish I could tear that thing out of your head and give you back your old life._

Me too.

Arus glanced at her momentarily; apparently she'd let her thoughts get away from her again. She was about to open her mouth when he spoke. "Are the Mages . . . I mean, the Kyrosen . . . are they coming after me now?"

Damien didn't bother to soften the truth. "It is likely. However, with no ships to chase you, they won't be finding you here anytime soon. Besides, the Aeden Alliance is dedicated to defending those in need, and we will watch over you. Not only that, but if Truce were to get his hands on that implant again, it would be dangerous to many more people than just you. So we will do everything in our power to protect you, Arus."

Arus took a deep breath before nodding. "Thank you."

In contrast to his reaction, Vultrel snorted loudly. "You need someone to defend you now? What happened to you, Arus? What have you turned into? You and I were going to defend the world against people like Truce, and now you're cowering behind others for protection?"

"Hey, back off, Vultrel!" Kitreena growled at him. "You don't know what he's going through, all right? Unless you've had your mind controlled by a madman and been forced to murder your own friends and family, you have _no_ idea what he's dealing with right now!"

For a moment, Vultrel stared back with a sardonic smile. Then he looked at Arus again. "And now you need a little girl to defend you. What have you become, Arus?" He rose from his chair and turned to Damien. "I'd like to return home as soon as possible. My people deserve some warning of Truce's intentions."

Kitreena bit her lip to keep from screaming at him. How dare he call her a little girl? She could wrap him up in her whip twice before he'd even get his sword from its scabbard. But anything she said now would be out of emotion, and Damien was always admonishing her for speaking without thinking. _I hope Truce's goons grab him the moment he sets foot on the surface. We'll see what he has to say when the "little girl" has to come rescue him again._ She may have imagined it, but she thought she heard Arus stifle a quiet laugh.

"I'll have a transport prepared as soon as this meeting his complete," Damien said, motioning toward Vultrel's chair. "You're welcome to stay until we are through; we'll be happy to answer any other questions you have."

"Thanks, but no thanks." Vultrel gave him a slight nod. "I'd prefer to just get home and try to get my life back on track."

"As you wish," Damien finally conceded. Vultrel gave no more room for talk, leaving the room without so much as a word of thanks. Kitreena shook her head when the door closed behind him, but Damien spoke before she could. "He's suffered a great loss, and though he doesn't understand the truth behind what happened, he obviously holds Arus responsible. In time, he'll see the reality of things, I'm sure. He just needs to grieve for his father."

This time, it was Arus' voice that spoke in Kitreena's mind first. _He thinks I'm a coward. My best friend thinks I'm a coward._

Kitreena looked back at him, hopeful her telepathy continued its sporadic connection. _You're not a coward. Please don't ever think that._ He did look at her then, giving her a slight nod of thanks.

Damien never noticed the silent exchange. "At any rate, Arus, Doc Nori is very excited about you. He wants to help you out as much as he can, and he's prepared to spend as much time studying and tinkering with the implant as you're willing to give him. He's studied the schematics extensively, and he believes he can restore your vision in that cybernetic eye, along with some of the programming Truce put in to enhance your abilities."

"No." Arus' voice was quiet, but firm. "No programming. Just me, and that's all."

"I understand your feelings," Damien said, "and Doc Nori will not do anything without your consent. But I think you should at least consider the possibilities. If we could reactivate your scanners, you'd be able to know exactly where every enemy stands around you on the battlefield. If we enabled the various battle programming, you'd have a ton of skills at your disposal that normally would require years of training to perfect—"

"No!" Arus shouted, slamming his fists on the table. "I will _not_ allow this bloody thing to control me any more than I have to in order to survive. I'll allow the doctor to reactivate my vision if he can, but I won't be _programmed_ for anything!"

Kitreena held up an open hand. "It's all right, Arus. We aren't going to force you into anything you're uncomfortable with. I promise that."

Damien shifted to his other side. "My apologies. Please, do not think that we would ever consider trying to make you do anything that makes you uncomfortable. We're here to help, and whatever you'd like us to do for you, we'll make our best effort."

Arus wiped a tear from his human eye. "Thank you," he said. "I don't mean to be touchy about it; I just don't want to give the implant any more control over me than I have to."

"I completely understand." Damien patted his shoulder. "I'm sure Doc Nori will not argue, either. But his research will completely revolve around your—"

The overhead speaker crackled a moment before the voice of Sergeant Lueille spoke. She monitored the communications systems, and her recent breakthroughs over the past several months had most certainly secured her a promotion at the next round of soldier reviews. "Damien, we have something down here you're going to want to hear." Kitreena knew what that meant. Another intercepted transmission, and likely another bonus in the Sergeant's pocket. "I recommend you bring Kitreena and Commander Naelas."

"Understood," Damien nodded. "Should I be excited?"

"Not this time. Transmission is forthcoming, but regardless of what it says, we've got trouble on our hands."

"Understood." He looked at Kitreena and rolled his eyes. "I suppose Truce had no reason to alter his security encryptions since our plan for the castle failed."

Kitreena gave Arus one last pat on the shoulder and stood. "We're probably better off that way, if this transmission is bringing us more trouble. At least we'll have some warning."

Arus looked up at the two of them as Damien's statement apparently registered. "Failed? Your plan failed? Wait, what was your plan then? You rescued me and Vultrel and stopped Truce—You _did_ stop Truce, didn't you?—so what part of it failed?"

"Well, our original plan did not include Kitreena's transformation," Damien laughed as he spoke. "Using the schematics of the implant that Sergeant Lueille intercepted, we came up with a plan to use a portable terminal to emit a combination of electronic pulses which, in theory, would've disabled the implant's balance-control mechanism."

Arus looked at Kitreena. "You . . . what?"

She smiled back at him. "We had planned to make you so dizzy that the only thing you'd have been able to do was fall down and possibly vomit a few times."

"At which point we would've dealt with Truce ourselves," Damien added. "But when Kitreena transformed, the resulting explosion she unleashed knocked nearly everyone out cold. I was one of the few to stay conscious, along with Truce and a few of his men. He immediately fled the castle once he saw you were down."

"I'm lucky he was conscious enough to catch me," Kitreena motioned toward Damien, "or else I would've landed right on my head and split my skull."

"And what happened to Truce?" Arus asked.

"He disappeared into the forest," Damien replied. "We would've pursued him, but our priority was to capture you and disable the implant. So in that regard, our mission was a success. It just didn't work out the way we'd intended. No great loss in that, though." He looked at Kitreena once again. "But now, we've got to get downstairs. If you need us, you can contact us through the communicator we gave you."

"Is there a place where I can practice my sword technique?"

"There's a gym on the far side of the deck," Kitreena told him. "I'm sure the crew will be more than happy to spar with you, if you'd like. However, you're free to train solo if that would make you more comfortable."

"Thank you," Arus said again. "I don't know how to truly show my appreciation for everything you've done for us."

The door slid open as Damien approached it. "We're happy to be of service, Arus. Our job is to help people like you and your friends. It's the reason the Aeden Alliance exists."

If he didn't know Kitreena better, he'd say her smile was almost _shy._ "Don't worry," she said as she followed Damien through the door. "Everything is going to be just fine. We'll take care of Truce and his lackeys, and your people will be safe again."

The door slid closed, leaving Arus alone in the conference room. "Thanks," he muttered, "but that won't change the fact that I can't return home."

*******

The largest den in the Underworld was packed to its limit with every single man, woman, and child that could be gathered on such short notice. Olock estimated there were roughly two thousand of them, which accounted for more than two-thirds of the remaining Kyrosen. The number would have to do; they would surely spread word of what transpired today to those that hadn't attended. Besides, it was a good wager that no more would've fit into the cavern anyway. There was scarcely room to breathe.

Olock climbed onto the makeshift stage and began inspecting the connections on the communications array. Lugging all that equipment down from the Control Room had been more than a hassle, but when Truce made his first contact with the Kyrosen after having vanished at Castle Asteria nearly five days ago, he'd requested that Olock move the equipment to the arena and assemble the Kyrosen for a future message he planned to send. He'd been uncharacteristically vague about the purpose or content of this message—Truce had never held details of his plans from Olock before—but if the nature of his plans were that sensitive, then there was little reason to pry. Regardless, it was good to hear that Truce was all right after losing Arus. There were some fears that the failure at the castle would send Sartan into a psychological meltdown that would force Olock into taking the reigns of the Kyrosen.

"It's nearly midday," F'Ledro said as he climbed onto the stage. It was little more than a glorified mound of packed dirt, but it was enough to lift the array above the rest of the people so that everyone had a chance to hear what the boss had to say. "Is it ready?"

"Everything looks to be connected properly," Olock responded, rising from the side panel where the majority of the wiring was fixed. "All we can do now is wait."

"In the meantime, it would probably be a good idea to address the people," F'Ledro suggested. "They look a bit restless."

Olock glanced at the crowd uneasily. None of them shouted, yet their dull conversations echoed in the cavern to produce a small roar. Getting them to pay attention to him was going to be enough of a challenge, let alone any transmission that came from the feeble speaker on the array. "May I have your attention?" he tried to shout. Few people actually heard him. "Please, may I have your attention?"

"Quiet!" F'Ledro shouted, drawing his pistol from its holster. He fired a single blast into the ceiling, dislodging dust and small rocks over the people. The act certainly got their attention but for all the wrong reasons. Olock grabbed him by the vest and snarled in his face.

"What do you think you're doing, you bloody fool?" he growled. "Don't you ever pull a stunt like that again or I'll make sure it costs you your hide! How many times must you be punished before you'll learn to—"

The communications array came to life with a series of crackling sounds. Olock shoved F'Ledro away, nearly tossing him on top of the crowd, and immediately cranked the volume knob to its maximum. "Quiet, everyone!" he yelled. "Listen up!"

It was several more moments before Truce's voice came from the communications array. "This is Sartan Truce, do you read me?"

"Yes, Boss!" Olock responded. "I've gathered everyone according to your orders. We await your instructions."

"Well done, Olock. As always, you've performed above and beyond my expectations. That having been said, I ask that you and everyone else trust my judgment as you have so many times in the past, because what I am about to say may shock many of you. A decades-old conflict has finally come an end, and the agreement that has been reached will set into motion a sequence of events that will—and I stress that word—it _will_ return the Kyrosen to space where we belong!"

That sent a murmur rolling through the crowd. Olock held his hand up to silence the people as Truce continued. "First off, I want to apologize for my failure at the castle. I was in charge of the mission, and I alone accept the responsibility for what happened there. I wanted to provide proof of the implant's power, and in the process, I wound up losing it to the Aeden Alliance. Rest assured, it _will_ be recovered, and it will be recovered soon." There was some applause in response, but Truce went on. "Following the incident at the castle, I followed the rest of you who managed to escape into the streets of Cathymel. We scattered according to the contingency plans we had set, but along my escape route I was apprehended by assistants of Kindel Thorus and the Vezulian Armada."

An even louder rumbling of voices came from the Kyrosen. Beads of sweat formed on Olock's forehead at the mention of Kindel Thorus. "I was taken to his ship and brought to Kindel himself, where I managed to work out a deal. However, no deal comes without compromise on both ends. That having been said, for an unspecified amount of time, I must step down from my position as leader of the Kyrosen. Olock will be taking over, effective at the termination of this transmission. I expect you to answer to him as you would answer to me, because I fully intend to deal with any dissenters when I resume command. Olock, be firm but fair in your decisions. I have full confidence in your abilities. I wouldn't have chosen you if I didn't."

"Thank you, Boss," Olock acknowledged. "But what are we to gain from this deal? The Armada has never been friendly with the Kyrosen before. Why start now?"

Truce chuckled openly. "I wouldn't exactly call them friendly, Olock. But we've reached a professional agreement over a common enemy. As we know, Arus and the implant were taken by the Aeden Alliance. Thorus is going to help us retrieve the implant from them, at which point he will keep it. In exchange, he will provide transport ships for all remaining Kyrosen on Terranias."

A mixed reaction came from the crowd. Some were excited and joyful about the prospect of returning to space, while others were understandably concerned about trusting the Armada. Despite the risks, Olock felt a bit of excitement of his own. If everything worked out—and that was a _big_ 'if'—the Kyrosen would be back among the stars where they belonged. No more caves, no more heat, no more dirt and filth and sand snakes and wretched humans interfering with their society. Finally, they'd be free again. "That's good news, Sir. We've been away from space for far too long. How did you get Thorus to agree to that?"

"As I said, no deal comes without compromise. He ordered some restrictions that I must tell you about," Sartan responded. "But I feel they are necessary sacrifices to attain our own goals. First off, we _must_ help him retrieve the implant, or any ships carrying Kyrosen will be destroyed by the Armada. Second, once we have presented Arus to Kindel, we will be allowed to go our own way under the condition that we remain loyal allies of the Armada. Thorus retains ownership over his ships, and he will be free to track us at anytime, anywhere."

The smile quickly faded from Olock's face, and F'Ledro was muttering something under his breath. How could Truce agree to give such power over to one of their most bitter enemies? "Sir, how can you be sure that we can trust him?"

"Do you remember the deal my father struck with the Military of Senluthia twenty years ago?"

Olock recalled the incident well. The Kyrosen had landed on the planet to refuel and restock their supplies when a rebel group calling themselves the Military of Senluthia hijacked two of their transports and one assault ship and proceeded to use them in their personal battle against their country's elected government. Aratus worked out an agreement to recover his ships on the condition that the Kyrosen would help the rebels eliminate their enemies. In the end, the Kyrosen turned on the Military of Senluthia as soon as the ships were back in their possession. The rebels were quickly annihilated, and the Kyrosen absorbed their weapons and supplies into their own before leaving the planet. At first the deal had seemed like a catastrophic blunder. But in the end, it turned out to benefit the Kyrosen in more ways than one. No doubt Truce expected the same from this situation. "I remember, Boss. We were barely twenty years old, then."

"We were all nervous, but it all worked out in the end, right? I realize that many of you may be uneasy about being allied with the Armada, but I ask that you trust me on this. Once we capture Arus and the implant, freedom amongst the stars will once again be ours. And if anyone even considers turning their backs on the Armada, I will take it as an act of treason against the Kyrosen as well. Kindel doesn't trust as, which I'm sure comes as no surprise to any of you, and he has taken me prisoner as his collateral. Should any of you betray him, I will be killed. That, Olock, is why I've put you in charge. I cannot oversee everything myself, but I know that you are capable of filling in while I'm gone. Once Kindel has the implant and we go our separate ways, I'll return to my place at the head of the Kyrosen. Until then, Olock, treat any traitors to the Armada the same as you would treat traitors to the Kyrosen. My life, this partnership, and the future of the Kyrosen depend on it."

"Understood, Boss," Olock answered. "I'll keep them in line. When should we expect these transports?"

"I requested time for our people to gather their belongings and prepare to vacate the Underworld, but Thorus wouldn't have it. The transports will touch down on the Mayahol tomorrow at midday. That gives you one day to prepare to leave. Take only what you need; food and supplies will be provided for you. Again, and I cannot stress this enough, treat the Armada soldiers as you would treat your Kyrosen brothers and sisters. They are our allies now, and anyone who disrupts that relationship will be punished harshly."

"You needn't worry, Boss," Olock assured him. "Our loyalty is to you, and if you give an order, we follow it without question."

"Well, _you_ give the orders now, Olock. Be firm and steadfast, and don't let F'Ledro get out of line." He laughed with a joy that Olock had not heard from Truce in years. "I must go now. Be ready for the transports tomorrow. Kindel's ships will not return for anyone who gets left behind. Remember, I guaranteed long ago that the Kyrosen would return to their former glory, and I never go back on my word. Truce out."

The transmission crackled for a moment before going silent. Mutters arose amongst the Kyrosen, most seemingly skeptical about a partnership with Kindel Thorus. Helping him retrieve the implant was one thing, but borrowing ships from the Armada and being tracked was entirely another. Still, Truce's mention of the Military of Senluthia hinted that he had no intention of continuing a relationship with the Armada once he had what he wanted. It seemed like a gamble, but with Arus in the hands of the Aeden Alliance, their options for recovering the implant were limited. Truce made the most of the situation he was in, because truthfully, without the Vezulian Armada, Arus would be completely out of reach. At least this way, victory still seemed possible.

"All right, you heard him!" Olock shouted, rising to his feet. "Let's get moving! We have a lot of work to do!"

"Olock—I mean, Boss?" F'Ledro spoke beside him. For once, he wore his nervousness openly on his face. "Do you think we can trust Thorus?"

_A leader must be firm and confident,_ Olock thought to himself. "I do. Kindel's got an unquenchable thirst for power, and if Truce has told him about Arus, then he's certainly going to want to get his hands on that kid. Besides, I don't think Truce would ever honestly agree to a lasting relationship with the Vezulian Armada. We are to pledge our loyalty now, but I'm confident that Truce has no intentions of remaining under Thorus' command for long."

"And you don't think Kindel has considered that possibility?"

Olock grinned. F'Ledro may be a nitwit at times, but now he was thinking like a Kyrosen. "I'm sure he has. But then, I'm sure Truce has realized that as well. It's all a big game of chess, really. Truce and Thorus are moving their pieces into strategic positions, but only the most sound strategy will prevail. Thorus has always craved any kind of power he could get his hands on, but he'll soon learn that power means nothing if the strategy is flawed. Don't worry, F'Ledro. War isn't always about might. We will succeed because we are smarter than the Armada, and I'm sure that's exactly what Truce is counting on."

F'Ledro nervously twirled his pistol around his finger. "If that was the case, why didn't Truce tell us that?"

"He was likely being monitored," Olock told him. "I doubt he would've referenced the Military of Senluthia so vaguely if he could've said outright what he was getting at. Besides, if I was in Thorus' boots, I never would allow a prisoner like Sartan Truce to make an unsupervised transmission to his own people."

The wiry man nodded thoughtfully before holstering his weapon and hopping down from the stage. "So what now?"

"Now we prepare to meet our new allies," Olock said simply. "And we follow Kindel's orders to the letter. With luck, Arus will be in his hands in a few days, and Truce's intentions will become more clear. Until then, however, we must be loyal and humble servants to the Armada. I don't know about you, but I certainly don't want to be the one to throw a wrench in Truce's plans."

*******

"Here is that information you requested, Admiral."

Kindel dropped the schematics of Truce's invention on the side of his desk and took the small packet of papers from the soldier. She was a young girl from the science team's historical reference department, trained in the histories of hundreds of cultures and learning more every day. A smart girl, if only a bit timid, with bright red hair that curled below her chin. Telash was her name. "Thank you, Private. That will be all."

Without a word, she turned and strolled through the door. Kindel began flipping through the pages of the report as soon as she was gone. It didn't take long to find what he was looking for.

The Military of Senluthia was formed in the planetary year of three hundred and fifty-two, on the astral calendar date of D forty-seven. Convinced that government corruption had reached irreversible levels, rebels calling themselves the Military of Senluthia began a brief assault on the Senluthia capital of Tekumsus. They met with little success until the arrival of a foreign race known as the Kyrosen. The rebels managed to hijack several Kyrosen ships, and they proceeded to use their firepower to obliterate the capital building and the Temple of Ught Tahm. Outraged, the Kyrosen penned an artificial deal to ally themselves with the rebels in exchange for control of the ships they had lost. However, once they had recovered their stolen property, the Kyrosen unleashed their powerful spells of sorcery upon the Military of Senluthia, obliterating the rebels and securing the government's safety. Shortly thereafter, the Kyrosen departed, leaving the citizens of Senluthia to fend for themselves against the tyrannical reign of President Menduin Ratuhs the Third.

The History of Senluthia

Volume VII
Chapter XII

Kindel dropped the paperwork on his desk and leaned back in his chair. _So that's what Truce was referring to._ The Kyrosen had seemingly struck a deal in that case, yet they'd quickly turned their backs on their would-be allies. And now, Truce was comparing his alliance with the Vezulian Armada to that incident. He may as well have come right out and told Thorus he'd intended to betray. Proper precautions would have to be taken, of course, but knowing this gave Thorus and the Armada the upper hand.

The schematics of the implant were indeed interesting, however incomplete. If he didn't need Truce's knowledge of how to construct the thing, he could make his own, but the man's technological expertise was unmatched, and Kindel would need help in order to make proper use of it. He _hated_ asking for help. Still, the assistance of the Kyrosen army would prove useful; why send Vezulian troops to do the dirty work when an expendable group of fighters were willing to go? He would just have to watch his back for betrayers. There would be some for sure, especially amongst _that_ lot.

The implant's only design flaw was that it had to be attached to a youth so that the two could mature and grow together, but even a youth would make an impressive warrior if he performed even half as well as Truce claimed. Getting it back would be tricky, no doubt, but Thorus was more concerned about the mutiny that would surely follow. Still, the risk could prove to be worth the reward. Regardless of what Truce planned, if Kindel managed to get his hands on the boy called Arus and gave him the lephadorite in conjunction with the implant, he'd have a soldier of unlimited power and potential.

"Your scheming may have worked in the past, Truce," Kindel laughed out loud, "but with a little guidance, this boy might just be the key to making the Armada the most dominant force in the universe."

### Chapter 3

The shining blade darted through the air over Arus' head as he practiced his forms and techniques. It was much easier to coordinate his movements now that his vision had been fully restored. The procedure had actually been relatively simple once he'd given Doc Nori the time to study the cybernetic eye up close. Being able to see through both eyes without that maroon tint or the constant scroll of the scanner's diagnostics was a refreshing change; he was almost beginning to feel like his old self again. Still, it wasn't the same working his blade without Vultrel standing across from him. He'd lost the best sparring partner and friend he could've asked for, and topping it all off was the absence of Master Eaisan. Life had changed so drastically in such a short period of time, and there was nothing for Arus to do but press on in hopes of a better future.

Damien and Kitreena had been trying to make the transition as easy as possible for him. They knew he faced a difficult reality in not being able to return home, and they tried their best to encourage him despite the seemingly blank canvas that lay before him. Any prior dreams or aspirations he may have had about protecting Keroko and following in his father's footsteps and fathering his own children and caring for his mother—how he missed his mother!—it all meant nothing now. Keroko would never allow him to serve them as a combination of man and machine, especially after he had slain so many of the fathers, husbands, brothers, and sons of the Militia. If he stepped foot back onto Asterian soil, he would be tried and convicted as a war criminal. And even if they _did_ understand that he'd only been acting under the influence of the implant, their paranoia and distrust of machines would inevitably lead them to the same decision. He was a threat, whether he was under the implant's control or not, and any threat to the safety of humanity would have to be eliminated.

The gym was a large room—Arus would've estimated it was about half as large as Trader's Square—complete with an assortment of odd machines designed to strengthen the body's muscles through a variety of weight-based exercises. Most such machines were located at the far end of the gym, while the opposite side remained open for weapons training and several other forms of exercise taught by class. Arus especially liked the floor; it was composed of some sort of blue padding which bounced slightly with each step. An assortment of swords, pistols, knives, and staves hung from the walls between viewports for training purposes, though the few other soldiers sharing the gym with him seemed focused on the weight machines.

_How did I get myself into this mess?_ Arus wondered, shifting to a defensive stance. He was no longer using forms and maneuvers that were unfamiliar to him; that information had been lost along with Truce's control over him. To that end, Arus had no regrets. He would rather be a mediocre swordsman on his own than a great warrior under someone else's control. If individuality meant mediocrity, then mediocrity suited him just fine. _But if Truce can't have me, he'll just find another host for this cursed thing. He has to be stopped before anyone else ends up like this._

As he rotated on his heel and brought his weapon around, he caught a glimpse of the other young men on the far side of the gym. They couldn't have been much older than he; perhaps they were new recruits or sons of other crew members. There weren't many of them, but more than half were staring at him. Their expressions weren't exactly approving, yet no one wore their discomfort openly on their faces. _Did I do something wrong?_ He slowed his movements unconsciously, returning their looks with his own expression of confusion. Finally, he stopped completely. "Is . . . something wrong?"

"Does that thing hurt?" someone asked.

Arus shook his head. According to Doc Nori, while there were millions across the universe with cybernetic limbs, there had been no successful cybernetic brain augmentations on record. The thought that someone's mind could be programmed like a machine was frightening, to say the least, so it was understandable that others would be curious of him. "No. It feels like a part of my body just like my legs or my feet."

"You're pretty good with that sword," a brown-haired young man said. The group of them began to approach him together. "How long have you been training?"

Before he knew it, they were huddled around him the way children surrounded the candy carts at the Festival of Souls. He was bombarded with questions about Terranias, his training, and of course, the implant. They varied in race; two were human, one looked to be a native of Damien's Zo'rhan, and the other four had pinkish-red skin and drooping ears like those of rabbits. It had been difficult to get used to, but Arus had been around so many foreign races since being brought to the _Refuge_ that he was managing to adjust to it. More surprising was how quickly these young men—at least, the aliens _looked_ like men—how quickly they'd accepted him despite what he'd done on the surface.

"You lost your arm fighting Aratus Truce's son?" one of the pink men asked. He had a little nose with one central nostril that flared every time he spoke. "I heard stories about them growing up, but I thought they were just campfire tales!"

By the time Arus stepped back into the hall outside the gym, he'd made seven new friends, each wanting him to set aside time to either train or share lunch at the cafeteria. It was strange for Arus, considering that Vultrel had always been the popular one, but that wasn't to say that the experience was unwelcome. Friends would certainly help him feel more comfortable onboard the _Refuge_ , especially if he was going to be staying for a while. Though they'd admittedly been a bit wary of him at first, these young men hadn't judged or ridiculed him for what he'd done under Truce's influence, and instead accepted him as a fellow soldier with open arms.

He was still in such a state of shock when he left that he didn't even notice Kitreena leaning against the wall beside the door. "Hey," she said softly.

The greeting startled him so that he nearly jumped. "Oh, hello," he responded with a smile. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you there."

"I came to find you because I feel there are a few things you should know," she said. Arus didn't like the sound of her voice. "First off, Vultrel will be boarding a transport to return to your planet later tonight. I know you don't believe your people would receive you well, but I felt you should have the opportunity to join him. Please understand that we don't want you to put yourself in any situation where you wouldn't feel comfortable. We will send you home if you wish, but you are more than welcome to stay if that's what you'd rather do." _Can't say I'd blame you._

Arus ignored the thought she attached to the end of the sentence. More than likely she hadn't meant to. "I appreciate the offer, but I cannot go home like this. If anything, it could possibly be more dangerous for me _there_ than it would be here." He almost thought he saw her wince at the statement, though her face was smooth again in an instant.

"Well, that's the second thing I wanted to talk to you about," she began as they headed down the corridor. "We've just finished listening to a transmission between Sartan Truce and Olock. It seems that Truce has worked out a deal with the Vezulian Armada to form an alliance of sorts. They plan to come after you."

Arus did grimace then. He knew Truce would want to recapture his prized invention, but he hadn't expected it to be so soon. "What is the Vezulian Armada?"

"There you are!" Damien's voice called down the hall. He sped his walk to a brisk jog as he approached and smiled at Arus. "I apologize; I had to go over a few things with some of my men." He looked at Kitreena. "Have you informed him of everything?"

"I was about to explain what the Armada is," she said. "Or should I let you do it?"

A silent exchange occurred between the two; only a fool could've missed it. Kitreena widened her eyes at Damien, who barely shook his head in response before turning his attention back to Arus. For once, Kitreena's thoughts were silent on the matter. "We should discuss this privately. Come, I have to go to the library to pick up a few things."

They led him to a sliding door that appeared to lead into a closet. Damien and Kitreena stepped inside without a second thought, and Arus had no choice but to follow. A series of buttons lined the wall beside Damien, and once the doors were closed, he pushed one marked "Sixteen." Arus felt a slight vibration beneath his feet, and then the floor seemed to fall away beneath him, though not fast enough for his feet to leave the ground. His stomach sailed into his throat, and he looked at Kitreena with wide eyes. Somehow, though he couldn't fathom how, the room was going _down._

Kitreena found his reaction humorous, of course. She giggled so softly to herself that, even amidst his terror, he couldn't help but gaze at her beauty. _She's so pretty when she's not angry. I wish she'd show that side of herself more often._ Her smile was replaced by a brief glare as soon as the thought rolled through his mind, and he quickly spoke up. "What is this room? Are we moving?"

Apparently, Damien hadn't even noticed Arus' response. He burst into open laughter as though Arus had missed the greatest joke ever told. "No, no," he said between gasps of air, "it's called a transportation lift. Some cultures call it an elevator. It's just an easier way of traveling from floor to floor than taking the stairs. I apologize, I meant no insult by my reaction, I just sometimes forget that your people do not use machines."

"No offense taken," Arus told him.

_Here either,_ Kitreena's voice spoke in his mind. He looked at her briefly, but her hair was blocking most of her face from that angle. Was she _grinning_ at him? Girls were so confusing.

When the doors opened again, they were on a completely different level of the ship. The hallways were constructed of the same silver polished metal and wood as the previous deck, though the uniformed men and women here sometimes wore coats of white and grey and blue, and many carried either books or clipboards or packets of paper that they studied as they walked. Clearly this deck of the ship was dedicated to research in some way, especially if the library was located here. Arus followed Damien and Kitreena down the corridor to an intersection where they turned left. They led him into the first door they came to on their right, and he gaped in awe at what lay before him.

The library was larger and grander than anything he could've expected. There had to be at least a hundred aisles of shelves packed with books on either side, and lines of tables, chairs, and computer terminals separated them by threes. A wooden railing circled off an area in the center of the library where the floor was dropped down by several steps. Several red cushioned chairs meant for lounging and three long couches with curved backs and covered with an assortment of tasseled pillows sat within the circle to provide a secluded area for relaxation where one could read or study. Not too far beyond the circle, several elderly men and women stood behind a long counter; no doubt they were the librarians. The carpets were brown and grey where pictures of various planets mingled with beautiful landscapes formed by the different colored fibers. The sight was like something out of Master Eaisan's fables about royal lords and ladies in their luxurious mansions. Certainly not a place Arus had ever expected to find himself in one day.

"How big _is_ this ship?" was all Arus could get out.

Damien led them toward the bookshelves on the left. "I don't know how people on Terranias measure things, but to try to put it into perspective, I'd guess you could fit your entire village on the _Refuge_ at least twice. Perhaps more." That made Arus' jaw drop further.

"Watch out for that guy," Kitreena whispered, pointing to one of the grey-haired men behind the counter. "He watches everyone like a hawk, and he always accuses me of wrinkling pages even when I don't touch anything."

"Knock it off, Kitreena," Damien smiled as he rolled his eyes. "Devlin's just trying to keep everything in good condition. Give the old man a break."

At the end of the first aisle, Damien turned to the wall and started thumbing through titles. "I don't know how much, if anything, you've heard during your time on the _Refuge_ , Arus, but do you know anything about the Vezulian Armada?"

"I remember you two mentioning them a couple times, but that's all I know," he admitted. He kept his voice soft; anything less in a library would be improper. "Are they enemies?" he nearly bit his tongue at the end of the question. Of course they were enemies if they were allied with Sartan Truce.

"Most of the time," Damien said, flipping through the pages of an old brown book. Beside him, Kitreena was looking a book with some kind of incoherent scribbling on the front. Some kind of foreign language, Arus assumed. "They claim to be an intergalactic military like us, spreading peace and protecting the innocent. Unfortunately, the truth is that they are more like conquerors."

Kitreena snorted without looking up from her book. "That's putting it mildly."

Damien ignored her comment and went on. "The Armada was formed by a man from my planet named Kindel Thorus. At first, they were nothing more than a gang of young Zo'rhan men who called themselves the Vezulian Brotherhood. The name 'Vezulian' is derived from the Zo'rhan word for 'victory' or 'success,' roughly translated as 'Vezul'ahn.' The gang was formed in response to an invasion that took place on our planet many years ago. They were called the Ma'tuul, and they were some of the most savage creatures I've ever had the displeasure of facing in combat. We may have been warriors, but these beasts were fearsome, many of them nearly twice my own height. Kindel would tell you they were four times larger than that and that they breathed fire and whatever other exaggerations he has to make in order to make them seem more ruthless and deadly than they already were. That's his nature, you see. It's his way of justifying his own bloodthirsty quest for as much power as he can get his hands on."

"The war was very traumatic for Kindel," Kitreena added. "The devastation of his own people was too much for him to handle. He's full of pride, and watching the Zo'rhan flee in terror from _any_ enemy made him furious."

"When the Ma'tuul reached our city, Kindel urged us to make a stand there," Damien continued. "Some of us did, but most fled into the mountains. Kindel's parents died that day," his voice became somber, "when two Ma'tuul broke their necks and . . . ate them."

Arus couldn't believe his ears. "They _ate_ them? That's horrible!"

Damien nodded as he slipped the book back onto the shelf and took another, a small one with a blue leather cover. "The incident drove Kindel over the edge. He and the others that had stayed behind formed the Vezulian Brotherhood, and they began gathering any other Zo'rhan together that would support them. They stole a transport ship from an abandoned construction factory and left the planet to rally more support from other races. In the meantime, the Zo'rhan organized one final plan to wipe the Ma'tuul from the face of the planet. The strategy involved countless battles and lasted nearly seven years, but finally we had the Ma'tuul on the brink of collapse. It was then that Kindel returned, now commanding a small army, and began attacking the remaining Ma'tuul to help us win the war and secure peace for our homeworld."

Kitreena smiled wryly as she snorted. "Kindel takes full credit for having defeated the Ma'tuul, but the truth of it is that he wasn't involved for the majority of the effort. The Zo'rhan were nearing victory anyway, and the number of Ma'tuul that Kindel's Vezulian Armada eliminated equaled less than five percent of those that had landed on the planet in the first place. The Zo'rhan did all the rest."

"And to this day, Kindel and his thugs travel from planet to planet claiming to be peacemakers while waging heartless war against those he considers to be too dangerous for the rest of the galaxy." This time it was Damien who snorted. "As if he has _any_ right to decide who should or should not be allowed to live!"

"And now he's coming after me?" Arus nearly groaned. "Does he think I'm some sort of threat or something?"

"On the contrary, the transmission we intercepted seems to indicate that he wants to integrate the implant into his army to increase his power and solidify the Armada as the most dominant force in the universe."

Kitreena flipped the pages of her book absent-mindedly. "For Kindel, _everything_ is about power. The more power he can gain, no matter how small or great, the happier he is."

Damien seemed to have found what he was looking for; he put the blue book under his arm and led them to another aisle a few rows away. "There's something else that has been troubling us. Our spies indicate that Kindel has been occupied with some sort of secret project for weeks now. It has been very difficult for our intelligence network to gather any more information than that, but our sources suggest it has to do with something he found on Terranias' surface not too long ago."

"Kindel was on Terranias?" Arus asked in surprise. "When?"

"We haven't been able to pinpoint the date," Damien responded as he flipped through a wide book with colorful pages. It looked like an atlas of some sort. "But we estimate it was anywhere from two weeks to a month ago. What's troubling is how secretive he's been about the project, and how much time he has dedicated to it. Anything that important to Kindel must have the potential to increase his power a great deal."

It was surprising enough to Arus that they had managed to sneak spies into Kindel's army. What worried him was that Kindel had done the same. "If you have people undercover on Kindel's ships, who's to say he doesn't have people of his own over here?"

Kitreena immediately shook her head, but Damien stopped her with a wave of his hand. "He's a smart kid. He'll figure it out," he told her. Turning his eyes to Arus, he smiled. "You are correct, and although we take every precaution to ensure that our recruits are honest people, it is entirely possible that Kindel has somehow managed to sneak a few of his own people amongst ours. I'm sure Kitreena didn't want to give you any reason to feel unsafe, but I assure you, if any members of the Vezulian Armada _have_ indeed infiltrated the _Refuge,_ it is highly unlikely that they have gained any access to our plans, nor have they had any opportunity to relay information to the Armada. Kitreena, myself, and a few Commanders that we've known since before the _Refuge_ was even commissioned are the only people who are given access to any sensitive information, and no transmissions are allowed to be made from the ship without one of us being present. We like to watch our backs around here."

Arus breathed a sigh of relief. "Master Eaisan always taught me to consider any enemy I may face to be the most cunning man that ever existed. If I come up with an idea, I must act on the assumption that my enemy has already thought of it and has taken that idea five steps further. Don't be quick to abandon the idea, he said, but make sure the idea doesn't abandon you to the enemy, so to speak."

"Sound advice," Damien nodded, sticking his nose back into the book. "An underestimated opponent is a victorious one, that's what my father taught me."

It was all so much to take in at once. Life itself suddenly seemed a lot bigger to Arus. Problems like wolves attacking Keroko and petty thieves stealing fruit from the market were no longer important. Whether ready or not, Arus had been thrust into the adult world, a world of sorcery and aliens and war and bloodshed. He was no longer a child, and he could no longer afford to behave as one. Saying goodbye to those days was going to be difficult, but clinging to the past while being trampled by the future would be even harder. The future was going to come to him whether he wanted it to or not. Both his father and Master Eaisan would expect him to be prepared. And he was not going to allow the mistakes of days gone by to control the days ahead. There was no denying his anger over Master Eaisan's fate, no denying the rage he felt whenever his gaze fell upon his artificial limb. But those same emotions had nearly gotten him killed and left him permanently deformed. It was time to leave feelings about the past in the past. Eaisan had once said that life was little more than a series of paths through unfamiliar territory. And for Arus, the time had come to begin again on a new path and put the past behind him where it belonged. "So," he began, looking first at Kitreena and then at Damien, "how am I going to keep Kindel and Truce from getting their hands on me?"

Damien grinned and looked at Kitreena. Another silent exchange took place, Arus was sure of it, though there were no outward signs other than their seemingly excited expressions. Finally, Damien spoke. "I don't think you need to worry about any imminent danger. The Kyrosen still have to group up with the Armada before they can do anything according to the agreement set between Truce and Kindel. However, once Vultrel is returned to the surface, the _Refuge_ is scheduled to leave the system. We'll rendezvous with a few members of the Aeden Alliance fleet and head for more friendly territory. Kindel will have to jump through a few hoops in order to chase us through systems where the Vezulian Armada is not welcome, and that will buy us more time to come up with a plan."

"Why doesn't he just attack us right now?"

"Kindel's secret project, whatever it may be, has kept his attention diverted," Kitreena told him. "While we have little information about the project itself, what we do know is that Kindel has expressed repeatedly that he has little interest in open conflict right now. It is very possible that his deal with Truce is all a ruse set up so that he can keep the Kyrosen under his watchful eye—they've been sworn enemies for decades—but we have nothing to prove that for sure."

Damien closed the atlas and slid it under his arm beside the blue book. "Regardless of his reasons, Kindel doesn't seem interested in a fight at the moment, and we're not going to stick around until he changes his mind."

"Where will we go?"

"We're not sure yet," Kitreena said, looking at Damien. "There are a lot of planets that need some form of help right now, but we don't want to bring the Armada down on them simply by being there when Thorus comes after us. We've got to plan something to catch him off-guard, and to that end, we have a few ideas."

"For now, you're free to move about deck twenty-three freely," Damien said as he led them out of the aisle and back toward the door. The elderly man named Devlin was eying them closely, Arus noticed. "That's the recreation deck. You can use the gym whenever you'd like, and you have the cafeteria, the swimming lounge, and the flight simulator at your disposal. Kitreena and I frequent the level—our personal rooms are located on that deck as well—so we'll be around should you need anything. You also have the communicator we gave you, right? You can use that in case of some sort of emergency."

Arus nodded in acknowledgment, and his gaze wandered back to Kitreena. He didn't have to speak the words for her to hear his gratitude. _Thank you._

She smiled at him with a slight nod. _Don't worry. I won't let anything happen to you._

*******

The giant box-like transport ship was surrounded by soldiers in brown jumpsuits, most carrying clipboards and checking off notes as they inspected the craft. A group of men dragged a long yellow hose across the floor and twisted it into a round opening near the rear of the ship before signaling to another pair of crewmen on the far side of the room. The transport was nearly as big as a house, long enough to fit at least thirty men and as tall as it was wide. Polished circular windows lined the rear half, revealing dozens of rows of blue-cushioned chairs illuminated by more of those glowing glass tubes that Damien had said were simply called "lights." The front of the ship was rounded off, lined with three wide panels of glass to allow the operators—Damien called them "pilots"—to see where they were going. A long, relatively flat fixture ran along the base of the ship's rear, filled with a line of steel cylinders that supposedly used a mixture of various chemicals to produce a fire so forceful that it propelled the craft along. A few weeks ago, such a concept would've been unfathomable. A few weeks ago, merely theorizing over such ideas would've sent any man to prison for violation of humanity's anti-machine stance.

A few weeks ago, Vultrel's life had been simple. Easy. Perfect.

The hangar bay was lined with an assortment of starships, thick and thin, large and small. Some seemed heavily armed, though Vultrel hadn't learned to identify _every_ weapon by sight, he could see multiple turrets that shot something called "lasers" and larger, rounded objects called "missiles." Some ships were being serviced by robotic iron arms that hung from the ceiling and performed maintenance according to a pre-set schedule of commands. Metal clashed with metal as the arms worked, grinding and polishing damaged ships and removing old parts in favor of new ones. Men's voices echoed over the commotion as orders were shouted and acknowledged. What Vultrel found to be most confusing, however, was the floor. Splits in the steel ran through the floor and around the perimeter of every craft. It was as though someone had cut square-shaped holes under the ships, yet the floor never gave way. An odd thing, that.

He shook his head and dismissed it from his mind. None of it was important, now. He was going home, and that was that. All of it would soon be left behind, and he planned to do his best to forget everything that had happened as though it were nothing more than a bad dream. His father had died honorably in combat; he could accept that. And the end result of that battle had seen Lord Sarathon remain safely on the throne. But the rest of it, including Arus' submission to Truce's implant and the carnage he caused thereafter, would all be reduced to nothing more than a fairy tale in his own mind. He'd recall only what was necessary about his father's death to explain to his mother, and come up with some sort of reasoning as to why he'd been gone so long since. Lying was not something he did proudly, but when the truth was more dangerous than anything else, few options remained.

_Curse you, Arus. If only you had been strong enough to fight it. I believed in you._ That was the truth. Up until the moment Arus' blade pierced Eaisan's heart, Vultrel had had all the confidence in the world that Arus would snap out of it, break free of Truce's hold, and send the bloody Mage to his bloody grave. But his estimation of the young man had been further from reality than Vultrel could've imagined. Anton had given his own life to save Arus— _Anton!_ —and Arus couldn't find it within himself to do the same for his own mentor and teacher. Instead, he spewed excuse after excuse about his implant being more sophisticated than Anton's, and how he'd tried to fight it and all that. Vultrel refused to buy it. Anyone could make excuses, especially about something no one else had any experience with. But he knew what he saw, and he knew Anton had broken the implant's hold. The fact that Arus could not or would not do the same proved that he was weak, and Vultrel had allowed that weakness to affect his life more than enough. With his father dead, it was time for Vultrel to step up and be the strong male presence in the Lurei family. And he wasn't going to allow Arus' weakness to crack his own strength.

"We will be ready to depart shortly, Sir," one of the crewmen told him as they passed.

"Thank you," Vultrel said with a nod. It was going to be good to be home, good to get out of his dirty clothes and ragged jerkin. Good to be back with his mother and his people, good to be able to protect his home from the menace of the Mages. Good, yet difficult. Without his father guiding him, he'd have to continue his training on his own, though years of Eaisan's constant fatherly admonishment had left his voice permanently ingrained in Vultrel's mind. He'd be hearing his father's advice even when he didn't want to, he was sure of it.

"Hey."

Vultrel closed his eyes and swore silently. He had hoped the boy would allow him to leave quietly. "What is it, Arus?"

Arus leaned against the wall to his left and crossed his arms. "Are you sure you want to leave? Damien and Kitreena could use your help, and so could I."

"I can't hold your hand anymore, Arus," Vultrel said softly. "If you can't stand on your own two feet by now, there's nothing I can say or do that will change—"

"I can stand on my own feet just fine, Vultrel," Arus shot back. "And I can't believe that after all our years together that you truly think I'm some weak little boy that needs to be spoon-fed by others just to get by. We were like _brothers_ , Vultrel. At least, that's how I saw us."

"So did I," Vultrel admitted. "But a brother, by blood or otherwise, would commit the vile acts that you did no matter what the conditions. Anton killed himself to keep from hurting you, and he didn't even _like_ you all that much. But you couldn't even control yourself long enough to—"

"By the Maker, Vultrel, I told you that my implant is much different from his!" Arus shouted, turning so that the two were face to face.

"A machine is a machine, Arus," Vultrel said, forcing himself to meet the stare coming from the boy's cybernetic eye. "Either it works or it doesn't. Anton's did, and so did yours. Anton overcame his, and you failed to overcome yours."

Arus was shaking his head. "Machines aren't that simple. They aren't all the same!"

"Steel is steel."

"No, it's not! You don't understand how these things work," Arus argued. "It's not like—"

Vultrel held up his hand as he shook his head. "You know, I really don't care, Arus. I just want to go home and get on with my life. I miss my mother, I miss Keroko, and I miss Terranias. I'm done with all of these machines and starships and magic! All of it!"

Arus breathed a sigh of resignation. "After all these years, I figured if there was _anyone_ I could count on for support in a time like this, it would be you."

"And I thought if there was anyone I could depend on to _defend_ my father, it would be you."

He opened his mouth to argue, then sighed again as he drew a folded piece of paper from behind his belt. "Would you at least do me the favor of giving this to my mother? She's got to be working herself toward a nervous breakdown."

Vultrel stared at the paper for a moment before he took it. "Are you sure you want her to know what's happened?"

"I just wanted to let her know that I'm all right," Arus told him with a shake of his head. "And to say goodbye."

It all sounded so final. Was he really saying goodbye to his best friend for the last time? "You're never coming back?"

Arus focused the steel cylinder of his cybernetic eye on him. "How can I?"

This time it was Vultrel who sighed. "I understand. Good luck in whatever you decide to do, then. Keroko will miss you." He made a conscious effort not to say that _he_ would miss Arus. To Vultrel, his best friend and lifelong training partner was dead, and the responsibility for his fate rested solely in the hands of Sartan Truce. He felt the lump in his throat and the tears welling up, but he beat them down with the anger and rage he harbored for the Vermilion Mages. _You may not have been strong enough, Arus, but may I be cursed by the Maker if ever allow myself to be defeated by a man like Sartan Truce._

"Take care of them down there, Vultrel," Arus said, patting him on the shoulder. "I'm sure you'll do Master Eaisan proud."

Vultrel glared at him for the mention of his father's name, but he let it go just as quickly. A crewman in a brown uniform and short-brimmed hat approached and bowed politely. "The preparations are complete," his deep voice announced. "We are ready to depart."

"Thank you." Vultrel wasted no time in heading into the transport, boarding without looking back. The fewer memories he had of this weakened boy who claimed to be Arus, the better. He still had the utmost respect for the friend he once had, but that young man was gone forever. It was going to be hard to live and train in Keroko without the old Arus to accompany him, but the situation was what it was, and time only marched forward. _With my father dead and the militia wiped out, it is now my sole responsibility to build a new army for Keroko. I will not let you down, Father. The Mages will_ not _win._

The air inside the transport was cool. Vultrel dropped into a cushioned chair by the windows on the opposite side so that he wouldn't have to look at Arus. The pilots filed in behind him and moved through an archway into the front of the ship. There they took their seats and immediately began running their fingers across a series of glowing buttons and switches. The hangar deck rumbled, shook for a moment, and then began to descend, sinking to a lower level of the _Refuge_. The new room was little more than a bland steel box, like a hidden pit beneath the hangar bay. Through the window, Vultrel watched as the ceiling closed in from both sides above them, and when the panels had firmly locked together, the wall in front of the ship began to separate, revealing the vastness of space where the glowing blue crescent of Terranias floated silently. It was nighttime on this side of the planet, leaving only the azure rim of the far side of Terranias in plain view. A dull hum grew behind him, and the ship lifted from the floor and soared through the open doors into space.

"Liftoff successful," one of the pilots said amidst their technological babble of instructions to each other. "Estimated flight time will be thirty minutes."

Vultrel took the opportunity to take his first good look at the _Refuge_ itself as the transport veered slightly to the left. Enormous was the only word that came close to describing its size. The bulk of the ship looked like two narrow steel tubes lying side by side, joined smoothly in the middle and polished to a beautiful shine. The head of the craft came to a flattened point, topped with glass viewports along the upper curve where the pilots and navigators of the _Refuge_ operated the ship. A black spider-like logo gleamed just below those windows, its surface shining with pinprick reflections of countless stars. An assortment of lights dotted the side of the hull where faces and figures in windows faded from view the further away the transport flew.

The darkened side of the planet began to appear as Vultrel's eyes adjusted to the night sky. Surely no one in Asteria, or the rest of the world for that matter, had ever had the chance to view the Terranias from such awesome heights. Clouds looked like enormous clumps of cotton that parted as the ship broke through, opening a path to the distant surface. For a time, all Vultrel could see were miles of unidentifiable ocean, but eventually the Lighthouse of Asteria, built of the finest marble and engraved with the Red Bear emblem of His Majesty, appeared in the distance where the land parted to allow the Narleahan River to join with the South Sea. So far below, the lighthouse looked like little more than a whirling glimmer atop a stick in the sand. But the lay of the land was unmistakable; the port town of Hemanal was not far off, and beyond that was the coast of Beremain, Asteria's neighboring kingdom.

The lights winked out, and the hum coming from the rear of the craft gradually faded, leaving the transport gliding through the air in near silence. Vultrel shifted nervously in his chair. Had they somehow lost power?

As if sensing his unease, one of the pilots, a skinny man with a large gap between his front teeth, turned halfway toward him. "No cause for alarm. We have shut down the lights and engines to reduce our chances of being detected. We want to keep our societies as contained as possible, so it is important that we do everything in our power to keep the transport from being seen."

Much of what he'd been told about starship technology had been unintelligible, but Vultrel remembered the word "engine" being used to describe the transport's propulsion systems. "If the engines have been shut down, then how are we—" He stopped himself as the ship veered smoothly to the left. The Keroko Forest was not too far ahead. Somehow, they were still in control of the craft.

"The main engines have been taken offline, but smaller ones, called stabilizers, keep the ship safely under our control. They are positioned beneath the hull and keep us level using a combination of heat and air to propel . . ."

The pilot's technobabble droned on as Vultrel returned his eyes on the trees below. They'd be passing over Dugan's Grove soon, the halfway point between Keroko and the South Sea. He was almost home. Soon he'd be able to leave this mechanized world of starships and laser pistols behind and return to the life he'd once known. Soon Keroko would have a new militia with a new leader, and they'd usher in a new era of peace for Asteria. Soon things could get back normal.

_Almost_ normal.

The transport dipped lower and lower until they were skimming the treetops. The rooftops of his hometown appeared in the distance, separated by the dull glow of the street lanterns. The ship shifted to the right, and the dirt trail to Keroko appeared beneath them. Again they lowered, dropping below the trees and following the trail through the forest. The pilots were certainly taking no chances with their approach; it was unlikely anyone had caught sight of the ship. _Almost home. I'm almost home._

They finally slowed to a stop just before a sharp curve in the trail. Only a slight tremor signaled that the ship had touched the ground, and the door slid open with a soft whisk. "Should be about a ten minute walk from here," the brown-haired pilot told him. "We'd take you further, but once we round this curve, we risk being spotted by your town's watchmen. I assume you know the way from here?"

Vultrel nodded as he rose from his chair and stuck his head through the door. The familiar scent of countless summer nights gone by filled his nostrils, flooding him with memories and feelings that nearly brought tears to his eyes. As much as it smelled and looked like the same old home he knew, it would never be the same again. Not without his father. And not without Arus. And as much as he wanted to get back to his daily routine of gathering fruit for breakfast and tending the farm and honing his skills, doing so without the two most influential figures in his life was going to be anything _but_ normal. "Thank you," he said, peeking back through the door. "For everything."

"Good luck, Sir."

The ship was off the ground and pivoting in place before Vultrel had taken ten steps. It had vanished down the dark trail before he'd taken twenty. Rather than look back, he focused on the trials and tests that lay before him. When he'd left Keroko, he'd been a nervous boy content to hide in the shadows of his father's protection. He couldn't be that boy anymore; he had died with Arus and his father at Castle Asteria. It was time to take responsibility, time to be an adult, time to grow up.

It was time to be a man.

By the time the flickering torches on either side of the Keroko gates came into view, he'd already decided how he was going to begin the recruiting process and had even selected a few men he thought would make excellent trainers for the new soldiers. With his head down, eyes narrowed, and face solemn, he marched toward the gates like a captain leading his troops to victory.

The guardsmen on either side crossed their pikes firmly in front of him, tearing him from his thoughts. "Halt!" they ordered in unison.

Vultrel did look up then, though he kept his expression hard as stone. He chose his words carefully; gone were the days of casual greetings and childish informalities. If he wanted anyone to take him seriously as a leader, was going to have to do more than _act_ like one. He was going to have to _be_ one. "Good evening, Gentlemen." The faces looking back at him were unfamiliar, though he was not surprised considering the number of militiamen that had been lost at Cathymel. "My name is Vultrel Lurei. I am a citizen of Keroko and son of Eaisan Lurei. Allow me to pass." He had not intended it to come out as a command, but he let it go. _Strength, Vultrel,_ he told himself over and over. _Believe in yourself, and others will believe in you._

The man on the left pulled a small booklet from behind his belt and began flipping through the pages. "Lurei, Lurei," he muttered. "Ah, here it is. It says—Well, that's interesting. Vultrel Lurei is listed in the deceased column."

Vultrel raised an eyebrow. When did the mayor decide to start screening people before allowing them to enter the village? "I can understand why you would assume that," he replied, keeping his voice calm, "but I assure you that I am not."

"In order to be permitted entry this evening, I'll need you to provide both of your parents' names and your mother's maiden name," the soldier said through his grizzled black beard. His stubby fingers looked like small sausages turning the pages.

"My father's name was Eaisan Lurei, Master of Blades, Captain of Honor, and my mother's name is Veran Lurei, maiden name Nienas."

The other soldier, his narrow jaw framed by an orange beard, eyed him suspiciously as the first searched through the little book. Finally, after the two conferred briefly, Vultrel was permitted to pass. "Thank you, Gentlemen," he said with a polite bow. They eyed him with obvious suspicion, but neither said a word.

The village was quiet, as was to be expected at such a late hour. There were no militiamen patrolling the streets, and the few men he did see were simply commoners out enjoying the summer evening. Farmer Boyer and Clarissa stood near one of the gates of their farm. Clarissa was swinging her hands in a wild attempt to catch a firefly while her father lifted her above his head. He nodded at Vultrel as he passed, though Clarissa was too wrapped up in her game to even notice him. Several courts down, Ben Mantes sat in his favorite rocking chair on the front porch of his house smoking a long-stemmed pipe. He didn't seem to recognize Vultrel, though the darkness and Vultrel's face of stone may have had something to do with it. Vultrel nodded anyway. Ben was a good man. _A great weapons master, too._

Vultrel's own home was dark; his mother had a tendency to go to bed early. No doubt the empty house had been hard on her, especially at night. Hopefully his return would lift her spirits. It wasn't until he placed his hand on the doorknob that he heard the soft murmur of voices floating from the rear of the house. When he followed the dirt path through the short fence of chicken-wire, he found his mother seated in a wooden rocking chair his father had built, sipping tea and staring at the stars. Elayna Sheeth sat across from her, staring blankly into her own tea. They both wore their silk evening robes and shawls despite the heat.

Elayna shook her head as she spoke. "The world just seems so . . . empty without them."

"I'm alive, Mother," Vultrel said simply.

Veran's eyes widened as she whipped her head toward the alley. Elayna looked up as well, and their mouths dropped in unison. "Vultrel?" his mother asked, softly. "My son, is it truly you?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but she was already on her feet, and she threw her arms around him with a wail that could've been either euphoric happiness or overwhelming despair. "It is," he told her, his voice just as soft. She cried uncontrollably on his shoulder, murmured babble about dreaming and his supposed demise mixing with her sobs. Tears rose in his own eyes as he listened to her; there were times he thought he'd never see her again, either. "It's all right, Mother. I'm home."

"We heard so many terrible things," she sobbed. "We were told that you were killed in Cathymel with your father! They said Arus killed Eaisan! There were even rumors that aliens were involved!"

It was the moment he'd been preparing himself for since making the decision to return home. If he was going to keep Terranias' society from being corrupted by the knowledge of what went on amongst the stars, he was going to have to create a new reality not only for the people of Terranias, but for himself. He'd rehearsed the story over and over for the better half of the day. It was now or never. "Father was murdered by Sartan Truce," he began, trying to beat down the butterflies in his stomach. "I followed him to Cathymel, and during the battle for Castle Asteria, Father was killed, and I was captured by the Mages. They tried to take me back to their underground hideout under the Mayahol, but I escaped once we reached the Narleahan border. One of the stablemen there loaned me a horse, and I returned home as fast as I could."

Veran's sobs intensified as though his story was her final confirmation that her husband had been killed. Vultrel hugged her tightly, desperately searching for some words to encourage her while at the same time forcing down the lump in his throat. Across from them, Elayna stood in front of her chair, her face filled with anxious hope. "And my son?" The question came out as little more than a whisper. "What of Arus?"

Vultrel took a deep breath as he released his grip on his mother and stepped forward. "I tried my best, but I'm afraid I failed." The tears were running down his cheeks now, and there was nothing he could do to stop them. He kneeled before her and bowed his head. "I failed you, I failed my father, and I failed my mother, but most of all, I failed Arus. I'm sorry, Mrs. Sheeth. Your son is dead."

### Chapter 4

It was hard for Arus to know how long he'd been sleeping when he awoke. Despite the fact that the Aeden Alliance measured time in the same way as humans on Terranias had—Damien said it was the most common speed of planetary movement across the universe—despite that, without the sun or the moon to guide him, he felt as lost as a fish in the middle of the forest. Still, he _felt_ rested, so there was little reason to remain in bed. Besides, he'd planned to spend as much time as he could spare training his skills, and today was as good a time to start as any. _The first day of my new life away from Terranias. Can't let it get me down. I'm going to make the most of whatever opportunities I'm given._

At least his mother would know he was alive and well; that had helped him sleep more soundly, though he had mixed feelings about his promise to one day return home. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to, but the truth was that he didn't see any way it would be possible in his current condition. He felt bad including it in the letter without telling her exactly what Truce had done to him, but he didn't want his mother to live out the rest of her life with the despair of having lost both her husband and her only son. Hope kept people alive, kept them going through even the roughest times, and he wanted to give his mother the same hope that he had that one day he'd be able to step foot on the soil of Terranias again.

With a stretch and a yawn, Arus threw his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. To his surprise, a stack of neatly folded clothes sat on a small wooden dresser just beside the door. He set his feet on the cold floor and went over to investigate, scratching his head and yawning again. There was a small hand-written note atop the garments.

Arus,

We had our tailor come up with some clothes for you to replace your old ones. We tried to match your style and taste based on what you normally wear, but if these won't do, we'll be happy to provide you with something else. I'll be in the gym if you need anything. Kitreena

Arus looked down at his own clothes. He was long-overdue for a change, having worn the same blue tunic and brown pants since being captured and taken to the underworld. Stains of dried-blood surrounded his left shoulder, and various rips and tears had turned the once comfortable garments into tattered old rags. The new clothes were indeed similar to what he was used to, both in size and style, though there were some colors mixed into the pile that he sooner go naked than wear. There were plenty of nice sleeveless shirts though, and Arus snatched up a red one to go with a set of dark brown pants. There were even several clean sets of smallclothes there for him, though quite different from the Keroko style. It was understandable, though; there was no way the tailor could've known what kind of underwear they wore without asking.

He took the new set of clothes and headed through the narrow door to the left of his bed where something called a "washroom" was located. Damien had shown it to him before he'd gone to bed. It was sort of an all-purpose room for personal hygiene. Arus had wished he'd known about it sooner, and Damien had apologized, saying that he'd been so busy with everything that has been happening that he hadn't had the chance to explain it all. The lights flipped on when he entered, illuminating the various devices arrayed inside. There were three main fixtures, the "shower," the "sink," and the "waste disposal unit," the latter of which he'd found to be much more useful than the chamber pots back home. It was the shower that he'd come to use today. A good cleaning was long overdue.

Thankfully, Doc Nori's assessment of the implant's resistance to water had been correct, and he made it in and out of the shower with no complications. After running a brush through his hair and cleaning his teeth at the sink, he donned the new clothes and slipped on his trusty brown boots. His sword rested on the counter across from his bed, and he examined it closely before latching it to his belt. He'd given the blade a good cleaning and a fresh polish before going to sleep, and the razor-sharp steel glistened like new.

The memory of his sword piercing Eaisan's chest flashed in his mind and boiled his blood. His master had taught him to fight for truth and honor, virtues that seemed to be fading from society. Arus had built his whole life around his dreams of being able to help anyone who needed him. And his mother—he missed her so—she'd always told him that he could be every bit of a man his father was and more. But all of that paled in comparison to one thing. _Vultrel, my best friend and practically my brother, thinks I'm weak. And it was my weakness, my bloodthirsty need for revenge that put this cursed implant in my head. Well, there'll be no more of it. No more!_ He would show Vultrel he was not weak. He would show Eaisan he wasn't weak. He would show Sartan Truce he was not weak. He would even show this Kindel Thorus that he was not weak.

By the time he'd reached the gym, he'd gotten himself so worked up that his fists were clenched and his eye was thin. Thankfully the halls had been vacant, or someone may have gotten the wrong idea from his demeanor and tried to detain him. His only companion for the walk had been the clopping of his boots across the floor. But that, in itself, had been strange. Why was it so quiet? Where was everyone?

When the door slid open, his stone gaze and fierce anger vanished under a wave of shock and amazement. Kitreena had said she'd be training, but he had no idea her workout regiment was so vigorous. A dozen pitch-black combat dummies were set up across the open end of the gym, set in a random formation and each with a weapon of some kind attached to their wooden hands. They were separated only by a series of steel gymnast bars elevated nearly six paces from the floor. The lights were dimmed, and she was the only other person in the room.

As Arus stepped into the room, Kitreena, in her snug black pants and sleeveless blue shirt, leapt to the first bar and grabbed hold with one hand while wielding her whip with the other. She swung her body forward, using the weapon to snap the swords from the hands of the first two dummies with one hard snap. As her body rose, she threw her legs over the next bar and released her grip on the first. She rotated down beneath it, again using her whip to lash out against the targeting dummies as she gripped the bar behind her knees. Even upside-down, the accuracy and intensity with which she used her whip were incredible. Her body rose again, and her free hand gripped the next bar as her legs released the previous. Over and over she went, from bar to bar, hand to knees to hand again, sending an endless stream of weapons to the floor from the hands of the training dummies. Her thick hair, tied in a smooth ponytail, trailed behind her in a whirling streak of black. When she finally released her grip on the last bar, her body spun through the air twice before she landed in a squat only a few paces away.

She didn't move a muscle, but her eyes turned up toward him. "Oh, it's you," she said. "For a second I thought I'd missed one. Early riser today?"

Arus struggled to find his voice. "Uh . . . Yeah," he finally said. "I mean—Wait, what?"

Kitreena grinned as she rose to her feet. "Still haven't gotten used to the time measurement around here, I see. It's just past five in the morning. Anyone not on night duty will probably be sleeping for another two or three hours." She coiled the whip and hooked it to her belt with a thick leather snap. "Is everything all right? Do the clothes suit you?"

_Even sweating, she's still beautiful. Look at her eyes, they're just mesmerizing. And her hair, she has such perfect—! Shut up, idiot, she's waiting for you to answer!_ "What? Oh, yes, they're perfect. Thank you very much. I'd like a chance to thank the tailor, too."

She didn't mention her telepathic abilities, but her cheeks were bright red. "I'll take you to meet him later," she said, wiping beads of perspiration from her forehead. "But since you're up, would you like to see the simulator?"

He'd heard it mentioned by both Damien and Kitreena, but he hadn't gotten a chance to ask about it. "What's a simulator?"

The only response she gave was a stifled laugh and a motion for him to follow her. Her voice drifted through his head, however. _He's so cute and innocent, even with that metal thing in his head. The girls were probably all over him back on Terranias._ She glanced at him briefly, no doubt wondering if he'd heard. He hoped his face wasn't as red as hers had been.

She led him out of the gym and down the hall, past the cafeteria and the lift, to a series of sequentially numbered doors. The words "Flight Simulation Training Facility" were engraved in large letters across the wall above them. Small control panels were set in the wall beside every door, each with small green lights above them. Kitreena stopped in front of the first, a door labeled with a large number one in white, and typed a brief command into its control panel. The green light turned red with a beep, and the door whisked open. "This is where we train recruits to fly a starfighter," she explained. "In the future, if you wish to use the simulator, and this light is red, it means someone is already in there. Just choose a different room."

He followed her into a darkened room, though the single dim light above clearly showed what was inside. A steel walkway about six paces long led to a small grey chair set down into the floor and surrounded by three panels of buttons, switches, and dials. The ceiling was nothing more than a low dome of black fabric suspended just a head or two above Arus. "Go ahead and have a seat," Kitreena said. Arus dropped into the chair, taking care not to kick what she called the "control stick" as he slipped his feet down on either side. "This is a replication of a standard fighter's cockpit. Don't let yourself be overwhelmed by the number of buttons you've got in front of you, because many are only used for specific reasons that you don't always encounter during a routine flight. I'll take you through each eventually, but we're going to start at the beginning. First things first; you need to put on your safety harness."

The harness was a square of brown leather straps that ran across his middle and up around his shoulders, holding him firmly in the seat. As soon as he was comfortably harnessed, Kitreena pointed to a darkened screen embedded in the control panel to his left. "This is the communication device. Every Alliance starfighter has one, and they all look just like this. You can switch it on by touching this button at the top," she said, pressing a thin red button above the screen. The display illuminated with green numbers reading one hundred and forty-two. "That's the current frequency setting. One forty-two is the standard Aeden combat channel. You can change the frequency by pressing on these arrows," she tapped an arrow facing upward and the number changed to one forty-three. The arrow facing down returned it to one forty-two. "Or, you can type the frequency you want directly into this number pad." The pointed at the series of numbered buttons beside the arrows. "As long as you have this activated, you can speak with anyone on the combat channel."

Arus certainly didn't understand how people could hear his voice through a mechanical device, but then, he didn't understand _how_ most machines worked despite having one implanted into his body. "Oh, all right," he murmured, trying to make it sound as though he understood.

Kitreena giggled softly. "You'll get the hang of all this. I know you can. For now, sit tight. I'm going to jump into the next simulator and connect with you. It'll be easier to teach you that way."

When the door slid shut behind her, Arus took a brief look at the rest of the controls. Most were grouped together in different sections and separated by thin white lines of paint, some with labels and others blank and mysterious. From his own experience with the implant, he recognized the scanner controls by their names, though he didn't have a clue of how to work them; the implant had taken care of those duties on its own. Another screen sat in the center of the front console, larger than any of the others. Elevated plates of steel rested just in front of either foot, and the polished black control stick lined with buttons and contoured to fit a person's grip comfortably sat between his knees. There was going to be so much for Kitreena to teach, but he was eager to learn anything that anyone was willing to show him. If he was going to help take down the Kyrosen and this Vezulian Armada that Damien had told him about, he was going to have to train as hard as he could, not just in swordplay, but in any form of battle that he could potentially encounter.

"All right, Arus, you there?" Kitreena's voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"Um . . . Yes," he said, lowering his mouth beside the communications panel. "Can you hear me?"

There was a long silence before she finally responded, and when she did, it seemed like she was forcing back laughter. "You're holding your face right next to the panel, aren't you?" It didn't sound like a question, and she didn't give him a chance to answer. "There's no need for that. I'll be able to hear you no matter which direction you're looking or how high you hold your head."

If she saw how red his cheeks were now, she'd surely be giggling again. "Oh, all right."

She cleared her throat, and when she spoke again, she sounded like a professional instructor going through a routine lesson. It was clear she'd done this a number of times. "Very well, let's get started. The consoles you see around you will serve as your eyes and ears when out in space. Learn to use them as you would a hand or a leg, but don't rely on them over your own brain. Machines can malfunction, and you'll need to be able to identify a proper scanner readout or radar report from a faulty one. This simulator has been programmed to occasionally feed you such a faulty report, so be aware, and don't let yourself lose sight of common sense."

"I understand," Arus said. "I'll do my best."

"All right," she continued, "let's begin the simulation. First and foremost, never forget to strap on your safety harness. It is vital to your own protection when flying a starfighter. Since your harness is already on, we can proceed."

With a whirring hum, a series of long glass plates rose from the floor around the cockpit, completely surrounding him. They folded together at the top to create a roof of glass overhead, sealing him inside. Seconds later, they illuminated, and Arus' jaw nearly fell into his lap. The image of the _Refuge's_ hangar surrounded him, filling each glass plate as though he were actually sitting in the starfighter hangar bay. There were other ships lined beside him, and crewmen ran back and forth servicing them. It was a near-perfect replica of what he'd seen in the real hanger, though an occasional half-second blip in the image told him it was just a projection. Still, given his lack of experience with machines, it was a marvel unlike anything he'd ever seen, and no matter how much he tried, he couldn't seem to close his mouth.

"The _Refuge_ has a two-floor system for the arrival and departure of fighters and transports." Kitreena's voice startled him from his daze. "Once you are in your ship, the servicemen will signal flight control that you are cleared for takeoff, and they will lower your ship to the departure bay." As she finished the sentence, the ground shifted, and the starfighter began to descend through the floor. The most startling aspect of it all was that Arus could actually feel himself moving down. How the simulator recreated all of this was beyond him, but it certainly made for a realistic experience. "Once you've been lowered, the upper level will be sealed off so that the doors to space can be opened without disturbing the pressurization of the hangar." While she explained it, Arus watched as two large interlocking plates came together overhead to seal the room. Once they had successfully connected, the wall ahead began to split apart. An endless sea of stars lay beyond.

"Powering up the ship is easy," Kitreena continued. "You first power on your stabilizers, then your main engines. They are silver switches located on the front of the console just beside the main terminal screen. Flip all three from left to right whenever you're ready." Arus did so, and was surprised when his seat started to rumble beneath him. The dull whine of the engines grew behind him, and the ship lifted—he actually _felt_ it lift—from the deck. "Next, pull in your landing struts with the red switch beneath the engine power." The switch produced an electronic buzz and a brief rattle from deep within the ship, but he saw no outward change. "And now you're ready to leave the hangar. Place your feet on the pedals and tilt them forward slowly."

The sensation was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. The engine whined, and the fighter smoothly glided through the open doors. "This is amazing," he murmured. "I can actually feel the ship moving as if we're really out there!"

"That's what the simulator is designed to do. The idea is to prepare you for the dangers of space in an environment where those dangers _seem_ real yet are not." She was clearly amused by his shock.

A second starfighter passed overhead before swinging down beside him on the right. "Hey, there's another ship here," he told her.

"I know," she giggled, "that's me. Are you ready for the next lesson?"

"I'm ready!"

The next several hours seemed to pass in a heartbeat as Kitreena took him through a series of maneuvering and positioning drills and even gave him a chance to test his firing accuracy on a few dummy targets. It opened him up to a whole new world of combat; a new method for defending others from the evil of men like Sartan Truce. At the same time, it gave no comfort to know that such weapons were in the hands of those who would enslave and murder innocent people. It gave an unfair advantage that could be used against them, just as the Kyrosen had done to humans during the Vermilion War. But with that technology now in Arus' hands, he could use it to keep them from pressing that advantage against those powerless to defend against it. And anything that gave him an extra tool for fighting against evil like that was most certainly an asset to him. _I'm going to train in this simulator just as hard as I'm going to train my blade. What happened to me will_ not _happen to anyone else as long as I'm alive!_

"You're really beginning to get the hang of this," Kitreena said as he completed another positioning drill. "You're well on your way to becoming a talented pilot!"

"How often can I use this simulator?" Arus asked, practicing another of the formation techniques she'd taught him.

"Whenever there's an open room," she told him. "Don't worry about disrupting the training of others. I linked our simulator terminals for the purposes of this particular lesson, but unless it is programmed that way by an administrator, each room will run its own simulation."

"Great! All right, then, what's our next lesson?"

"Well, next we're going to—" She was cut off by a short beep. "Hold on a second."

The communications terminal went dead for a minute or two. Arus recognized the beep as her personal communicator, but she must've turned off the transmitter in her simulator before responding. In the meantime, Arus pulled his ship into parallel to hers and performed a full rotation up and over her craft, ending on her opposite side. He repeated the maneuver over and over, each movement more precise than the last. Kitreena's voice came back in the middle of a rotation, throwing his concentration. His ship hung upside down over hers, and only the safety harness held him into his seat.

"I'm sorry, Arus, but we've got to cut this short," she told him in a panic. "I forgot that Damien and I were scheduled to interrogate the Kyrosen prisoners at seven this morning and now it's half past."

"Oh, that's all right," he responded, turning his craft upright. "I'll just—" He stopped in mid-sentence as he realized what she'd said. "Wait, what Kyrosen prisoners?"

"The ones we captured when we picked you up," she said simply. "Why?"

A million questions raced through Arus' mind. If there were Kyrosen prisoners onboard, one of them may have knowledge about the implant. Maybe even knowledge of how to remove it. If not, then they'd surely have knowledge about Truce's plans. Regardless, they held a wealth of information that he wanted access to. "Can I come?"

"You . . . you want to watch us interrogate some prisoners?"

"No, I want to help. I know these guys, Kitreena. I was one of them for a while. I may be able to tell you if one of them is lying, and they may be able to tell me if there's a way to get this bloody implant out of my head."

"I'll have to speak with Damien first," her voice came back, "but if he agrees then I'll take you down to the prison level with me."

"Thank you, Kitreena. I appreciate it." All he needed was one Kyrosen doctor or scientist or technician down there, and maybe he'd have hope of restoring his humanity somehow. And if there were none, surely whoever _had_ been captured would be able to point him in the right direction. Doc Nori claimed that the implant couldn't be removed without killing him, but before Arus, a machine had never been successfully integrated into a living brain. Truce's research had led him to previously uncharted technological territory, and if there was any one who could return Arus to normal, it would be him.

*******

Kindel stood at the peak of Mount Xenet, the largest mountain of his home planet of Zo'rhan. The cloth-covered weapon in his hand still vibrated occasionally, trembling in its own bizarre way. Ominous clouds of grey and black swirled above his head in a spiral of burning ice and frozen flames, cold enough to freeze a man's bones on contact; hot enough to melt steel from a distance. Sweat oozed from every pore, rolling down his face and trickling down his back, yet his body shivered as though he was naked in an ice storm. Below him lay the corpses of slain Ma'tuul. Beasts of every shape and size littered the mountainside, the trails, the forests, the streams, and the rocks. The stillness of death stretched further still, reaching beyond the foothills and off toward the dark horizon. Zo'rhan had been saved, cleansed of the cancer that would have brought an end to the world. Those that remained were safe, but the price was a debt that could never truly be paid.

Kindel had defeated the Ma'tuul, and yet his soul would be forever tainted by the insanity that came with such awesome power.

The weapon shook once more, drawing Kindel's glowing eyes. He stared for a lifetime, an eternity of struggle with his desire for sanity and lust for power. He could feel the warmth of the hilt through the dirty cloth as it pulsated against his palm. He wanted more, so much more, and the power was eager for him to take it. It beckoned him, called to him, pleaded with him, but his mind still knew right from wrong, and despite the unquenchable thirst that drowned his soul, he threw the cursed thing away, sending its black blade clattering down the mountainside where it disappeared amongst the trees. His knees hit the dirt at the same moment, and he unleashed a cry that pierced the air and reverberated across the farthest lands.

When he opened his eyes, he was sitting upright in his bed as the last echoes of his shout silenced. Scimitar and Kalibur burst into the room immediately, weapons drawn and ready. When they saw there was no imminent danger, the cool composure returned, and their weapons returned to their places. "Is everything all right, Master?" Kalibur asked after a moment.

Kindel didn't even look up. "Yes, thank you, I'm fine." He waved them away with a dismissive hand. He had stopped trying to interpret his dreams long ago—most had no real significance anyway—but this was one of the most vivid nightmares he had had in a long time. If he was a fool, he'd think that the Maker was trying to say that he was drunk with power. But Kindel had yet to really get his hands on any true power aside from the artifact in his dream, and he'd had yet to truly consider laying a hand on that bloody weapon. The lephadorite would be enough, and he intended to make sure it was used only when necessary, else anyone who abused the gift would find themselves on the wrong end of his anger.

When the door had closed behind his two assistants, Kindel rose from his bed and wiped the sweat from his forehead. It was rare that anything riled such fear in him, and he felt embarrassed for even waking from it. As he walked to the viewport beside his bed, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass window. Shirtless, sweat ran down his chest and back, glistening against the light of the stars. But it was his glowing blue eyes that kept his attention; no matter how many times he saw them, he'd never really gotten used to them. When _had_ they picked up that glow, anyway?

His bedroom was not much more than a large closet connected to his office. He had a bed and a small drawer of clothes in there, and it was all he really needed. Pulling his cloak from the wall and lazily throwing it around his shoulders, he headed through the door. Scimitar and Kalibur stood ready on either side of his desk. "Go find Dr. Barrine and get an update on the project," he ordered them. With hasty acknowledgments and bows, the two darted through the door like assassins moving in for the kill. Once he was alone, Kindel dropped into his chair and stared, wrapped only in his thoughts. _It was only a dream. Nothing more to it than that._ He knew the Maker could send messages through any means, but that kind of experience was reserved for prophets and teachers, wasn't it?

Then again, the number of people who even believed in the Maker's existence was dwindling across the universe. As more and more scientists released reports theorizing the beginnings of the universe, more and more people began to turn away from the Maker. Kindel himself had been uninterested in all of that religious mumbo-jumbo until the day he stumbled across an artifact on a distant planet. It was the subject of one of the few stories about the Maker and his Grand Design that remained the same on whatever planet it was told. Even that seemingly impossible coincidence hadn't managed to convince people of the truth about the conception of the universe, but when Kindel's eyes fell upon the weapon for the first time, _he_ believed.

Now, it sat on the counter near the wall, covered with a fine white cloth. He soon found himself standing in front of it, lifting the fabric to reveal the sparkling sword. Both hilt and handguard had been carved of a rare blue diamond, studded with precious gems and lined with gold around the edges of the pommel. The blade itself was straight and clear with ridges near the hilt that pointed upward. An image of a winged lion was carved just above the handguard. Kindel had never been able to determine what the blade was made of, but if the legends were to be believed, it was unlike anything the universe had ever seen. If the stories were true, then it was a material forged by the fires of heaven and wielded against the greatest evil ever known.

But it wasn't the history of the sword that struck terror into his heart. Fear of the blade had plagued him ever since he'd lifted it at the museum where he'd discovered it. It was an event he desperately tried to block from his mind, and though he'd been successful for the most part, images and memories still occasionally haunted his dreams. When he had approached the sword in the museum and wrapped his fingers around the hilt, he was instantly brought to his knees under a wave of immense power and energy that surged through his bones like the flood of a thousand fiery oceans. Even when he had tried to pull his hand free, his fingers gripped harder as though acting of their own accord. One of the museum curators finally tore his hand away, and shouted babble about the sword being cursed. They happily gave it to him when he requested it, and though he carried it as seldom as he could, he never let his bare skin touch its surface again.

Dangerous as it was, he kept it as a failsafe. If a great threat ever emerged, one that managed to overcome each and every weapon and soldier that Kindel sent forward, then the sword's power would have to be harnessed. Truthfully, Kindel wasn't sure if even he could control such a weapon, but that was why he kept it as a last resort. Surely there would be no need to use the thing anytime soon, and perhaps he'd be able to dedicate more study to it once the lephadorite project was complete.

The beep of his communicator yanked him from his thoughts, and he draped the cloth back over the sword. "Yes?"

"My Lord, Dr. Barrine requests your presence in the research lab," Scimitar's voice said. "He says it is urgent."

Kindel was almost glad to have something to take his mind away from the sword. When he put it out of his mind, it stayed there. But anytime he allowed himself to dwell on the subject, it clouded his vision with an anxious fear that made him feel as though his back was always against a wall. Better to put it back where it belonged, in the shadows of his mind where it could be ignored. "I'll be right there."

He headed through the door immediately, turning his thoughts to the business at hand. If Barrine had anything other than good news for him, it would likely be his last report as head of the research team. Despite constant assurances from his scientists, Barrine seemed more and more unsure each day that the lephadorite experiment would be a success. Then again, they were all scientists, and to Kindel, that was enough of an excuse for their inept behavior.

Even if Kindel hadn't found evidence of the Maker's Grand Design, he likely would've wound up believing in Him based on his own experience with scientists. All too often he'd seen complex theories developed based on an assumption that was little more than a far-fetched guess to begin with. Experiments were pushed forward after slight miscalculations because the scientists didn't feel they had enough time and resources to go back and start again. Ideas became fact simply by word of mouth, and theories law. But they maintained their professional front, claimed the precision of their work, and the universe believed. For thousands of years, scientists proclaimed that tales of the Maker were nothing more than myths, and that the universe had actually always existed somehow. And the people believed.

"They are blind fools," he growled, entering the lift. How anyone could look the splendor of the universe and believe it to be all some kind of chaotic accident was beyond him. For that matter, to think that scientists knew all there was to know was even more appalling. What right do they have to declare themselves as the highest level of intelligence in the universe? The arrogance required to even consider such an idea was astounding.

When the lift door slid open, Dr. Barrine's gaunt face met Kindel's with a smile. "Sir, I believe you'll be happy to see what's happened."

"I'd better be," Kindel muttered. "I haven't even gotten to wash yet."

Barrine led him to the research lab where the lephadorite egg was incubating. Scimitar and Kalibur bowed when Thorus entered, though he hardly noticed. A long jagged crack ran along the shell lengthwise. For a normal Belvid hatchling, the egg would've grown to at least four or five times larger than the egg in front of him. But being that this was a scientifically reproduced organism using the embryonic sequences of the _baharinda_ , its shell had been engineered not to grow any larger than a fist. A translucent white liquid was draining from the crack, and a gelatinous beige substance could be seen beneath it. "That doesn't look like my stone, Doctor," Kindel said quietly. "What am I looking at?"

"That's just the albumin of the egg," Barrine responded. "Think of it as the white from a chicken's egg."

"But when a chicken hatches, the white is not a part of it."

Barrine laughed as he began to peel away the shell. "Belvid eggs and chicken eggs have few similarities. See, the albumin in a Belvid egg remains until—"

"It doesn't matter," Kindel cut him off, rolling his eyes. "Where is the duplicated stone?"

"It will be just a moment." Barrine lifted a scalpel from the steel tray beside the incubator and gently inserted it into the white albumin. Piece by piece, he cut the gel away, revealing a purple stone no larger than a small fingernail. Barrine stared at it blankly for a time before looking back at Kindel. "Interesting," was all he said.

Kindel nearly gutted the man there and then. "Interesting? Interesting?! I was promised a duplicate of the stone I showed you! This is a useless fleck of a pebble!"

"Apparently my calculations were slightly off," the old man said. He was so wrapped up in his fascination that he barely seemed to notice Thorus' anger. "I'll have to study this to see if it truly replicates the properties of the host."

Slightly off? The experiment was a blunder of a catastrophic failure! _Why did you expect anything more?_ a voice wondered somewhere in the back of his mind. "Summon the rest of the science team here at once, Barrine," Kindel ordered. "We have matters to discuss."

When the entire team had been assembled in the lab, Kindel motioned for Barrine to step forward. "The progress of my project has been impeded constantly by your unfathomable incompetence," Kindel shouted. As a rule, he liked dressing down subordinates in front of others. It gave them a warning of what they would face if they failed in their own assignments. It was time to put a little haste into the efforts of these supposed geniuses. "I was led to believe by your research"—he put a tone of disgust in that last word—"that you would be able to clone my specimen through your scientific methods. But all you've managed to produce is a spec of a rock covered in slime!"

"Sir, you have to understand that our calculations were based on estimations and that—"

Kindel snatched the tiny stone from the doctor and dropped it into the small brown pouch on his belt. "I've no time for miscalculations and faulty estimates. I accept nothing but the best from my soldiers, nothing but the best from my assistants, and _nothing_ but the best from my scientists." He turned his eyes on the rest of the research team, nervously clustered together by the cabinets against the far wall. "Which of you ranks directly below Dr. Barrine?"

A short female Pelwig, a bipedal race with webbed hands and feet and oxygen-breathing gills on either side of their necks, stepped forward. "That would be me, Sir." She raised a blue-skinned hand and nodded slightly. "I'm Dr. Masse."

"Good." Kindel nodded. "You are now in charge." Without any further delay, he grabbed Barrine around the throat and lifted him into the air. The doctor gasped for air, struggling to pull Thorus' hand away. "My patience with you has run out, Mr. Barrine. Your repeated failures and your constant indignance will no longer be tolerated. I _would_ order you to be my servant, but quite frankly, I'd rather have a servant who will perform the duties I assign without failing and without excuses. So I'm afraid the Vezulian Armada no longer has any use for you."

Some of the scientists flinched visibly as Barrine's neck cracked multiple times in Kindel's grip. When his body was finally released, it fell to the floor in a lifeless heap. With a grunt of disdain, Kindel kicked Barrine's corpse in the ribs before making for the door. "I want new plans to properly reproduce the lephadorite and I want them immediately. Dr. Masse, I expect results, and please keep in mind that broken promises will send you down the same path as your predecessor."

A faint "Yes, Sir!" came through the closing door. As he headed back toward the lift, Kindel drew the reproduced jewel from his pouch and took a closer look. Its color and texture seemed similar, if not identical, to the lephadorite in his office, but that didn't necessarily mean that it carried the same properties. He cursed himself for listening to the claims of a scientist, but then again, he had no where else to turn. "A starving man will look the garbage to survive," he muttered. "At least now I'll no longer have to deal with the biggest rat."

*******

The guards patrolling the prison level of the _Refuge_ were more heavily armed than the rest, clad in a thick material Arus didn't recognize and armed with laser pistols so large they carried them with both hands. They took no notice of him as he passed, though each nodded slightly to both Damien and Kitreena. Most cells were empty, but the few prisoners they did pass were either asleep or just staring silently into nothingness as though hypnotized by some unseen force. Kitreena had warned him that most of the people they held prisoner were either mentally disturbed or narcotics addicts, and as long as he didn't do anything to attract their attention, they'd likely ignore him.

The colorful carpets and wood-paneled walls were absent on this deck, replaced by dull colorless steel on both the floor and walls. The corridor wound back and forth throughout the level; Kitreena said it was because the _Refuge_ was just a step below a battleship, and therefore equipped with all the weapons and accommodations required for an interstellar war. Since no such war currently existed—her use of the word "currently" made Arus a little uneasy—there was no need for most of the prison cells. The thought of a war grand enough to fill so many rooms with prisoners chilled his spine. With luck, a day like that would never come.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Arus?" Damien asked him as they strode along the corridor. "These people are responsible for what has happened to you, and speaking with them may bring bitter emotions to the surface."

"I need to know if there is any chance of removing this thing," Arus said, shaking his head. "I'm not sure if they'll know, but I want to explore every option available." Kitreena gave him a sympathetic look. There was no telepathic communication this time, but he could likely guess what she was thinking.

"All right." Damien's tone held more than a little concern. "But just let us do the talking to start. We'll give make sure you have a chance to speak, but there are things Kitreena and I need to address first."

Arus nodded quickly. "Of course. I certainly don't want to get in the way of your work."

They rounded a corner, and Arus found himself staring into the shifty eyes of Nevin, a low ranking officer of the Kyrosen known more for his mouth than his might. He almost looked as though he was expecting their visit, standing at the front of his cell with his fists wrapped around the prison bars. His unkempt black hair dangled just above his dark eyes, and he wore a wry smile. "Well, well, well," he grumbled. "Look what we have here."

"Shut it," Kitreena hissed. "You'll speak only when you're spoken to, is that understood?"

"Calm yourself," Damien said in a voice meant only for her. "Let's not start this out on the wrong foot."

"That's up to him," she responded with a snort. Raising her voice, she addressed Nevin directly. "Cooperate with us, and you will not be harmed. But bear in mind that you are our prisoner, safely behind bars and—"

"And under the watchful eyes of your jailers, I know," Nevin's eyes flicked back and forth. It was then that Arus noticed the two guards on either side of the cell. Neither wore the extra armor of the rest of the patrols, and they stood facing Nevin with their hands extended toward him. Arus still hadn't gotten used to seeing so many aliens around him, so the presence of a blue-skinned being that resembled a cross between a tiger and a lizard startled him. He wore the same uniform as the rest of the Alliance soldiers, though his deep blue scales and thin whiskers extending from his long snout certainly seemed out of place against the smooth browns of his attire. Across from him stood a female alien that looked mostly human aside from a series of round fleshy knobs that lined her hairline from ears to forehead. Thanai, Kitreena had called them, a humanoid race with amazing talent for insight and intelligence levels that nearly quadrupled the average human's. The Thanai were also skilled magic users, and Arus was willing to bet that the lizard-man shared that talent.

Kitreena must have noticed the looks he gave the two guards, because she leaned over and whispered, "They're creating a magical barrier around him to prevent him from using magic to escape. Standard procedure when holding a prisoner with such capabilities."

While she spoke, Damien was finishing his warnings for Nevin. "Rest assured that any attempt to either escape or harm anyone on this ship will result in your prompt execution. Do we understand each other?"

"Don't threaten me with idle words, Damien. You and I both know that I am protected by the Aeden Alliance's Code of Ethics for Proper Treatment of Prisoners." Despite the confidence in his voice, Nevin's eyes seemed to be searching for a way out. "You won't lay a finger on me and you know it."

"As long as you cooperate," Kitreena added. Arus got the feeling she was daring him to try something. "Cause us trouble, and the Code no longer applies."

Nevin's stare sharpened as he looked between both her and Damien. "If you have questions, get to them."

Damien wasted no time. "What do you know about Truce's implant technology?"

"Little. Very little. Truce didn't involve any of us in the project. Only he and Olock are knowledgeable enough in that kind of stuff to be able to make it work. All I can tell you about are the few experiences I've had with Arus personally."

And there weren't many. The only times Arus really remembered encountering the man were during the training sessions in the Underworld when Truce had pitted the Kyrosen's best warriors against him to test the implant's abilities. Other than that, and the few times Arus had seen Nevin during the battles at Narleaha and Cathymel, they hadn't had much interaction at all.

"Does he have a buyer for the technology? Has he passed the schematics to anyone else?"

"Not that I know of," Nevin shrugged. "But Truce was never one to tell us his plans up front. He always waited until he'd already achieved whatever goal he had, and then he'd tell us about it."

"Did he ever mention a back-up plan? Did he have any ideas prepared in case the implant failed?"

Nevin pursed his lips and tilted his head with a face of disdain. "What did I just say?"

"Answer the question!" Kitreena immediately demanded. "Did he have any alternate plans?"

"I don't know!" Nevin shouted back. "Truce doesn't tell us his plans!"

Again, Damien looked at Kitreena. She shook her head, muttering something under her breath, and Damien sighed through a frustrated frown. "Are you aware that Truce is now in the custody of Kindel Thorus?"

"I said I don't—" He cut himself off as the question registered. "He's what?"

"He claims to have worked out a deal with the Armada. The Kyrosen and the Vezulian Armada are now allies."

"That . . ." Nevin's confidence finally seemed to shatter as he slowly lowered himself onto the cot behind him. "That's not possible. Truce would never trust those savages."

Damien nodded and tried to keep his voice calm, though desperation glimmered in his eyes. "Do you think he'll sell the implant to Kindel?"

Nevin immediately shook his head, but his response seemed directed more toward himself than Damien. "Never! He wouldn't hand over a weapon like that to the Kyrosen's greatest enemy!" When he looked back at Damien, his face was a depiction of pure fear. "Would he?"

Again, Damien sighed, this time staring at the floor. "Let's hope not. Thank you for your cooperation, Nevin. I'll see that you are sent a hearty meal for lunch today."

The Mage didn't even seem to hear. He stared into space, mumbling something about the imminent end of the Kyrosen. Damien looked back at Arus. "It's your turn. Ask him whatever you'd like."

But Arus shook his head. "He's already answered my questions. If Truce has kept the rest of the Kyrosen in the dark about the implant, then he wouldn't know how to remove it . . . if it even _can_ be removed."

Damien nodded and started down the hall, and Kitreena followed after sparing Arus a comforting pat on the shoulder.

"Do you think he's telling the truth?" Arus asked them as they walked.

Kitreena's look was grim. "I don't know. Most prisoners aren't great actors, and given the strain of what we told him, I doubt Nevin would've been able to react so emotionally without showing at least a few cracks in his facade."

"I think his surprise about Truce's deal with Kindel was genuine," Damien added. "I wonder how many of the other Kyrosen feel the same way."

"I'm sure the promise of a return to space sweetened the deal for at least some," she reasoned, "but I bet there are others who would just as soon spend the rest of their existence in the Underworld as strike a deal with Thorus."

"Hopefully, our other prisoner will prove more useful."

The person standing in the next cell shocked Arus even more. He was large even sitting on the edge of his bed, wearing garb unusually different from the traditional black pants and vest of the Kyrosen. Instead, his attire was mostly blue, woven of a sturdy looking material that Arus had never seen before. An emblem of a vicious boar surrounded by fire was sewn onto the right side of his vest, though he lacked the usual colored shirt that most of his fellow Mages usually donned beneath their own. A snug brimless hat covered the top of his head, and stringy blond hair fell just below his chin. Two guards, one Zo'rhan and the other Thanai, stood on either side of his cell the same as those that watched Nevin. The prisoner looked at Arus oddly as they approached. To Damien and Kitreena, he gave slight nods, but the expression he gave Arus almost looked like relief.

"You are well, I see," his low voice murmured. "Has your mind been restored?"

Arus nodded, almost unsure as to whether or not he should answer. Damien and Kitreena stayed silent, leaving him room to respond. "It has. How's the leg?"

Muert looked down at his right leg. "Just about healed. The doctor on this ship has got some incredible tools at his disposal."

It didn't make sense. Muert had been seriously injured during the cave-in of the Underworld tunnel. His leg shouldn't have been healed already, nor should he have been well enough to travel to Cathymel with Truce's army. But if he was the other prisoner, then he must've been there. "I didn't see you with us on the way to the castle," Arus told him. "How did you make the journey injured as you were?"

Muert looked away and shook his head. "When the Boss speaks, we obey. I was amongst the second wave that followed your group. We were to keep any of the Royal Guard troops from reaching the castle if the warning bell sounded. Boss made me wear a splint and said to tough it out. I had no choice."

"Would you have been there if he'd given you the choice?"

This time the Mage snorted. "Would _you_ have?" For the first time, Arus began to wonder if Muert might be questioning the actions of his leader. And he hadn't even heard the latest of what Truce had been up to!

Damien must've sensed it as well. "I get the feeling you don't agree much with what Sartan Truce has been doing," he said. "Do you?"

Muert looked at him for a moment, and despite his impressive size, his look bordered with fear. "I . . . don't know anymore. When we were first shown the implant technology, I was excited. But none of us knew precisely how it worked or the necessary sacrifices required for it to work properly. Once we learned that Arus had robbed of his free will, many were disturbed by the idea, but they accepted because what the Boss says is law for us. There were others who were thrilled with it because of our history of conflict with the humans; they may as well have been drooling over the idea of enslaving each and every one of them. But I never got comfortable with the idea. No one—man, woman, or child—no one should have their free will taken away."

Kitreena was certainly puzzled by the response. "If so many people question Truce's actions, why do you all follow him so loyally?"

Muert shrugged as he rose from the bed and turned away from them. "He's all we have. The leadership of the Kyrosen isn't something that can just be thrown around from person to person just because we don't understand their ideals. Our society has been guided by the Truce family for generations, from Sartan to Aratus to Marcine and all the way back to the day that Orontus Mendin Truce led us to victory in the battle against the army of New Dunson. That was nearly four hundred years ago. And even while Aratus nearly drove us to extinction, we never even considered naming another as leader. We've followed the Truces for too long to even imagine a society under the guidance of another."

"I've got a question for you," Damien began, "but don't misinterpret me here. I have no intentions of releasing or pardoning you. But I want an honest answer." The glance he gave Kitreena was so quick that Arus wondered if he'd imagined it. "If we released you, would you go back to the Kyrosen?"

Muert kept his back to them. He almost seemed to be fighting with himself, but Arus knew what the answer would be. "I would have to," he finally said. "It is my place."

Before Damien or Kitreena could speak, Arus asked, "What if we brought your wife and daughter here safely? If your family was together and safely away from Truce, would you still want to go back?"

No sooner had Arus finished the question than Muert whirled around, his eyebrows raised and mouth open. "You haven't imprisoned them, have you? I swear, if you've touched a single hair on—"

Arus held up his hands and shook his head. "No, Muert. We do not have your family here. I was merely asking if they would be your reason for returning."

"One day you will understand," he said, his eyes becoming distant. "They are everything to me. I need nothing more than the companionship of my Sienna and Keilan."

Kitreena gave Damien a puzzled look before continuing. "Are you aware of what Truce has the Kyrosen doing now?"

"I only know that we were ordered to return to the desert if the mission were to fail," he answered, sinking back onto his bed. "Why, what has he done now?"

Damien looked to be searching for a way to deliver the news softly, but Arus wasn't going to cushion the actions of that lunatic. "He's made a deal with Kindel Thorus. They have allied to come after me for the implant. Supposedly, the agreement is that Kindel will get the implant in exchange for some ships so that the Kyrosen can return to space."

"A return to the stars," Muert said in a thoughtful tone. "It has been the dream of many since the day we first landed on Terranias. But can such a thing be worth handing ourselves over to our greatest enemy? Kindel will—" He cut himself off and his eyes went wide. "Sienna and Keilan! They'll be in Kindel's custody! I cannot allow that! Please, you must stop this from happening!"

"We're in no position to interfere," Damien said, holding up his hands.

Kitreena's wry smile drove her words home. "Especially on behalf of a Kyrosen."

But Muert ignored the both of them, falling on his knees as he clutched the prison bars. His pleading eyes were locked on Arus. "You are a noble warrior, a young man who knows right from wrong and puts the safety of others ahead of his own. You _must_ help them! If you will not release me, then you must act in my stead!"

Arus stepped back, shaking his head. "Believe me, I would love to help you, but it just isn't possible right now. I'm exactly who they're looking for! If they got control of the implant, I could be used as Truce's weapon to exterminate anyone he wants."

"Not only that," Damien continued, "but we are vastly outnumbered by the Armada. We're lucky they haven't come after us as it is."

"Please, you've got to do something!" Muert insisted. "If anything happens to them, I'll have nothing left to live for." It wrenched Arus' heart to see such a strong warrior reduced to begging.

"If an opportunity presents itself in which we can recover your family members, we will," Damien said, trying to calm the Mage. "But we cannot go out on some rescue mission on behalf of a Kyrosen prisoner. Now, we have a few questions we'd like you to answer. You can cooperate, or—"

"I'll answer nothing!" Muert growled, returning to his feet. "You give me no reason to assist you!"

"Listen, you overgrown oaf!" Kitreena shouted, stepping toward the cell. "I don't care how big you are! You're going to help us out, or I'll—" Arus' hand on her shoulder cut her off and earned him an angry glare.

"Don't press him," he told her. "I know he is a Kyrosen, but I believe him to be a man of honor. Given time, I think he'll calm down."

Damien nodded and started down the hall. "Agreed. And I think he's already shown that he knows little more than Nevin about Truce's plans. I had hoped that Sartan would at least consult _some_ of his men before making such a decision, but apparently the Kyrosen are kept in the dark until after his wheels are already in motion. There is little more we can learn here, it seems."

Kitreena made her frustration visibly clear in her demeanor, but she followed Damien without another word. Arus moved to do the same, but Muert's voice stopped him. "You are not to blame, I know," he muttered. "And I apologize for my outburst. I simply do not know what to do. Truce's actions worry me; I cannot help but wonder if he is following the same path as his father. I am torn between my loyalty to the Kyrosen and the welfare of my family. Sienna and Keilan are everything to me. I'd never willingly put them in harms way, even for my people."

Arus didn't know what to say. A part of him wanted to venture out and find Muert's family for him, but he was not skilled enough to pilot a starfighter against an enemy fleet, and he was certainly not prepared to battle an entire army on his own. "I'd like to help you, Muert. But it's simply not possible at the moment. Don't worry. As long as I'm safe here, Kindel needs the Kyrosen's help. He won't harm them until he has what he wants."

"I pray the Maker that you're right, my friend. Thank you for your understanding." He stood and bowed formally. "Perhaps one day we will be able to truly test our skills against one another in the ring."

"I look forward to it," Arus replied with a smile. "I need all the training I can get."

"You are a talented swordsman. I have no doubt that you will one day exact revenge on Truce for what he's done."

"Thank you, but I no longer seek revenge. The path of vengeance leads only to the grave. My master taught me that."

Muert tilted his head, clearly surprised that Arus wouldn't want to settle the score. "You don't seek justice for the damage he's done to you? Your life has been forever changed by his actions, and you're willing to forgive that?"

"Truce is a criminal that must be stopped. That I don't argue," Arus said through a grin. "But I will not allow vengeance to fuel my actions. I will give him a chance to change his ways, and I will work to prevent him from committing further crimes, but I will not murder any man simply to satisfy a lust for revenge. I succumbed to that urge once, and it saw me enslaved to Truce. I refuse to make that selfish mistake again."

"You are wise beyond your years, young one," Muert said, bowing again. "I myself could stand to learn a lot from you. I hope one day to be half the man that you already are."

Arus smiled warmly and waved a dismissive hand. "I appreciate it, but you should save your praise for a man who deserves it. I'm simply trying to do what I believe is right."

"In this universe, the number of people who go out of their way to do the right thing is dwindling quickly. You are a star amid darkness, Arus. May that star shine for all eternity."

He didn't want to be rude, but Arus couldn't take any more of the Mage's unjustified praise. He was no hero and certainly was not deserving of such words. But rather than argue the point further, he simply bowed with an appreciative smile. "I'll speak with Damien and make sure you get a good lunch sent down today."

"I would be most grateful. Thank you, Arus."

### Chapter 5

It was a comfort to be serenaded by the twittering birds of Keroko when Vultrel awoke. He had been too long away from home, and even longer away from his bed. The sweet smell of moist flowers hung in the humid air, disturbed only by an occasional breeze that was too warm for comfort. It was the hottest part of the summer, which was also usually the driest for Keroko, and to that end, rain had been more than scarce. Not that it was a big surprise or problem; the wells were still plenty full and the village stockpiles had been untouched thus far. The weather was typical for summer, and if anything, it made Vultrel that much more happy to be home.

He rolled out of bed and rubbed his eyes before heading toward the wash basin. The lingering effects of the previous night were still obvious in his face. The mirror just above his bureau reflected his red-rimmed eyes along with the blotches of red on his cheeks. That he was even awake before midday was a miracle considering that he and his mother had been up until nearly sunup reminiscing about Eaisan and the many memories he'd left behind, both good and bad. It had been a night of tears and laughs, and for Vultrel, it was good to finally be able to talk about the pain he'd bottled up inside. As for Arus' mother, she'd taken the news about as well as anyone could after being told their son had been killed in a battle he never should've been a part of in the first place. Veran had spent a considerable amount of time consoling Elayna, but Mrs. Sheeth had insisted she was strong enough to walk home on her own. Even so, Vultrel had shadowed her just to be sure.

With a yawn, he splashed his face with soap and water. Telling her that Arus had died had been one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do, but it was a necessity. It would be better for her to know the truth now rather than live with a false hope that he may one day return. That very thought brought tears back to his own eyes once more—his best friend of fourteen years, gone!—but he forced them down with a solid determination that he would not allow his feelings to dwell on what was past. He would take the lessons he learned and go forward with a new outlook and a new goal. What happened to Arus could've been prevented if Arus had been stronger. Truth be told, Vultrel wasn't sure even _he_ possessed the strength that he wished Arus had. But either way, to destroy threats like the Vermilion Mages or the Kyrosen or whatever they wanted to be called, strength was key, and Arus demonstrated clearly that more would be needed against Truce and his army of heartless thugs. Going forward, strength would be Vultrel's only objective, because without it, he would be as helpless as Arus was. If only they'd known Anton's true strength. If only they'd learned from him . . .

But that was all over with and a part of the past. It was a new day, and Vultrel intended to start fresh with a positive outlook and a clean slate. He washed quickly—there was no telling how late it was already—and threw on a new pair of black pants and a sleeveless black tunic. His mother came into his room as he was pulling on his boots, her eyes sharing the redness that had outlined his own. "Where are you off to, Vultrel?" Her voice was blatantly casual. She didn't want him going anywhere considering what had happened, but he wasn't a child anymore, and he wasn't going to let anyone stand in the way of his duty.

"I've got to talk to Ben Mantes," he told her. With all that had gone on the previous night, he'd never gotten around to telling her his plans to rebuild the Keroko Militia and exterminate the Mages. "He's a smart man, and I think—" He stopped when he noticed her dark eyes tilting to the side, considering him, weighing him. Did she not think he could handle his responsibility to the Lurei household? To Keroko? "He knew Father well. I'd like to talk to him about a few things. That's all." If she didn't think he could carry the weight of Eaisan's duties on his shoulders, then it would be better for her not to learn of his intentions until he was already doing so.

"Oh . . . all right," she murmured, watching him strap his scabbard to his back. "Just be careful, all right? Things have gotten more dangerous out there since the resurgence of the Mages, and I don't want you running headlong into trouble anymore. Do you hear me, Vultrel?" Usually, Veran Lurei was the epitome of strength and confidence, solid under even the heaviest pressure and confident even when the odds favored failure. But now, she was clearly broken; a woman stunned by the harsh reality of the world and afraid to step foot back into it. Vultrel never knew how much of her own strength she'd drawn from Eaisan, much as he had. In time, he'd learn to find that strength in himself, and she'd be able to draw it from him. But for now, like him, she would have to find her own way.

"Do not worry, Mother," Vultrel assured her with a hug. "Father's body may be gone, but he will continue to protect this village long after you and I have both passed from this world."

She returned the hug and babbled on about his safety and the farm and house chores and such. Clearly, she was delirious; Eaisan had never had time for house chores with the responsibilities he carried on his shoulders. But he dismissed her comments as the front door closed behind him, and he headed down the path toward Trader's Square. Ben would certainly be able to help, if not as a member of the militia, then with weapons training and supplies. And if his schedule was too hectic, he'd certainly be able to point Vultrel in the direction of another good weapons master. There were several blacksmiths across Keroko, and Vultrel was willing to travel to Narleaha to recruit if necessary, so if Ben wasn't willing or able to join, there were certainly other options available.

The paths grew more and more crowded the closer he came to Trader's Square. Midday was not far off, and most people tended to do their shopping around that time. Vultrel saw a few familiar faces as he moved along the streets, but he was so deep in thought that he barely managed a smile or a wave for most of them. How was he going to pay the militiamen for their work? He thought he remembered Eaisan complaining once about how the Mayor hadn't provided him with a budget for the men's wages. Did the money come from Mayor Randolf, then? A meeting would be in order, Vultrel decided. There was no way Eaisan paid the soldiers out of his own pocket, so the money must've come from somewhere. And if it wasn't Mayor Randolf—

A brown-haired girl with glittery cheeks and wide eyes stopped him in his tracks. "Vultrel! You're alive!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. "I was so worried about you!"

Finally torn from his thoughts, he returned the hug. "I'm fine, Melia. You should've known I would be. I can take care of myself."

She released him and stepped back, already red in the face. "We heard you were all killed in Cathymel! But if you're here, then does that mean your father and Arus are all right as well? Does your mother know you're here? It's been over a week! Does Katlyn know?"

Too many questions at once. He suspected he was going to have to put on a cold facade frequently to dispel the rumors that were obviously going around. "My father and Arus are both gone," he told her quickly, "and both my mother and Arus' mother are aware. I haven't seen Katlyn."

Melia had been pawing at her blue wool skirts until that last statement. Her eyes shot up at him and turned toward the direction of Trader's Square just as quickly. Brown curls swayed around her shoulders and glistened in the sunlight as she moved. "Then we have to find her and let her know that you're alive!"

His hand grabbed her shoulder harder than he intended, and he loosened his grip a bit. "I'm sorry, but I don't have time for that. I have some important matters to attend to." He hated saying the words; there was a time not too long ago when he would've been all too happy to spend time with Melia. But things were different now. There were responsibilities on his shoulders, and he was not going to let his father down. "I have to get to the Square."

She froze momentarily, eyeing him with a nervous stare. "W-Why?" she asked. "What's wrong? Has something bad happened again? It's the Mages, isn't it? By the Maker, why can't they just—"

Vultrel very nearly cupped his hand over her mouth. "It's not the Mages, and nothing has happened," he cut in. "Everything is fine. I just have something important to do and I don't have time to spend playing around today."

She trailed behind him as he continued toward the center of the village, rambling on about how everyone was on edge about the Mages and that many wanted to find a way to set fire to the Mayahol itself to end the whole thing. Vultrel only half-listened, though he found it odd that she never mentioned concern over the lack of soldiers to defend them in the case of another attack. Regardless, it would matter little once he got the new militia on their feet.

It was business as usual in Trader's Square, though many citizens seemed to be stocking up on food and supplies as though a hurricane was on the way. Everywhere he looked, people carried multiple baskets filled with apples and pears and oranges and melons. Villagers pulled wheelbarrows full of masonry supplies and tools. Long boards of wood were bundled together and carried on the shoulders of shirtless men. Repairs from the Mages attack at the Festival of Souls were no doubt still underway, but these supplies were being hauled off by workers and average citizens alike. More than once Vultrel saw signs that read "Out of Inventory" standing in front of shops that had been closed up. It wasn't usual behavior for Keroko, unless there really _was_ a hurricane coming. Either way, there was work to be done.

Ben Mantes' Blacksmith Shop was located on the northern side of the square. It was a large building of grey stone adorned by yellow wooden shutters around the windows and topped by brown thatch. A billowing plume of black smoke poured from the chimney, indicating that Ben and his assistants were hard at work inside. What caught Vultrel by surprise was sight of two rows of freshly polished swords and newly sharpened axes lined up on a rack just beside the front door. Ben's wife Synthia stood beside the rack where a young man was examining one of the blades. She smiled and nodded at Vultrel as he pushed the door open. "I am glad to see that the rumors weren't true," she said in a motherly voice.

Vultrel returned the smile with a polite bow. "As am I," he said.

Inside, Ben was standing beside the forge along with Dendan Carsal and Mat Marren, his apprentices. Melia stood in the doorway, glancing between the soot covered men inside and her clean dress. Eventually, she allowed the door to close behind her, but she walked no further.

"Vultrel!" Ben exclaimed, looking up from his work. He held a long steel rod into the burning coals, slowing turning it. "Good to see you! So many rumors have been flying around lately that I wasn't sure what to believe anymore!"

If one more person mentioned those bloody rumors . . . "Good to see you too, Master Mantes. I'm afraid a couple of those rumors are indeed true. Arus and my father are both gone." He paused momentarily, but not long enough for apologies to be uttered. He didn't want to feel sorry for himself, and Eaisan wouldn't have wanted that either. "Life has been a bit hectic lately, but the recent changes in my life have paved the way for a new beginning, and I intend to make the most of it."

Ben's mood was notably diminished. "Understandable, Vultrel. If there is anything I can do to help, I'll be happy to try."

That was his opportunity, and he wasn't going to let it slip by. "Actually, there is something you could do for me."

The blacksmith didn't even look up from his work. "Name it."

"With my father gone, his responsibilities fall on my shoulders. I don't know how much everyone has heard or what the rumors say, but most of the militia was wiped out during the battle at Cathymel. The only surviving militiamen are the ones that stayed behind to protect the village, and that number is quite small."

Ben removed the glowing steel rod from the coals and walked over to the anvil, carrying his heavy hammer. "I know," he nodded. "It's a shame how everything Eaisan worked so hard to build was destroyed by Vermilion scum."

"Well, I'm going to rebuild it," Vultrel told him. "It's my job, my responsibility, but I'm going to need help. You're an excellent weapons master. I could use your help in training new recruits. I could use your help with supplies. I know you have to keep your business running and I'll make sure you get paid for your time one way or another, but I think you could make a huge difference in Keroko's future."

The man's eyes had taken on a wary look from the first sentence spoken, and he almost seemed to forget the glowing rod and hammer in his hands. That was no surprise; Vultrel's request was no small one. And while compensation had yet to be secured, Vultrel knew that all those weapons the militia used in the past had to have come from somewhere, and whoever made them needed to feed their families just as much as anyone else. "Vultrel, I don't know what you've heard since returning," he began slowly. A meeting with the mayor would straighten the financial concerns out. "But the Royal Guard has taken on the role of Keroko's protection." And supplies; Ben would certainly need those in order to craft anything in the first place. Dendan and Mat would have to be paid, too. So much to organize. "The Keroko Militia has been dissolved by His Majesty himself." And then there was food. Who would be best to organize and supply food? "He said that Keroko deserved better protection since we are so close to the Mayahol." Farmer Boyer would probably be able to help out, and Vultrel could certainly tend his own crops early in the mornings. There was armor to consider as well. "Haven't you seen the madness out there? They started building the first guardhouses today." Water would be an issue, too. How does one ration water between an entire army and the rest of the village? Another question for Mayor Randolf. Guardhouses? Wait, what?

"What was that?" Vultrel asked, snapping away from his thoughts.

Ben's somber look was all too telling. Even Mat and Dendan were looking at him with remorse. "I'm sorry, Vultrel," Ben said, sticking the rod back into the coals without hammering once. "The Royal Guard is in control of security now. A detachment of troops arrived two days ago. It was ordered by His Majesty. We've been hard at work crafting weapons for them ever since."

"I'm sorry, too." Melia's soft voice spoke from behind. "I thought you knew."

"How could I have known?" he snapped harsher than he should have. "I just got back last night."

"Lord Sarathon's orders cannot be reversed by anyone but himself," Ben said. "Did you really think you were going to be in charge of the militia now? Don't be so eager to throw your youth away, Vultrel. You're still a kid."

The words grated against his spine. How he would love to be a kid again, but Eaisan's death and Arus' departure had robbed him of his youth. The responsibilities of the Lurei men fell to his shoulders now, and he should be allowed to assume the role of his father in Keroko's society. Instead, he was being replaced by Lord Sarathon's troops—bless his heart, His Majesty only wanted to help—and that reduced Vultrel's role to little more than a farmer. Farming wasn't enough to make an impact on the safety of Keroko and it certainly wouldn't crush the Vermilion Mages. With a grunt of frustration, he clenched his fists and started for the door.

"I'm sorry, Vultrel," Ben said again. "I can tell this meant a lot to you. Don't worry. You'll do your father proud. All you need to do is care for your mother. That's all he'd want you to do."

Vultrel suppressed a snort of disgust. What did _he_ know about what Eaisan would've wanted his son to do? "Thank you, Master Mantes," he said despite his anger. "Good luck with your work. I know the guardsmen are getting the best craftsmanship Keroko can offer."

Back in the street, Vultrel kept a steady walk moving him away from the shop. His temper was raging inside, but he refused to allow it to show. Knowing that the faces around him were bustling about to serve the troops that had taken away his duty drove him nearly mad, but he would not respond like a fifteen year old boy. He was a man by circumstances, and he would act as one. Melia tailed him, all the while begging him to slow down, but he ignored her voice. His feet carried him to the south side of Trader's Square, into the streets beyond, past farms and homes and stables and supply sheds, toward the southern gates. No one understood what he was going through, and everyone seemed eager to call him a child forever. When he reached the gate, Melia grabbed his shoulder, and he whirled around in a blind rage, first knocking her hand away and then pushing her to the ground. "Get your hands off me!" he growled, hovering over her. "You think you know what its like! You think you know everything about the world! You think you've got all the answers, don't you?"

Melia shook her head, tears streaming down her face as she scooted away from him in the dirt. "I just . . . I want to help," she stammered.

"You can't help, Melia!" he shouted. "There's no one who can! No one knows the Kyrosen like I do! No one knows what's really going on out there!"

The girl was still shaking her head. "The _who_?"

Vultrel grit his teeth, realizing what he'd said. Passing villagers were beginning to stop and stare, and he had no interest in drawing attention. "Just go home," he finally said. "Go home and leave me alone." Before she could say a word, he turned and stormed through the south gate. He needed to think, to sort things out, to come up with some kind of plan for his life, and there was only one place he ever went to think. The forest wouldn't be the same without Arus chasing him down for a duel, but it was his best option if he was to get away from the village and have some time to himself.

The leaves swayed overhead in the warm breeze, sending the occasional broken branch or rotten apple falling to the ground. Insect chirps filtered through the melodies of the birds overhead in a song that floated through the air alongside the sweet aroma of tulips and daisies and honeysuckles. Leaves and pebbles crunched beneath his boots as he wandered, headed nowhere in particular. A small fox scampered across the path several paces ahead of him. At least in the forest, things rarely changed. The birds would always be singing, the wolves would always be hunting, and the bees would always be buzzing. The trees would always stand tall through even the nastiest of storms, and smaller flowers trampled by the wildlife or withered over time could always be counted on to bloom again. It was times like this that Vultrel envied the animals of the land. None of them had to carry the responsibilities he did. None of them had to shoulder the burden. For them, life just went on as always, their routine forever unbroken.

A fallen log rested across the path ahead, worn and flattened by the years of abuse from hunters and gatherers that passed through. Head in his hands, Vultrel sat on its center, trying in vain to sort his emotions. The King had taken his duty from him, and although Lord Sarathon's actions were intended for the good of Keroko, it was a blow to the Lurei family to be deemed no longer capable of securing the village. Eaisan had handled the job with honor and dignity. He created something that even the Royal Guard couldn't possibly duplicate. To them it was just a job, just a village. But to Eaisan's militia, it had been home, and they had served Keroko with the respect and dedication that came with such a personal relationship. Master Mantes had tried to break the news gently, and there was no reason to be angry with him. And there had certainly been no reason for Vultrel to treat Melia as he had. His emotions were getting out of control. His life was getting out of control.

"What in the world am I going to do? What have I become?"

There were no answers amidst the chatter of the woods. The humid air almost seemed to wrap itself around his neck along with the myriad of problems weighing on his shoulders. He wanted to scream, but the lump in his throat would've reduced any shout to little more than a strangled whimper. His place in Keroko had been swept out from under his feet before he'd even realized it, and now he was just another boy assigned to tend his father's farm. There was nothing left for him. No purpose. No duty. Nothing that would let him even walk in the shadow of Eaisan's honor, much less carry it himself. He was a young man without a path to tread, and it was all because of Sartan Truce.

He did scream then, a forceful cry that sent birds flapping from the trees and squirrels scrambling away. Before he knew it, his sword was in his hand, and his feet were carrying him toward the Mayahol Desert as fast as his legs would move. Revenge was not something Eaisan would've approved of, but this was much bigger than vengeance. Truce and the Kyrosen had ravaged Asteria from the moment they set foot on the planet, and it was time that the threat was eliminated. Each and every Kyrosen would be squashed like the insects that they were, and if they managed to fell Vultrel before he killed them all, then at least those he defeated would never harm another innocent soul again.

A dull whine began to seep through the trees as he raced along, leaping over fallen logs and plowing through foliage with little regard for the trail of broken branches and trampled flowers he left in his wake. The sound grew louder the closer he came to the desert, and by the time the first bits of wind-tossed sand appeared near the edge of the woods, it had developed into a deafening roar that was all too familiar. Slowly, Vultrel's eyes adjusted to the brilliant sunlight reflecting off the golden-white sand, and his heart sank to the soles of his boots. Three enormous grey starships sat side by side in the open desert, surrounded by dozens upon dozens of men in black pants and matching vests. Standing taller than any structure Vultrel had ever laid eyes upon, their flat peaks reached nearly twice as high as the tallest tower of Castle Asteria. Each ship was identical in shape and size, their massive hulls obviously constructed for carrying large numbers of passengers. They resembled pelican beaks, Vultrel thought, with engines on either side near the upper-rear of each craft. On the ground, the Kyrosen were scurrying about like ants building an anthill, carrying wooden crates and escorting women and children up long ramps that led into the ships.

_Are they . . . leaving?_ The idea was almost too good to be true. They sure looked as though they were packing every person they could into those ships, though there was no telling how many more remained underground. The more that left the better, but where had they gotten those ships? Did Truce manage to barter passage off of Terranias? Or did Damien have a hand in this? An uneasy feeling, solid as a stone, sat lodged in the center of his chest. If the Kyrosen left, he'd never be able to right the wrongs they'd committed. And it was reasonable to assume that they'd carve a path of destruction wherever they went. _What would my father do?_ His feelings pushed him toward intervention. As much as he would have loved to see them leave, they had committed too many crimes against humanity to simply be allowed to walk away. They had to be destroyed because it was their due punishment. To keep them from wreaking havoc on any other societies. _I'll see that Truce and the Kyrosen are punished for what they've done to us, destroyed so that no one will share my father's fate._

Sneaking out to the transports was out of the question. His black clothing would stand out against the desert sand a mile away and more. _What would the Royal Guard do?_ The thought nearly made him spit in disgust. The soldiers of Cathymel would likely wave goodbye rather than try to apprehend the Mages. Arus would've called it a "show of mercy" or something preposterous like that, when in reality it amounted to irresponsible cowardice in Vultrel's eyes. No, he was on his own this time, and weighing his options, few as they were, and came up with only one real idea. The large red rocks and boulders scattered across the sand were too few and far between to be able to effectively use as cover for his approach. And no matter how low he crouched or how slow he moved, his clothing would be clearly visible if he tried to slink across the sand on his belly. His only real chance, as mad it sounded, would be to surrender to the Kyrosen and be taken prisoner, then figure out what to do once he was onboard one of their ships. It would be a bold plan, one that he would have never even considered a few weeks ago, but he was no longer under his father's wing. Truce's people had to be destroyed to protect other planets like Terranias that were too helpless to defend themselves. Imprisonment, trials, and other such nonsense were useless against such men. Their ways were more like that of conquerors, and such societies had to be purged from the universe if peace were ever to truly reign.

He returned his sword to its scabbard and stepped into the open sands, walking slowly as to not give the impression of an ambush. The last thing he wanted was to bring a shower of fire and lightning down upon himself. It took little time for the Mages to spot him, but once they had, a group of men carrying large swords and laser pistols dashed toward him. He raised his hands and dropped to his knees as they approached, and they quickly yanked his sword from his back. "I am Vultrel Lurei, son of Eaisan Lurei, and I surrender to the might of the Kyrosen. Do with me what you will."

The statement visibly confused the soldiers. They exchanged nervous glances before binding his hands together with a steel clip. "Why have you thrown yourself at our mercy?" one of them asked him. "I see no logical reason for you seek us out simply to surrender."

"I may be mistaken, but it looks as though you're leaving Terranias," Vultrel responded levelly. "Your boss and I have business left unfinished, and I doubt he'd pass up the opportunity to take the son of his greatest enemy with him."

That initiated another exchange of glances between them. A well-proportioned man with stringy black hair lifted a communicator from his belt. "Boss, this is Ellas. I apologize for the disturbance, but we have someone here who'd like to see you."

*******

Damien rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger, a habit stemming back to his days with a beard. He always did it unconsciously when he was nervous, and as of late, he'd managed to tie himself into a bundle of nerves on a routine basis. Things were getting more and more unstable as days went by, and it seemed like only a matter of time before more blood was shed. That was something he hated, honestly and truthfully, unlike some of those who would call themselves his brethren. It was not an accurate reflection of the Zo'rhan people as a whole, thankfully, but too many had submitted themselves to the Kindel Thorus way of thinking. How many more would align themselves at the man's heels before the universe fought back? How many more would die by his hand before he was stopped?

Watching the three green blips on the radar, things only seemed to get worse.

"Vezulian transports are entering the lower stratosphere now, Sir."

Damien nodded and returned his attention to the main viewport. It was more like a wall of glass than a viewport, stretching from one side of the room to the other and extending upward along the slant of the hull to give a broad view of space both above and ahead. The ships carrying the Kyrosen were not visible to the naked eye as of yet, though the crew was tracking them closer than the eye ever could. Across the bridge of the _Refuge_ , the clacking of fingers across control panels mixed with occasional verbal reports from each station. The air was tense, despite the fact that Damien had no intentions of interfering with the Vezulian Armada's work. On the contrary, he wanted the Kyrosen's transfer from Terranias to space to move ahead without interruption. He had made a promise to Arus, after all, and the time could not have been more right. "Is there a fighter escort?"

Lieutenant Harold Meni looked back from his post as the sensor terminal. He had a youthful face for his age, though he was not old by any stretch of the imagination. A human from Tarbosa, his dark eyes and hooked nose were framed by pale round cheeks that looked smoother than whipped cream. Did the man ever even have to shave? "Not as of yet," he reported. "I'm guessing it's Thorus' way of sending the message to the Kyrosen that they aren't all that important to him."

Damien nodded absentmindedly. "Keep a close watch for any changes in starfighter formation amidst the Armada. If they notice our interest in the transfer, we may have to speed up the plan."

Most of the stations were set only a few paces back from the main viewport, separated by thin spaces between each console that were barely large enough to walk through. Navigation and flight control sat in the center, while the tactical station, manned by a round Svodesian simply named Tump, and the communication array, operated by Lieutenant Merille Tears, were located on either side of them. To his far right, Kitreena sat slumped in one in a chair near the diagnostic terminal, mindlessly biting her nails and sparing an occasional glace toward the viewport. She never kept hidden the fact that these types of assignments bored her, and understandably so. Most girls her age were enjoying the last few years of youth they had left, but she'd thrust herself into an adult world well before she had even learned simple math. This was her life, and though Damien knew she embraced it and took her responsibilities seriously, nothing tamed the instincts of youth.

Then again, most girls her age weren't faced with most of the changes her body was going through.

She was a native of Lavinia, and that identified her as a Morpher. She had the innate ability to merge her form with an aspect of nature, though hers was different from any other Morpher in the universe. Most could change their shapes into beasts of the wild or camouflage their bodies as trees or bushes or other such life forms. The latter were considered to be inferior to those that could transform into animals, and it was reflected in their society similar to the way that humans had a clear distinction between nobles and commoners. But Kitreena was different from all of them. She had the power to merge with the four elements of nature: Land, Air, Fire, and Water. According to the history of Lavinia, only two or three others had ever been gifted with the abilities she had, and they had developed into the most powerful Morphers of their time. But they were long dead, and that left Kitreena alone to learn how to harness her abilities. Damien could guide her as best as he knew how, but the bulk of the learning would fall on Kitreena's shoulders. He knew she was up to the challenge, but that did nothing to ease his fears.

"Transports entering lower ionosphere."

Damien glanced at Kiris, a member of the fish-like race known as Pelwigs seated at the navigation terminal. "Have our destination coordinates been plotted?"

She gave her flowing blue hair an irritated flick over her shoulder before replying. "Yes, Sir. Ready to head for Aeden Outpost Twelve on your command."

Damien nodded with a sigh. _Well, I promised Arus I would take him to safer territory, and that's what I'm going to do._ The original plan would've had the _Refuge_ gone from the system during the night, but after a talk with tactical team it was decided that leaving during the Kyrosen transfer would make it more difficult for Kindel and the Armada to impede their withdrawal. It didn't sit right with him, leaving when two such dangerous societies were forming a partnership, but emotions were things better kept away from the battlefield, replaced by logic and reason wherever possible. Emotions had led many a man to make rash decisions, and the battlefield was no place for that way of thinking.

"You look troubled, Dame," Kitreena said without bothering to look up from her nails. "What's got you so wound up?"

He'd been avoiding the subject because the truth was that there was little he could do about it, but that didn't stop the worries from eating away at him. "I want to know who it was that the Kyrosen captured a few hours ago. I know that we agreed earlier that it was probably one of their own men returned from a hunting outing or something, but why was he circled by seven men and escorted back to the transports?"

Kitreena shrugged and looked back toward the planet. "All we saw were blips of light on the radar, Dame. They could've been anything. It could've been that the hunter was met by his friends and their formation in returning to the ships just _looked_ like an escort to us. Or it could've been another animal—a rabbit, perhaps—that had run out into the sands and was quickly captured by the Kyrosen and taken back for food. There are numerous possibilities."

Damien nodded slowly. "I know. But I just can't shake this paranoia. What if it was a human? A native civilian?"

Kitreena frowned, finally looking at him momentarily before nibbling away at the nail on her index finger. "If it was a human, there's no more we can do for him than we can do to rescue the Belvids that were kidnapped. We're neither equipped nor manned to mount a rescue right now, if there's even anything that needs rescuing in the first place."

Damien pursed his lips, scratching his chin again. "That doesn't ease my fears."

Finally, she pushed herself up. "Look, whoever it was, the Kyrosen obviously thought them important enough to keep alive; otherwise they would've blown his brains out right there and left him for the vultures. And if they did kidnap someone important, then they'll have demands they want met, which means we'll hear about it soon enough, whether it be from the spy network or from Olock's own beak."

Lieutenant Meni once again turned back to face Damien. "The transports are exiting Terranias' atmosphere now, Sir. They'll reach the rest of the Vezulian Armada within fifteen minutes."

The halfway point of their flight. Whatever they did now, Kindel would either have to order the ships back to the ground—a move he was unlikely to make with them so far from the surface—or wait for the ships to dock with one of his starcruisers. Either way, it was now or never. "All right then," he looked at helmsman Jindar Tradek, the short-haired Zo'rhan male that operated flight controls for the _Refuge_. "Let's get out of here."

"Aye, Sir." Tradek acknowledged with a nod of his head. It took a mere two button command to set the starship into motion, rotating away from the Vezulian Armada to face their destination. Another three button clicks and the engines came to life with a brief whir before catapulting the _Refuge_ away from Terranias, away from the Kyrosen, and away from the Vezulian Armada. It would take several days to reach the Aeden Outpost, making head-start seem minuscule, but even at top speed, the _Black Eagle_ could only match the speed of the _Refuge._ Long-range starfighters had a chance to catch up, and even some of the assault transports, but such ships would be cannon fodder for the _Refuge_ and her fighter squadrons. And since Kindel stubbornly refused to fly in anything but his flagship, _he_ wouldn't be able to catch them, and that in turn kept Arus safe. For the time being, anyway.

Kitreena's hand was on his shoulder, he realized. She was looking up at him with sparkling blue eyes of compassion. "You can't save everybody all the time, Damien. I know you want to—I do too!—but you just can't. It isn't possible."

She'd once told him that his compassion for others could be used against him. Truth be told, he agreed with her. To allow his compassion to get in the way of duty would compromise his judgment, and enemies would be all too willing to exploit such a weakness. _Emotions have no place on the battlefield,_ he told himself over and over.

"Sir, we have a transmission incoming from Outpost Twelve," Lieutenant Merille Tears reported. She was the blond-haired human with fair skin who operated the communications array. "Shall I connect?"

Damien nodded as he headed over to the console. Merille typed a quick command before flipping the silver switch beside the speaker. "This is Admiral Vaenin from Aeden Outpost Twelve. How are you, Damien?"

"We're well, Admiral," Damien answered as Kitreena moved beside him. "The _Refuge_ is underway now. We should reach Outpost Twelve in approximately six days."

"That's excellent news," the elegant voice of Vaenin responded. The Thanai were known for their gentle demeanor and vast wisdom, and it showed in every aspect of their beings. "You have the boy, then?"

"He is with us, yes. We're in the process of devising a plan of action regarding the Vezulian Armada's intentions toward him."

Vaenin laughed. "Don't worry, he'll be plenty safe here. I assume the Kyrosen transfer proceeded as expected?"

"Yes, Sir. I wish I could say it had not."

"Very well. I'm going to take the matter to the Aeden High Council this evening. Hopefully we'll be able to come up with some kind of strategy to confront this new threat."

Damien nodded, not even considering that the admiral couldn't see him. "Keep me informed. I have no doubt that Thorus is going to be right on my tail as soon as the Kyrosen are onboard whatever cruiser he's assigned them to. Kindel and Truce both want Arus, and it is imperative that we keep both him and his implant out of their hands."

"Agreed. I will report all of this to the Council and get back in touch with you tomorrow. In the meantime, try to get some rest. I can't imagine the past couple of weeks have been easy on you. And don't push that daughter of yours too hard, either. She's proven herself to be a fine soldier, but she is still a child, after all."

Kitreena opened her mouth, but Damien clapped his hand over it. "Yes, Sir. I'll do that," he said, struggling to keep her quiet. "Damien out."

As soon as Merille flipped the comm switch, he released his grip on Kitreena. "I am no child!" she growled, kicking the side of the terminal. "Who does he think he is?"

Damien couldn't help but chuckle. "Relax, Kit. It's a common misconception. You're only fifteen, after all."

She growled again as she headed for the lift. "Whatever. If you need me, I'll be in the gym."

When the door closed behind her, Damien turned back to the crew. "Everyone stay clear of the gym for a while."

*******

Arus' late afternoon workout ended as soon as he saw Kitreena enter through the far door. He was seated on one of the weight simulation machines when she arrived, chatting with Rollock, the long-eared alien with a single nostril and pink skin. A peaceful race called the Svodesians, Rollock's people were among the first to accept the protection of the Aeden Alliance during its initial formation. Many a good soldier had come from their homeworld, according to Rollock, and from what Arus had seen of him and the other Svodesians onboard, there was no reason to doubt that claim. He had been telling Arus of how he'd come to join the Alliance when Kitreena entered.

"So," he was saying in a scratchy voice that reminded Arus of the sound teeth might make if they were scraped across cement, "when the Aeden recruiter came to me and suggested I join, it was an easy decision to make. I mean, it seemed like the best place to put my skills to good use." Rollock's age nearly tripled Arus' own, though in Svodesian measure of age and maturity, that was considered younger. He had an arrogant way of speaking, though through Arus' conversations with Rollock and several other Svodesians, he'd come to believe that they meant no harm by it. What humans perceived as bragging was viewed to Svodesians as simply stating the truth. They did not look down on people of inferior abilities, but they did not make light of it either. It was going to take time to learn the subtleties of the different races of the galaxy. A long time.

Then again, Rollock could've been verbally tearing Arus to shreds at that moment and the boy wouldn't have noticed. His gaze was locked on Kitreena, who donned a pair of fingerless black gloves and proceeded to beat the stuffing out of the lone training dummy set up on the far end of the gym. Her eyes spoke of fury—not that it was a new emotion for her—and her fists pounded into the dummy's chest with remarkable speed. There were several other soldiers in the gym, each working either on weight training or sword technique, but most of them made a hasty exit when she appeared. It took only a few moments for Arus to realize that Rollock had stopped speaking. When he looked over at the machine where the Svodesian had been working out, he found Rollock's eyes fixed on Kitreena uneasily. "Well, I've got to be heading back," he said without looking at Arus. "I'll see you here tomorrow?"

Arus nodded, though he wanted to ask what had put the fear of the Maker into everyone. "I'll be here."

Rollock left with the two remaining soldiers, leaving Arus alone with Kitreena in the gym. She delivered two hard blows to the dummy's head before stopping, head bowed so that her hair obscured her face. Arus didn't move, unsure as to what he should do. Had Kitreena reserved the gym for a private workout at this time?

"Aren't you going to run away from me, too?" Her voice startled him. He hadn't thought she'd seen him, let alone notice that everyone else was gone.

"They didn't run away," he told her, though he knew what he'd seen. He rose from the machine and crossed the gym. "What makes you think that?"

She still didn't look at him. "They always do. I don't know why. Damien says I'm too intense in my workout. Naelas told me it's because they don't want to be under the eye of the ship's first officer. But I don't think that's it at all."

She sounded sad, which was unusual for her. Kitreena had been solid as a rock since the day he'd met her. He'd seen her go from being furious to something that could almost be called happiness, but never sad. "What do you think it is, then?"

Her sniffle was confirmation of his suspicion. "They're afraid of me. Too many of them saw what happened to me on Terranias, and I have no doubt that the stories have spread across the ship by now. And there are probably thirty variations of it all, too. They think I'm a monster. I know it. And maybe I am."

Arus wanted desperately to comfort her in some way, but he knew how easy it was to anger her, and he didn't want to worsen the situation. "I don't think you're a monster."

When she finally looked up at him, the tears he expected to see were not there. Her eyes were certainly filled, but she was holding them back with every last shred of dignity she could muster. "That's because you don't know me well enough yet."

It was the opening Arus had been waiting for. With a big smile, he stepped toward her and extended his hand. "Then let's change that!" She looked at him like he was a lunatic. "C'mon, let's go get a bite to eat and talk." It was strange to hear the words come from his own mouth, especially as confident as they were. Back home, he was a quivering wreck whenever Katlyn even said so much as "hello" to him. And though he'd felt that way when he first met Kitreena, the more time he spent with her the more comfortable he felt. That was something he could never have said about Katlyn.

Kitreena eyed him for moment, and her telepathic connection to him sprang to life. _You won't like me, Arus. No one does once they get to know me._

"You don't know that," he responded to her thoughts. For once, she didn't seem angry with him for hearing them. "C'mon, give me a chance. It can't hurt."

"Why would you want to befriend me?" she asked him.

His initial response never reached his lips, but the mere fact that he thought of it at all was enough for Kitreena to hear it. _Besides the fact that you're beautiful?_ His face turned red immediately. Hers, too.

She opened her mouth to reply, but instead of resisting further, she simply asked, "Can you meet me at the lift in about an hour? I'd like to clean up a bit before we eat."

Arus looked down at his own sweat-drenched clothes. He'd been working out since they'd come back from speaking with Muert, practicing his sword techniques and building strength with the weight machines. If either of the two of them needed to wash, it was him. "I could use a cleaning myself," he admitted. "One hour. The lift. I'll be there."

He was sure he wasn't supposed to see it, but she wiped her eyes as he headed for the door. Once he was in the hall, he sprinted toward his room so fast that he nearly tripped over his own feet. If Vultrel had been around, Arus would've had a million questions to ask—Vultrel had always known how to treat the girls, after all—but that was certainly not an option. Even Damien would've been able to give a little advice, Arus was sure, but the only familiar face he came across on the run to his room was Doc Nori.

"Ah, Arus!" the old man waved, unconsciously stroking his beard with his other hand. "What has you in such a hurry today?"

Arus skidded to a halt just outside the door to his room. "Doctor!" he called, motioning for the old man to meet him.

Nori sidestepped a few passing soldiers and joined him. "Yes, what can I do for you?"

"Do you know anything about women?" Arus panted.

The doctor's eyes nearly burst right through his glasses. "My word," he murmured, "I wasn't expecting to have to teach _that_ lesson today."

"I just need to know how to treat a girl on a date. Can you help with that?"

A relieved look came to Nori's face. "Ah, yes. Well, I'm a bit out of practice, but I may be able to give you a few pointers that could help—"

Arus grabbed the sleeve of Nori's white coat and dragged him through the door. "C'mon!"

The shower felt good against Arus' back, especially after the long training session he'd put himself through. But sore muscles and achy joints were the last things on his mind. Outside the washroom, Doc Nori rambled on about the details of proper treatment of ladies. Every so often he would innocently prod for the identity of the girl that had caught his eye, though Arus knew full-well that the doctor was aware of his interest in Kitreena. It was a lot to remember, and most of it likely wouldn't apply to Kitreena—she'd likely be more insulted than anything else if he tried to order food for her—but Nori did provide a few good tips for conversation dealing with etiquette and such.

By the time he ran the brush through his hair and pulled on a sleeveless blue shirt to go with his baggy tan pants, the old man had moved onto the subject of kissing. "It is an art form, you see, one that many cultures treat as the most important—"

Arus waved a dismissive hand as he slipped his feet into his boots. "I'm not going to be kissing anyone tonight, Doc. I just want to enjoy her company, and I hope she'll enjoy mine."

"Many women appreciate that, they do," the old man said with a thoughtful finger on his chin, "though many others do not. Some view a reluctance to kiss to mean that—"

"Trust me," Arus said with a chuckle, "this girl will not want me pressing myself on her like that. Truthfully, I wouldn't want to push things that fast anyway. I don't even know if she views this as a date or not. I just asked if she wanted to get something to eat with me."

"Myself, I respect that," Nori responded while Arus tied his grey bandana around his head. "Too many people move too fast these days."

Finally, Arus gave himself one last look in the mirror. Aside from the wretched implant, he was as clean and neat as he was going to get. "Don't worry, I'm in no rush." He glanced at the counter to his left where he left his sword and considered latching it to his belt. He rarely went anywhere without it, but was a date the proper place for a weapon?

As if the question had been spoken aloud, Doc Nori shook his head. "Leave it, young one. My, my, my, what state would the universe be in if men and women carried _weapons_ while courting each other?"

A slow warmth heated Arus' cheeks as he smiled and nodded. "Right. I guess that's it, then. Thank you so much for your advice, Doctor. I really appreciate it."

"No trouble, my friend!" Nori bowed his head slightly. "No trouble at all."

This time, Arus walked casually through the halls. There was still some time to spare before he was expected at the lift, and he didn't want to get himself sweating again by darting off in a mad dash. Hopefully Doctor Nori's advice would come in handy, though the old man sometimes seemed a bit out of touch with the nature of present day relationships. Still, kindness was kindness, and it was good advice to hear, regardless of the generation from which it came.

As he rounded the corner to head for the lift, he nearly stopped short. Kitreena was already there, standing beside the lift. However, it wasn't her presence that caught him by surprise, but her attire. Her hair was drawn away from her face and clipped behind her head, spilling down her back like a waterfall. Sparkling jewels no larger than a pea dangled from her earlobes, and her cheeks glistened with a faint touch of glitter. But the most shocking of all was that she wore a dress—a dress!—that reached halfway to her knees and faded from a royal blue at the top to black at the bottom. Elegant black slippers that girls back on Terranias would've worn to a wedding or a ball adorned her feet. She was biting her lip when he approached, another first for her. Kitreena, _nervous_?

"Do I look all right?" she asked, pawing her dress. "I don't wear this kind of stuff often because I'm not all that great at choosing what looks good and what doesn't. I can go change if you want. I just thought you'd like it if I looked like a girl for once in my—"

Arus held his hand up with a warm smile. "You look beautiful," he told her. Certainly better than he did with that ridiculous machine sticking out from his head. "Since you told me to meet you by the lift, I assume we're not going to the cafeteria. Where _are_ we going, then?"

Her lips curved into a small grin. "Do you like spicy food?"

"I'll try anything," he told her. "Why, what do you have in mind?"

She pulled him by the hand toward the lift, and the door slid open. "Come on, I'll show you."

The lift carried them to the highest level of the ship, an enormous room that Kitreena called the Observation Deck. There were no walls or ceiling, only a crystal clear dome that she referred to as reinforced titanium glass. Beyond that, the endless sea of space swam by in silent tranquility, unfazed by the conflicts and struggles of the mortals that floated alongside its stars and inhabited its worlds. For the first several minutes, Kitreena stayed quiet while Arus simply stared, taking in the amazing sight. If not for the occasional shimmer of light reflected by the dome's surface, he'd have thought he was standing amidst the cosmos itself. It gave him a sense of reality grander than anything he'd ever known before. No longer confined to Terranias, never having known what he'd been missing. For his entire life, he'd been taught that machines were evil. Yet floating amongst the stars, he couldn't help but question that. It wasn't as though human ideals had never been misguided before. He'd been so depressed about leaving his home behind, but perhaps . . . Perhaps he _could_ embrace this lifestyle.

"Takes your breath away, doesn't it?" Kitreena's voice was near a whisper. She stood close to him, her eyes tilted up the same as his. "I've flown across the universe more times than I can count, but whenever I look out at the stars, words escape me."

"We never knew," Arus murmured, half speaking and half thinking aloud. "We were so content to confine ourselves to Terranias because of our fear of machines. We've always been so afraid of the unknown that we don't ever venture out and try something new. Our civilization has been at a standstill for as long as our history books have recorded, never once even considering the possibilities of what a little exploration might teach us. To think that we're so far behind . . . If I hadn't been captured by Truce, I never would've been able to see any of this."

Kitreena looked at him with raised eyebrows. "You almost sound as though you're glad for what he did to you."

Arus shrugged. There were many ways he could perceive things, but both his father and Master Eaisan had always been positive, optimistic, and hopeful people. They were well respected and accomplished men, and both had been able to positively affect the lives of others through their attitudes and outlooks on life. Arus had lost sight of that once, and it cost him his arm, his mother, his master, his best friend, and his home. "I just want to see the good in things. I want to take the bad experiences in my life and find the good in them. I mean, everyone goes through tough times, right? But it's those times that teach us about ourselves, and show us what we need to improve. I could be moping around and crying and sulking about what I've lost," he tapped his cybernetic arm, "but look at all I've gained." He shook his head in wonder as he gestured toward the stars. "I'm not happy about what Truce did to me, but I can't change the past. All I can do is make the most of whatever situation I find myself in, and that's what I intend to do."

"I wish you luck with that," she told him. "I truly do. I wish I had that same outlook."

"You can," he said, finally turning to face her. "You just have to be positive. I mean, if I hadn't been captured by the Kyrosen, would you and I be standing here together right now?"

She smiled through a thoughtful expression, but for a moment, she looked as though she was going to argue the point. Instead, she tugged at his arm with a grin. "I promised you some spicy food, didn't I?"

The deck was carpeted with a deep blue and dotted sparsely with cushioned chairs and couches where a few crewmembers were either reading or conversing quietly. A few small tables sat here and there as well, mostly near the outer rim of the dome. Opposite Arus, a group of young men and women were lying on their backs on the rug, staring up at the planets and stars that flew by and trying to name each. Glowing lights from the floor provided the only illumination other than that stars. The room had the overall feel of a library, Arus noted, though whatever books were being read had been brought from elsewhere on the ship. A long counter stood on the far right where Kitreena was pulling him, lined with circular stools in the front and trimmed with a golden edge that ran its entire length. Behind the counter stood a plump man with at least three chins who was wiping his hands on his messy apron. His jowls swayed as he moved, alternating between rinsing off dishes in a large basin behind the counter and flipping circular patties of meat on something Kitreena identified as a griddle. Racks and cabinets full of cooking tools and supplies stood behind him. He smiled as the two approached, nodding politely to Kitreena in particular. "Hello, Kitreena. I hope this evening finds you well. Who's your friend?"

"Good evening, Ron," she responded. "This is Arus, a guest from Terranias who is going to be staying with us for a while."

The large cook ran a greasy hand through similarly greasy hair. "Ah, I see. Welcome aboard, then! I trust you're enjoying your stay on the _Refuge_." He sounded more like a tourist guide than a cook on a military starship. Still, he was friendly enough, and that was enough for Arus.

"Thanks," he nodded politely. "The hospitality of the crew has been remarkable. I appreciate everything you've all done to make me feel at home here."

Ron's smile grew wide enough to expose a blackened tooth on the right side. "Bah, it's nothing. That's what we do! Can I get you two anything?"

"Two baekrolls would be great," Kitreena told him. "Light on the cuen powder on mine."

"Coming right up!"

Arus watched as the man went to work, laying several narrow strips of some kind of dark meat on the cutting board before sprinkling them with seasoning. He threw some chopped vegetables that resembled peppers onto the griddle, then took the strips of meat and wound them together into two rope-like concoctions. Once they were tightly wrapped, he drove a pointed stick of wood through each and placed them on the griddle amidst the vegetables. More seasoning, and then he scooped the chopped vegetables up and poured them onto the meat-ropes. While they cooked, he grabbed an oblong bowl and took a large bottle of some kind of sauce from the top cupboard. With that, he filled the bowl nearly halfway and added the vegetables. Yet more seasoning, a quick stir, and then he dunked the ropes of meat into the bowl until they were completely submerged. "Five seconds," he said with a smile. Arus began a slow count, and two plates were being pushed toward him by the time he reached five. The meat-ropes—baekrolls, Kitreena had called them—were completely covered in sauce and vegetables, though the ends both sticks had been wiped clean. "Enjoy," Ron said, immediately going to work on cleaning the dishes he'd used.

One whiff of the aroma rising from the plate brought Arus' appetite to life. "It certainly smells good."

Kitreena took her plate and led him toward one of the tables at the far edge of the dome. "Oh, I guarantee you'll love it. It's my little guilty pleasure. Whenever I'm feeling down, I come up here and have a baekroll."

Once they were seated, Kitreena watched him expectantly as he took hold of the stick and raised it to his lips. A thought occurred to him before he bit down. "This isn't some kind of trick, is it?" he asked, grinning suspiciously. "I'm not going to bite this and be running for a bucket of water, am I?"

Kitreena laughed, though it was clear she was forcing herself to be more reserved than she wanted to be. "You tell me," was all she said.

He pursed his lips despite his grin, then took a deep breath. "The Maker have mercy on me."

The meat was so tender it nearly felt apart in his mouth. An explosion of spice and flavor spread across his tongue, tantalizing his taste buds with a sweet tang and a spicy heat all at once. The second bite tasted better than the first and the third better than both. He'd eaten half of the baekroll before he noticed Kitreena's stare.

"Enjoying it?" she giggled, swallowing a bite of her own.

He licked the excess glaze from his lips. "It's great. You've got good taste."

"I'm glad you like it. A lot of people find them too spicy."

Her smile captivated him. Why was she looking at him like that? He wished her telepathy would kick in so that he'd know what she was thinking, then cursed himself silently for wanting to intrude on her privacy. At any rate, it seemed she was getting better control over her abilities; he had yet to hear a single thought of hers, and it didn't seem as though she'd heard any of his. She just kept smiling at him with those beautiful little lips. Seeing her in a good mood was still hard for him to get used to, especially considering how she'd acted when they first met. "You've changed a lot since that day you found us in Truce's lair."

She raised an eyebrow at him, looking more confused than offended. "Really? How so?"

Arus chuckled as he laid down the bare wooden stick from his baekroll. "Don't you remember? You were so . . . cold. It was almost as though you didn't _want_ to save us."

Kitreena nodded, though her eyes were distant. "Sometimes you _must_ be cold when on duty. _Any_ weakness can be exploited by the enemy, so it is important to be strong in all aspects of oneself in order to give as little advantage to your opponent as possible. Emotions have no place on the battlefield."

"Somehow, I don't think that's all there is to it," Arus said before he could stop himself. He hadn't meant to probe into the young lady's personal life. Thankfully, she didn't seem to take offense to the comment. "I mean, I wouldn't say that your actions and demeanor in the Underworld were emotionless."

"My life has conditioned me into the person I am," she responded. She looked uncomfortable, but not offended. "I have been molded into who I am by the past events of my life. I've had little say in who I've become."

Arus sat back in his chair. "May I ask what happened to you?"

She shrugged it off. "It doesn't matter. It's nothing compared to what you've been through, I'm sure."

"Everyone reacts differently to things," he told her. "It obviously was bad enough to affect you so deeply. What does not hurt one person could deeply scar the next. Don't minimize your troubles simply because you perceive the problems of others to be worse. Everyone's pain needs to be dealt with, not buried away. This thing," he tapped his steel limb, "is a constant reminder to me that I cannot run from my pain. No one can. It will eat you alive from the inside until there's nothing left but a hollow—"

"F'Ledro killed my parents," Kitreena finally blurted out. She stood and stepped away, wiping her eyes so quickly that Arus would've missed it if he blinked. He was out of his seat in an instant and at her side in the next. "They came to Lavinia when I was only six years old, about year before they landed on Terranias. They were passing through our solar system at the time, and they sent F'Ledro to pick up some supplies. He and his detachment of soldiers landed right in the middle of our kingdom. We had no warning." Her head tilted backward as she gazed at the stars above them. Unconsciously, Arus took her hand into his own. She didn't try to stop him. "He gave them no chance. There were no requests made, no negotiations, and no attempts to barter. He just forced his way in and . . . killed them."

With that, the picture became a little clearer. Her hatred toward the Kyrosen, her endless frustration and anger, her cold and seemingly heartless visage; it all stemmed from what the Kyrosen had done to her. What they'd taken away. Arus wanted to comfort her, but he knew there were no words that would truly soften the pain of losing someone so close. He knew that all too well. "What did you do?"

"I ran away from home. After wandering for a few days, I ended up settling in an alley," she continued. "There was one Aeden soldier on the ground at the time, a covert operations agent who had been hired by the kingdom to track down a local narcotics supplier. He found me in that alley and offered to take me home. I didn't trust him; I didn't trust _anyone_ at that point. So I lived in a waste disposal tub in the alley for about a month, and every day that soldier would stop by at least twice to bring me food and drink. He said he didn't like seeing anyone live like I was and that he wanted to take me to my parents." She smiled briefly and said, "I remember when I told him I was an orphan. He looked as though he was on the verge of tears. Eventually, he asked if I would be willing to let him care for me. He told me he was a member of the Aeden Alliance and that he'd do everything in his power to keep me safe. To this day I don't know why he did what he did for me, but he's watched over me like a father ever since."

Arus' breath caught as he realized who she was talking about. "Damien? It was Damien who rescued you?"

"Yes. He's taught me everything I know. More than just how to defend myself, mind you. He's raised me as his daughter, laughing with me when I'm happy, punishing me when I disobey, and holding my hand when I've needed support. He'll never be able to replace my real father, but that was never his intention. He just wants to make sure I'm taken care of, and there are no words to describe how grateful I am for it."

It certainly was a lot of trauma for a six year-old girl to be forced to endure. Within one month, she'd gone from living a normal life with her parents to being an orphan in an alley to fleeing her planet in a starship. Why she thought this wasn't a big deal, he couldn't understand. Her life had been forcefully ripped away, and the incident had instilled such fear in her that she felt her only escape was to flee the planet. Arus struggled to find something to say to comfort her. "Kitreena, I'm so sorry," was all he could come up with.

She shook her head and waved it away. She didn't want his sympathies. "I know my issues don't even compare to what you've been through, so I have no right to—"

"You have every right," Arus cut in. "Don't compare yourself to me or anyone else. We all face problems, and we all feel pain. Just because you think something worse happened to someone else doesn't mean your pain doesn't matter! Pushing it away and trying to ignore it will only make it worse."

"It's selfish of me to sit here and wallow in my own miseries when there are so many people out there suffering more cruelty and injustice than I've ever had to experience," she said simply. "I've got to just ignore it and move on with my life."

"You'll find no peace that way. You don't treat an open wound by ignoring it. Even a small injury can be fatal if not treated properly."

Now she laughed out loud. "Trust me, this isn't going to kill me. I'll be fine."

Arus made a conscious note of fixing his cybernetic eye on her, and raised his steel hand. "It almost killed me, and I didn't even realize I'd been harboring any pain until recently. When I saw the Mages attack Keroko for the first time, and I dueled with one of them, a hidden fury buried deep inside me awoke, and by the time Truce and I were face to face in the Underworld, I wanted nothing more than to spill his guts all over that arena floor."

"I can control my anger," she insisted, glaring back at his metallic eye without as much as a flinch. "I won't let that happen to me."

"Can you? Were you in control when you transformed in Castle Asteria?"

Finally, she tore her hand away from his and stepped back, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Don't speak of something you know nothing about! Morphing is different; every one of my people goes through the same thing when initially learning to control their abilities."

"I'll admit that I know nothing about Morphers," Arus conceded, "but the two times I have seen you tap into that ability, they were both brought on by a vivid display of anger and hatred. You can't deny that."

Kitreena's lips twisted into a wry smile. Any hopes of salvaging a nice evening together had flown out the window, it seemed. "Don't try to analyze me like some kind of psychiatrist. Just because you couldn't handle your anger doesn't mean I can't control mine. I've been doing it for seven years, and I'll continue to do it because it's what I have to do."

Finally, Arus threw up his hands in resignation. "I just . . . I don't like seeing what its doing to you."

She crossed her arms and turned away from him again. With her head tilted so that her forehead was resting against the glass dome, she let out a long sigh. "I told you that you wouldn't like me once you got to know me."

"It's _because_ I like you that I'm so worried about you."

That brought her eyes back around, and she stared at him with that considering look again. _What about me could you possibly like?_ She opened her mouth, presumably to ask the question aloud, but words were already tumbling out of Arus' mouth.

"You're beautiful, you're emotionally strong, and you defend people who can't do it for themselves. You're funny, sweet, and caring when you let your guard down long enough to allow those qualities to come out, and you honestly care about the well-being of others. You're fifteen years old, and yet you've got the strength and determination to carry yourself confidently through even the grimiest parts of the universe just to help someone in need. Whether you realize it or not, Kit, people like you are a rare breed."

Tears streamed down her face as he spoke. It was as though she'd never heard anyone say a positive word about her before. Before he realized what was happening, she fell into his arms, and the next thing he knew she was crying her eyes out as she nuzzled against his chest. "I don't mean to be like this! I don't!" she said between sobs. "But every time I see someone who would harm another soul I just see red, and I lose control. I want F'Ledro dead at my feet, I won't deny that, but anyone who disrespects the sanctity of life is just as bad as him in my eyes. There won't be true peace until they're dead, every last one of them!"

Arus ran his hand through her hair as she cried, hoping in some way to comfort her pain. "I know," he whispered. "I know. That's why Vultrel and I took up the fight against the Mages when we were so young. When my father was lying on his deathbed, he gave me his sword. The last words he spoke to me were a request that I use it to defend the helpless against monsters like Aratus Truce and his minions. I promised him that I'd spend my life keeping the innocent safe, and I will die to keep that promise. But I can do that without allowing anger and vengeance to cloud my vision. And so can you, Kitreena. I know you can."

"I don't see how," she sniffled, wrapping her arms around him. "It's not as though I choose to react the way I do. It just . . . happens."

"It will take time. Changing your perception of the world around you doesn't happen overnight. For me, I tried to fight the anger and rage, but it wasn't until I paid the price for it that I really learned to rise above it. It's more than just ignoring it; you have to change your view of life so that feelings like that have no place. Avenging your parents' death won't bring them back. But it _could_ destroy you."

She only cried harder at that, shaking her head against his chest. "But I want them all dead! Every single being out there that would hurt another out of selfishness should be gutted and removed from the circle of life! What gives them the right? What makes them think they have the right to hurt people the way that they do!?"

"I don't know, Kitreena," he murmured, staring out into space. "I just don't know."

They stood there for hours while she cried on his shoulder, and when the Observation Deck had nearly emptied itself as crewmembers headed for bed, Arus escorted Kitreena back to her room. She thanked him for the evening and apologized over and over for her emotional outburst, but he graciously told her there was no need for apologies and that his shoulder would be available whenever she needed to get her feelings out. She seemed appreciative at that, and she closed her door with a soft "Good night." Arus returned to his own room and grabbed his sword. His mind was still racing over everything that had happened, and there was no way he was going to be able to sleep. Instead, he headed to the gym to practice his techniques. The woods outside of Keroko were certainly a better spot for one to find solitude with his own thoughts, but the gym was a reasonable substitute. "I won't let what happened to me happen to her," he murmured as he walked along the corridor. "I won't."
Chapter 6

A dull ache pounded through Vultrel's head with each breath. He was not surprised to find himself in a prison cell when he awoke—that had been his goal, actually—but he had certainly been surprised by the circumstances that led him there. He'd expected to be brought to Sartan Truce following his capture, but he was instead escorted to meet with Olock. After he once again demanded to be allowed to speak with Truce, he was informed that Olock had taken command of the Kyrosen. That, of course, left Vultrel to wonder if Truce had been killed at Cathymel. And if so, had it been a mistake to surrender to the Mages?

No, they all must be destroyed, not just Truce. Killing him alone wouldn't stop them from bringing destruction to other civilizations. Besides, Truce wasn't killed at Cathymel.

At least he knew that for certain now. Olock had been tight-lipped about the Kyrosen's apparent departure from Terranias, saying he was too busy to entertain guests. A stiff blow from a blunt object to the back of Vultrel's head put him down, and when he opened his eyes, he was in a prison cell onboard a starship headed to who-knew-where. The accommodations were actually quite comfortable for that of a prisoner's cell. The bed was soft and clean, the air was cool, and the floor was carpeted with a pattern of blue and green squares and ovals. There was even a rectangular viewport on the rear wall. It was a nice step over the makeshift cells of the Underworld, though an extended stay as a prisoner in some starship was not a part of Vultrel's plans. Especially not with Sartan Truce as his neighbor.

To say that waking up to find Truce seated comfortably in the cell across from him was a surprise would be a mere fraction of the truth. Mutiny was the first thought that came to mind. Had his failure at Cathymel led to an uprising amongst the Kyrosen against Truce? It would've certainly made sense considering how many Mages died in that battle and how many promises of Sartan's were broken. Arus' implant, while seemingly flawless, had not gotten the job done. Sarathon lived, Asteria stood, and the Mages were once again sent fleeing to the Mayahol. Combined with Olock's assertions that he was suddenly in charge, mutiny seemed like the obvious conclusion. But when Vultrel inquired, Truce denied any such thing, insisting instead that he had stepped down temporarily for the good of his people. He refused to elaborate any more on that, though his ever-present grin was as wide as ever. Eventually, Vultrel decided that trying to get any more information out of Sartan Truce would be like trying to milk a bull.

But that didn't stop the wretched man from grinning at him through the bars of his prison cell. "You really don't know when to quit, do you?" Truce laughed as he spoke. "You should've stayed in bed this morning, kid. We were going to leave you and your pathetic world behind for good. You never would've heard from us again. But you had to go and throw yourself into the mix again. You've assured your own death, boy."

"Don't try to threaten me, Truce," Vultrel shot back. "You're in no better position than I am, no matter what you claim."

The man threw back his head and roared with laughter. "If only you knew," he said between gasps of air. "You really think you've figured out what's going on around here, don't you?"

Vultrel smiled coldly. "I won't be fooled by your lies anymore. You can make up as many stories as you want, but I will not be deceived by you again."

"The man who lives his life in search of lies will often miss the truth right in front of his face."

Vultrel rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall. How he wished the bloody pounding in his head would stop! "Spare me your 'wisdom' and tell me the truth. What's going on around here? Where are we going?"

The gleam that flashed in Truce's eyes could've only been described as wicked. "To find your friend, of course."

That got Vultrel's attention, so much so that he was on his feet in an instant. "Arus? What are you going to do with him?"

Truce reclined on his own bed, his insufferable grin growing to reveal every tooth. "Pay a debt," he simply said.

Vultrel grabbed the bars of his cell with a snarl, which drew the attention of the two towering men guarding Truce's cell. Their faces and skin looked much like Damien's, though their uniforms were a plain grey as opposed to Damien's more colorful attire. The two of them turned their faces away from Truce long enough to glare at Vultrel before returning. So far, there had been little indication of what they were doing standing there with their palms raised as they were. Vultrel had decided that it was simply extra protection in case Truce tried to escape. The man was a Mage, after all.

"You seem angry," Sartan noted as though thinking aloud. "I've gone over it dozens of times in my mind, and the only reason I can come up with for your sudden surrender to my people is that you hoped to somehow exact revenge upon me for the death of your father. Is that it?"

Vultrel grit his teeth and turned away. He had to get that miserable wretch out of his sight. "You will pay for what you've done. All of you. The Kyrosen will cause no further pain to anyone. It's not revenge. For people like you, it's the only justice possible. You cannot be made to listen to reason; killing is your nature, a part of what makes you who you are. You must be destroyed so that the killing will stop."

Now Truce snorted. "You sound an awful lot like someone else around here."

"You would do well to abandon such ideals," a female voice came from the right. Vultrel peered through the bars of his cell, but there was no one else in the hall. "Who said that?"

"Great, more pompous self-righteousness from the Belvid queen," Sartan muttered. "Haven't heard enough of that lately."

"I am imprisoned in the cell to your right," the female voice spoke again. "I am the High Lady Almatha of Belvidia."

High Lady? The title sounded important, but where in the world was Belvidia? Vultrel had never heard of such a kingdom, yet it seemed the Mages had not only found it, but captured a high-ranking citizen. "Where is Belvidia?"

"That is knowledge I cannot share," she responded, sounding offended. "We try to keep ourselves separated from the rest of the universe, as those who know of our location tend—"

"She's a fairy-girl from another planet," Truce broke in. "What she's doing here, I have no idea, but I'm sure there is a good reason."

Dozens of questions rose with that tidbit of information, and for the first time Vultrel began to consider that he was not on a Kyrosen ship at all. This Almatha woman, she was captured and held on a ship that had picked up the Mages and imprisoned Truce. But Olock claimed he was in charge. None of it made sense. Who had come to take the Kyrosen from Terranias, and why had they locked Sartan away? What had they been doing beforehand that they had already taken other prisoners? What had Almatha done to deserve to be jailed? "Who is command of this ship?" he asked. It seemed as good a place to begin as any.

Neither had a chance to answer. Two men, one dressed entirely in white and the other clad in black, appeared in front of Vultrel's cell so suddenly that he'd almost thought they had somehow materialized out of thin air. They both wore cloths around their heads of the same color as their attire, concealing all but their dark eyes. "The Admiral will see you now," one of them said through a snake's hiss.

"See _him_?" Truce sounded legitimately shocked. "Why him? What does Thorus—"

The one in white whirled to face Truce. "You will speak only when spoken to, worm! You abandoned your post willingly, and you are expected to adhere to the rules you agreed to!"

Truce was certainly unhappy with that exchange, but he kept his grin plastered across his face, however forced it seemed, and sat back against the wall once more. The man in white faced Vultrel again. "You will come with us at once. Do not resist; we have no intentions of harming you unless you give us reason."

"I will cooperate," Vultrel quickly agreed. He saw Truce sit forward again, though the Mage held back whatever it was he wanted to say.

The door was opened, and he was escorted down the hall so quickly that he barely got a glance at the green-skinned woman with flowing red hair in the cell beside his own. He didn't get much of a look at her wings either, but he saw enough to agree with Truce's assessment that she was a "fairy-girl."

"Be wary," she warned from behind. "If you were looking to throw yourself into a pit of vipers, you've managed to find the king."

*******

The tiny fleck of reproduced lephadorite sparkled with beauty by the time Kindel was through polishing it. He had no idea how he was going to test the abilities of the cloned stone, but then he had yet to test the properties of the original. It put an invisible pressure on his chest, all the hard work and research on a theory that had yet to be proven, but that seemed to be the way of science. Countless claims, few of which held any water, were made daily by men who thought that the universe must conform to the boundaries of their own understanding. How could he be so sure that his theories about the lephadorite were not as baseless as the claims made by scientists that the universe just somehow always existed out of nothingness?

Because the stories of the historical war had led him to the precise location of the stone. Ancient textbooks handed down through civilizations for thousands of years had provided detailed accounts of what had happened on Terranias during that ancient battle. All of his research had led him to discover the stone exactly where he expected it to be, colored as it was described in the books, and shaped as predicted by descendants of humans that had survived the ordeal. Kindel's theories regarding the lephadorite were born from more than simple mathematic calculations and common scientific principals. And it was only a matter of time before his theories and expectations would be proven.

He nervously rolled the two rocks around in his palm as he reclined at his desk. There was more to the puzzle than simply them; there was the amulet to consider. Everything had to come together with exact precision. But it would all be tested soon, he would make sure of that. A random soldier from the Vezulian Guardsmen would suffice for those tests. If there were any adverse effects, the soldier would be dismissed and the formula for the construction of the amulet would be reassessed. As it was, a smaller housing would need to be constructed for the pebble of lephadorite that the lab had managed to create. As long as it possessed the same ratio of gold and jewels to lephadorite, Kindel saw no reason why it wouldn't work as effectively. But then, if the stone was as unpredictable as he'd been led to believe . . .

The visitor alert tone sounded, interrupting his thoughts. He dropped both stones into his top drawer and closed it; he could deal with them later. There were more pressing matters to be handled, and if the rumors going around the ship were true, then his visitor could prove useful in retrieving the Arus boy. The situation would have to be handled delicately. No doubt this young man had no love for the Kyrosen, and by now he must've certainly learned of their partnership with the Armada. Still, a relationship could be salvaged if the proper seeds were planted. "Come in."

A visibly wary young man entered, nervous eyes darting about as though he expected an ambush from every side. His black clothes matched his dark eyes and hair, and there was a muscular definition in his arms that was rare for a boy of his age. Well, for a _human_ boy. Scimitar and Kalibur were close behind, though they stopped just inside the doorway.

"He came without resisting, though I think Truce was trying to confuse him with his usual rhetoric." A hint of disgust laced Kalibur's voice.

Kindel's lips twisted wryly. "Let him talk. Truce doesn't have a clue about what's really going on around here, anyway." There. The first seed planted. He motioned the young man toward an elegantly crafted wooden chair set before his desk. "Sit, friend." A brief glance spared for his two assistants was met with slight bows before they exited, leaving Kindel alone with the guest from Terranias. "I've been reading much about the history of your world lately. Truly, your people are a fascinating race."

The boy kept his cold stare fixed on Thorus, though it did seem a bit forced. He was struggling to maintain his calm composure; that much was clear. "Thank you," was all he said.

Kindel let a grin slide across his face. "You seem tense. Relax. I mean you no harm so long as you show the same respect toward me."

"I don't even know you. I know very little of what's going on around here."

Kindel nodded as he rose to his feet. "Fair enough," he conceded. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Kindel Thorus, Admiral of the Vezulian Armada and Defender of the Homeland of Zo'rhan." He finished the sentence with a bow that would've pleased a king.

The youth stood as well, returning the bow while managing to hang onto his defensive facade. "Vultrel Lurei, son of Eaisan Lurei, Master of Blades, Captain of Honor."

"An honor well-deserved, I'm sure," Kindel said as he sat. "From what I hear, he dealt the Kyrosen more than a few crushing blows over the course of his life. Tragic how it ended."

The corners of Vultrel's eyes and mouth tightened briefly. "How do you know about my father?"

"As I said, I've been studying your people. In fact, you might say that it was the circumstances surrounding your father's untimely demise that set up this meeting between us."

Vultrel shook his head. "I don't understand."

Kindel leaned back and put his feet on his desk. "You see, the Kyrosen have been enemies of the Armada for a number of years. It is the sole purpose of the Vezulian Armada to eliminate any beings or races that threaten the safety of others through their cruel and malicious actions. From your own experience, I gather you are aware of just how heartless and cowardly the Kyrosen can be. The Armada spent many years chasing Aratus Truce and his men in an effort to rid the galaxy of the threat they carried. But then, seven years ago, they vanished. Terranias and its solar system was uncharted territory for us at the time, so the Kyrosen remained hidden from us until recently when Sartan Truce began to use some of his old transmissions equipment to put feelers out across the galaxy in search of a buyer for his implant technology. What he wasn't aware of was that one of his 'contacts' was a Vezulian spy. The transmission led us right to Terranias." There was no need to mention that they had been headed to Terranias anyway. The lephadorite and its origin would be another subject for another time. If things went according to plan, of course.

Vultrel shifted in his chair. He seemed less tense, though his hands still gripped the arms of his chair tightly. "Is that why Truce is now locked in your prison level?"

Kindel couldn't help but chuckle. Having Sartan locked up served as a constant reminder that even the greatest of evil could be defeated. "Something like that. Though he believes I've formed an alliance with the Kyrosen. He offered himself as collateral to ensure that his followers wouldn't turn on me, and as a result, he now stews in a prison cell. Incidentally, I apologize for keeping you down there for so long, but I wanted to give you a chance to regain consciousness and I couldn't risk having you wake up unbound only to cause havoc on what you would've likely thought was a Kyrosen ship."

"So . . . I'm _not_ a prisoner?" Vultrel asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

"Not unless you give me reason to make you one." Kindel stood and walked to the large viewport, unconsciously shifting his black cloak as he moved. "You see, Truce had a favor to ask. He wanted ships to use in order to escape from your planet." He laughed again, this time more openly. "What kind of fool goes to his greatest enemy for a favor? At any rate, as payment, he offered me something that he obviously believed would set me following at his heels. Whether he knows it yet or not, he was wrong."

Through the reflection in the viewport, Kindel could see the sudden concern on Vultrel's face. He'd already figured it out. A smart boy, that one. "What was it? What did he offer you?"

"Judging from your face," Kindel began, facing him, "you've already guessed. He offered the implant, and the boy you know as Arus along with it."

The young man seemed torn between rage and concern. He clearly didn't trust Kindel yet, but Thorus had given him no indication that he was interested in controlling his friend. "W-What are you going to do?"

Now came the tricky part. The answer had to be worded just right if Kindel was to convince Vultrel to assist him. "Well, as I said, the Armada's sole purpose is to protect the galaxy from tyrants like Truce and his men. If I don't get to Arus first, someone else will, and you can be sure that they'll use him for their own selfish wishes. I can provide him with protection to keep him from dangerous hands."

"He already has protection," Vultrel told him. "People calling themselves the Aeden Alliance have taken him into their custody."

So he knew. The information Kindel had been provided with regarding this one had not included any interaction with Aldoric's band of thugs. It made little difference, though. "Yes, so I've heard. How much do you know about them?"

He shrugged. "Only that they are some kind of space military that claims to protect civilizations that cannot do so themselves."

Kindel pursed his lips in disgust. "The mask of righteousness is the guise that evil prefers most."

"Are you saying that Arus is in danger?"

"Not directly, though I would put nothing past the Aeden Alliance. No, I believe the true threat comes in the Alliance's inability to properly protect him. You see, their vision is weak and flawed. They show mercy where there should be none. They allow criminals to go unpunished, giving them limited prison sentences or sending them to work in community benefit facilities. All too often, men are pardoned for crimes that should've been answered with death simply because they aren't satisfied with the evidence presented, and many of those who have been freed have gone on to commit similar crimes. On top of all of that, the Aeden Alliance opposes the Armada and has interfered repeatedly with our mission of bringing true justice to those who would trample the rights of others." Kindel growled and turned away, trying to keep his emotions in check. Anytime he spoke of the hypocrisy of the Alliance, a fire raged inside him. "They stand in the way of justice more often than they uphold it, and their weakness will lead to their downfall."

"That doesn't mean that they'll endanger Arus," Vultrel said quietly.

"Perhaps not. But what happens when someone else comes for him? Truce has been looking for a buyer for quite a long time. Sooner or later, someone will track him down, and who can say whether the Alliance will be strong enough to keep him safe? For that matter, who is to say that he isn't being manipulated already? I bet there are a good number of Aeden scientists who would love to get a look at that kind of technology. And a weapon is much more dangerous in the hands of the weak than it could ever be in the possession of someone who knows how to treat it." When Kindel looked back at Vultrel, the boy seemed to be contemplating something. Creases of worry lined his forehead. "What troubles you?"

"Well, now that you mention it . . . Arus was being studied by one of the doctors on their ship. He reactivated the implant's mechanical eye so that Arus could see, and I remember overhearing him tell Arus that he intended to study it further. You don't think . . ."

Kindel was already nodding. It was no surprise. "They're trying to gain control of him. I can't let that happen. I won't. Arus would be much better off under the protection of the Armada until the implant's mechanism can be reworked to prevent _anyone_ from taking control of him again."

Vultrel bowed his head with a pained look on his face. "And I suppose you want my help in convincing him to abandon them, is that it?"

"You don't trust me," Kindel said levelly. "I can understand that. You've been through a lot lately, it seems."

"I don't know who to trust anymore," he responded, standing as he rubbed his temples. "I can't even tell who's good or bad! You say you serve the good of the universe, yet you've allied yourself with the Kyrosen. The Aeden Alliance claims to be good, but they just stood by and watched while my father was murdered. All they were concerned with was capturing Arus. And now all you're interested is getting your hands on him. Everything has been about Arus lately, and I feel like I've been left standing in the middle of a crowded battlefield with no idea which side I'm supposed to be defending." By the time he'd finished, he was staring through the viewport, visibly struggling to force his anger down. "I just feel so lost without—" He stopped short as though he hadn't intended to add that last sentence.

"Without your father," Kindel finished the thought. "I understand. I, too, lost my parents to the murderous hands of a conquering race. It was then that I decided to stand up for what was right and do everything in my power to ensure that what happened to me didn't happen to anyone else. To that end, your father's death falls on my hands due to the Armada's failure to eliminate the remnants of the Kyrosen, and I apologize. As for our supposed partnership with them, I owe no allegiance to Truce or his wretched followers. But I will need his knowledge once we have rescued Arus so that we can alter the design of the implant to keep him from being enslaved again."

"And what makes you think he'll help you do that?" Vultrel frowned as he asked the question. "He just wants to regain control of Arus for himself."

"Once he realizes that I hold the remaining members of the Kyrosen race hostage, he'll have no choice but to obey."

That prompted a look of sheer disgust. "Extortion doesn't sound like a tactic a man as noble as you claim to be would even consider."

Thorus shook his head in wonder. The young man was much like he was in his days of youth before the Ma'tuul came. "I was raised much like you, you know. Taught to prize honor and nobility and all that. But when certain events came to pass, I was forced to see the horrible truth. The universe is not about honor and nobility. Criminals are not about honor and nobility. The most dangerous men of the cosmos will kill their mothers to get what they want. There is no honor in that, is there? These people do not respect an honest man. Do you think Truce would willingly help me if he knew my goal was to protect your friend? Of course not. And that's the reality of the universe. You cannot hope to make any strides against evil if you are not willing to do whatever is necessary to defeat it. Those that think otherwise will find themselves crushed beneath the boots of Kuldaan himself. You, Vultrel, of all people should know this. Truce showed no mercy to you. The Kyrosen showed no mercy to your people. They did whatever was necessary to achieve their goals, and because of that, you now find yourself without a father, without a lifelong friend, and without a purpose."

Vultrel's hands had rolled into tight fists as he spoke, though it seemed more out of pain than of anger. His jaw was set harder than ever, and the rims of his eyes were pink. He said nothing, but Kindel knew he was getting through.

"Since the day I realized this," Thorus continued, looking through the viewport beside him, "I have sought only strength. Honor, nobility, and all of that idealistic nonsense has no place in my life anymore. Strength conquers all in this universe, and I will not allow anyone to threaten the peace and security of innocent worlds. I will do whatever it takes. Criminals will do the same, and to allow them to go on with their lives unhindered and unpunished because of some petty dedication to honor is just as bad as surrendering to them. They learn nothing from it, and they certainly don't pay for their crimes through it. The Kyrosen will have a lot more to deal with than mere extortion once I am through with them. They deserve nothing less."

The next several moments passed in silence as Vultrel stared out into the stars. Finally, he looked at Kindel and asked, "Who is that lady you have locked up in a jail cell? Almatha, I think her name was?"

That was a question Kindel had not expected. His own fault, he realized; he should've made sure that Olock moved Vultrel into a cell that wasn't near hers. "The details surrounding her imprisonment are classified at the moment," he said, trying to sound sympathetic. "I wish I could tell you more, but regretfully I cannot." Vultrel slightly inclined his head in what looked like an understanding nod, but Kindel couldn't help but wonder if he had spoken at length with the Belvid. "Did she talk with you?"

"Only long enough to refer to you a snake," Vultrel answered, sparing him a suspicious glance.

No surprise there. The woman had the same silly notions of honor and all that bloody foolish talk as Aldoric. "I wouldn't spare too much interest for anything she says if I were you. Almatha stands in the way of the greater good, and she will learn the value of strength when I am finished with her." That came out sounding too much like a threat against her, though truthfully that was exactly what it was. Kindel didn't want to lie to Vultrel about his intentions, but he did realize the importance of presenting himself in a manner which would be gentle to the boy's ears. He was in need of guidance, there was no question of that, and he could prove to be immensely helpful in convincing Arus to abandon the Aeden fools. "Remember, Vultrel. Strength is everything in this universe. It is the strong races that conquer civilizations and murder the helpless. The only way to truly defeat such evil is to overcome it with a power greater than anything they can muster. And in order to attain such power, sacrifices must sometimes be made; it is the cruel nature of existence. Sacrifices which may, at the time, seem heartless."

Something had struck a nerve, because tears were rolling down Vultrel's face. "He wasn't strong enough." The sentence began as a murmur, but his voice grew with each word. "He wasn't strong enough to follow Anton's lead. If he only he had managed to break free for just one moment, he could've ended it all. He could've sacrificed himself to save . . ." Shaking his head, he turned his back to Kindel and moved away. "What do you need me to do? I'll do whatever it takes to keep the implant out of evil hands."

It was done. Whatever the Alliance may have said to try to corrupt Vultrel meant nothing now. He was ready to pledge himself to fight for the greater good. "For now, I require nothing of you. We are in pursuit of the ship that has taken your friend, and when we catch them, I will require your assistance. Until then, I have arranged a room for you, and you will be granted access to all areas of the _Black Eagle_ with the exception of any area marked for Senior Officers only. That gives you free reign to wander through most of the ship. If you'd like, I can have an officer show you around. We have a workout area that you may enjoy."

Vultrel sighed heavily before responding. "Thank you, but I'm sure I can find my own way around."

Kindel frowned behind the young man's back, but he kept his voice pleasant. "Very well, as you wish. I understand your weapon was confiscated when you were apprehended by the Mages. I'll make sure it is returned to you." He lifted his communicator and summoned Scimitar and Kalibur, who entered nearly as soon as he returned the device to belt. "Scimitar, please see this young man to his room. I'd like to speak with Kalibur for a moment."

Vultrel said no more. He silently followed Scimitar through the door without as much as a glance in Kindel's direction. A few years in the Armada's training academy would've done the boy service, but he would learn to show the proper respect in time. He had a fire inside him that could be harnessed for the greater good of the universe. But there was no time for that at the moment. Perhaps once the implant was safely in Kindel's hands, but not until then. And until Vultrel was properly tamed, he would have to be closely monitored. "Kalibur, I want you to appoint a team of soldiers that you trust to befriend Vultrel and keep an eye on him for me. I want him kept away from any vital systems, and he is not to return to the prison level. I don't need that Belvid down there to corrupt his mind any further."

"Yes, my Lord," the white-clad ninja responded. "What about the Kyrosen? If he harbors such a grudge, any interaction with them could spark an incident. For that matter, if he discusses anything that has transpired between you with one of them, it could cause an even larger problem."

Kindel sat behind his desk and began rummaging through the paperwork in the lower left drawer. "If there are any Kyrosen onboard the ship besides Truce, send them over to the _Falcon Mist_ with the others. I was going to give the ship's command to Olock anyway."

"Command?" Kalibur's question was out of character for him. "I beg forgiveness, Sir, but a Kyrosen in command of a Vezulian starship? Have you relieved Commander Enzulia of his post?"

"Well, not entirely." Certainly there was no way a Kyrosen would ever be given a position of power by the Armada. But according to the conditions of the deal he'd made with Truce, the Kyrosen were entitled to their own craft. There were ways to get around that, of course. Truce guaranteed that his people would not turn on the Armada, so there was no harm in giving control of a ship over to them as long as certain precautionary measures were taken. "Commander Enzulia has been given the proper instructions. He will remain onboard the _Falcon Mist_ in a supervisory role, and he has been ordered to kill Olock if he does anything but obey my orders. They can have the ship as long as they work with us, but should they decide to go their own way, this little partnership will be over. I know the Kyrosen don't want that, including Truce."

Kalibur bowed respectfully. "Of course, Sir. My apologies, I did not mean to question your orders."

"I admit, the idea of giving command of one of my vessels to a Kyrosen certainly churns my stomach," Kindel conceded. "I've questioned myself dozens of times about it. But I am confident in the commander and crew of the _Falcon Mist._ They won't let the Kyrosen get out of hand."

"Understood, Sir. I shall carry out your orders immediately." Kalibur wasted no time in making for the door.

When Kindel was alone once again, he drew a packet of papers from his drawer and flipped through it. The specifications for the creation of the amulet were listed somewhere within those pages, and they would have to be reworked for the second piece of lephadorite. As for Vultrel, the seeds for a partnership had been planted, and it seemed as though they'd taken root. Having Arus' best friend as an ally would be a considerable advantage in convincing him to leave the Aeden Alliance. The use of force would be a last resort, though regardless of Arus' decision, the Alliance would likely launch an attack to keep him in their hands. Minimal force, then.

Following that, the Kyrosen would soon be out of the picture completely. Once Truce walked the Armada's scientists through altering the implant to give control over to Kindel—hopefully they wouldn't botch THAT up, too—then both Truce and his wretched followers could be destroyed once and for all. No doubt Truce and Olock had their own schemes up their sleeves, but any such plans would soon be rooted out by his spies. "It won't be long, now," Kindel said under his breath. "The enemies of the Armada will soon fall to their own methods of evil."

*******

In the days following their departure from Terranias, Arus did little besides train and rest. Most of his time was spent either practicing with his sword in the gym or running through the training lessons built into the flight simulator. Early each morning, he met with Rollock, Timen, Nat, and Tam to hone his skills with a blade in a group sparring session. Each had their strengths and weaknesses, and Arus was constantly analyzing their maneuvers in search of flaws. He asked that they all do the same for him, though it was rare that they actually mentioned the mistakes he made. Perhaps they were concerned about hurting his feelings, but the truth was that Arus welcomed the criticism.

On the first morning, he had arranged to train with Rollock. It was there that Rollock introduced him to the other three. They each had enormous potential in Arus' opinion, held back only by a lack of experience. Timen was a fair-skinned Thanai who was always polishing his sword. He was younger than Arus by nearly a year, and it showed in the youthful chubbiness of his cheeks, though he was not overweight by any means. He held an insatiable thirst for knowledge behind his sparkling eyes of blue, and his closely cropped blond hair reminded Arus of little Max Nadealai from back home. Nat was a human with shaggy curls of brown hair and shifty eyes that reminded Arus of Nevin's. The young man was great with a sword, though he never seemed capable of admitting when he'd made a mistake even when it cost him the match. Rollock was surprisingly swift for a Svodesian. Despite his unusually large belly, he darted around with the quickness of a rabbit, making his drooping ears seem more sensible. Tam's biggest asset was his strength. A human with dark hair and a budding beard, Tam's muscular arms seemed capable of handling any weapon with ease. During the course of battle, he'd rotate through an arsenal of weapons he had dangling from his belt, switching from sword to axe to club to spear like they were regularly used appendages of his body.

It was Arus who set the pace most often, swinging his weapon in such a blur that the others had no choice but to struggle to keep up or withdraw from the fight. They were very gracious about their defeat, though Nat always seemed to have a convenient health issue to explain his inability to win. He was never arrogant about it, but it was clear that he wasn't the sort to openly accept that his skills couldn't match Arus' own. It mattered little in the end, though, and Arus didn't hold it against him. It reminded him a little of Anton, minus the attitude.

Each morning session was usually followed by a few hours in the simulator. It wasn't long before he had mastered each obstacle course and conquered every combat challenge. Occasionally, he'd link his systems up with others who were training at the same time and practice with them. It helped give him a wider perspective on starfighter combat strategy and flight tactics by exposing him to real pilots as opposed to the preprogrammed enemies created by the simulator. The control stick was beginning to feel like a part of him just as much as his sword, though he knew there was plenty of room for improvement. No matter how much he was taught, there would always be more to learn, and he was happy to embrace whatever knowledge and wisdom he was offered.

Weight training came next, followed by dinner with Samas, Doman, and Orchi. They were an interesting trio. Arus had first run into them while lifting weights the day that he'd ended up going to the Observation Deck with Kitreena. Samas and Orchi were both dark skinned humans from a world they called Provodan, a warm world in a solar system on the far side of the charted galaxy. They were twin-sisters with a strange sort of telepathic connection that didn't allow them to share thoughts as much as it did feelings. They were revered warriors on their homeworld, able to sense each other's movements before they happened. This gave the two of them the ability to fight as one, stringing their attacks together in a fluid sequence of motions that would've otherwise been impossible. And they did it all without saying a word. Beautiful girls, in Arus' estimation, though at least ten years older than him, with loose golden curls they kept wrapped in tight ponytails with leather cords. Their complexions reminded Arus of the hot chocolate Mrs. Boyer sold in Trader's Square during the wintertime.

Doman, on the other hand, was pale-skinned human mercenary from the southern pole of the same planet. His burly body was covered with large jagged knives. He kept two in leather sleeves latched to the front of his belt, another hooked to the back, and two more attached to straps that ran vertically over his shoulders. A slight frown seemed etched onto his broad face of stone, though the minute he opened it, he seemed like an entirely different person. Behind the fearsome facade was a gentle and noble man who had nothing but kindness in his heart. Arus didn't know the whole story of his relationship with Samas and Orchi, but he knew that the ladies had saved him from certain death, and in return he had pledged his lifelong protection to the two of them.

When Arus headed to the cafeteria that first night, the three of them invited him to sit at their table. They urged him to share his story, and so he told them of how he'd come to reside on the _Refuge_ and the unknown future he faced. Upon learning he was a swordsman, they invited him to join them in their sparring session following dinner. Happy to accept any chance he could get to improve his skills, Arus quickly accepted, and the evening workout became a part of his nightly routine for the remainder of the week. Samas and Orchi practiced an almost acrobatic style of hand fighting, flipping and whirling with almost every movement while somehow always keeping their golden eyes locked onto their opponent. They seemed to prefer hand-to-hand combat, but when they drew weapons, they were unlike anything Arus had ever seen. Bronze colored yet hard as steel, the blades were inverted half-circles that were sharp on both sides and pointed like hooks at their tips. They reminded Arus of what the opposite of an axe might be, and they proved to be incredibly difficult to defend against due to their shape. His sword was yanked from his hand on more than one occasion.

Doman's knives were equally dangerous. Despite the fact that the man had only two hands, he seemed to find a way to make use of each blade he carried—there were four more hidden beneath the legs of his pants, Arus later found out, two on either side of each shin—and each blow he dealt to Arus' sword made his bones rattle. He was a muscular powerhouse of strength, though he never allowed his weapons to even graze his sparring partner. At first, it seemed as though Arus would never be able to keep up with the three of them. But the challenge was welcome; he'd have to be able to defeat the toughest opponents if he wanted to keep anyone from controlling him through the implant again.

The rigorous workout must've had _some_ effect on him. By the end of the week, his morning training with Rollock and the others almost seemed to be too . . . _easy_.

Rumors of the mysterious "robot boy" had circulated throughout the ship rather quickly. Where once people had simply nodded and smiled when passing him in the halls, they now whispered amongst each other and sometimes stared openly at the implant. Damien had said it was because people hadn't realized that it was connected to his brain when he first appeared on the _Refuge_ , and that as word got out that his brain and the implant coexisted for survival—something that had never been done before—more of the crew would begin to take notice. It was nothing personal, just interest in a revolutionary technology. There were hopes among many that it could lead to more advanced treatment for people with brain disorders or those with head injuries that would otherwise be fatal. Arus tried his best to take it all in stride. No one he'd met was afraid of him, nor did they harbor any ill will over what he'd done on Terranias, so he tried not to let it bother him. Their interest in the positive possibilities of the technology was better than having to deal with the backlash he would've had to face if he'd gone home.

Kitreena spent many evenings with him. She joined him for dinner with Samas, Orchi, and Doman one night, and caught him coming out of the cafeteria on a few other occasions. He would've spent more time with her if he could've, but her duties to the _Refuge_ kept her busy. She did join him in the simulator on the second day, however. And on the fourth, she and Damien were in the gym when Arus arrived early for his morning workout. He kept his distance and watched as Damien tried to teach her how to control her powers as a Morpher. She seemed to have already learned to initiate her transformation by the time Arus entered; that eerie purple light encompassed her eyes more than once. Rollock and Nat entered as she and Damien were leaving, and both commented that they were glad they weren't sticking around.

"I'm surprised the Captain allows her to work on that power onboard the ship," Nat said, wringing his hands with an exaggerated shudder. "Hope she doesn't blow us all up."

Arus laughed at the absurdity of the idea. "No worries, Nat." He patted the young man's shoulder. "She's capable of handling herself." Truthfully, he wasn't exactly sure even _he_ believed that considering how she'd exploded at Cathymel. Still, he trusted Damien's judgment. He wouldn't let her power get out of control. "I'm sure they won't endanger the ship."

Later that night, he met up with Kitreena following his evening workout. They wound up walking along the corridors, talking and laughing and just enjoying the pleasure of each other's company. Vultrel's jaw would've hit the ground if he saw how comfortable Arus had grown to be around her; it was nothing like he'd been around the girls on Terranias. There was a certain connection between himself and Kitreena that didn't exist with anyone back home. He looked forward to every moment he got to spend with her, and whenever she popped up unannounced, it felt like the Maker had decided to bless him a little extra that day. There was a moment in a quiet corridor around the corner from the cafeteria where they simply stared into each other's eyes for what seemed like an hour, though how she could look at his mechanical eye like a little girl adoring a fluffy rabbit was beyond his comprehension. He almost kissed her that day, and her telepathic connection betrayed her intention to do the same, but a call from Damien on Kitreena's communicator interrupted them. Despite his attraction to her, he was almost relieved. Talking with her was easy enough, but once the possibility of something more arose, his knees began to shake so much he nearly toppled over right in front of her. It took all night just to calm the butterflies in his stomach.

Insomnia gripped him one evening while thinking over everything in bed. Concern over the Kyrosen and the Vezulian Armada and Vultrel and his mother and everything else that had happened all piled onto itself and tied his emotions into knots. When it became clear that sleep wasn't going to come any time soon, he found himself wandering the corridors, trying to settle his mind. Before he knew it, he was exiting the lift onto the Observation Deck. The lights were dimmed and Ron was nowhere to be seen. A lone figure, tall and ominous in his dark cloak, stood at the far end of the dome, staring into the sea of space. His flowing white hair gleamed against the light of the passing stars, and he spoke without looking back. "Having trouble sleeping?"

Arus nodded as he stood beside Damien, watching the cosmos silently glide past. "Something like that. The further I get from home, the more I worry about the safety of Asteria. And the rest of the Terranias, for that matter."

"Understandable." Damien's voice was low and quiet. Almost solemn. "If it eases your concerns at all, neither the Armada nor the Kyrosen are anywhere near Terranias anymore."

"Really?" Arus looked up in surprise. "How can you be sure?"

"Because they're following us."

"Oh." That brought on a whole new set of fears, but it _was_ comforting to know that Terranias was safe. However, that meant only one thing. "They're coming after me, then."

"It was to be expected," Damien reminded him. "Do not worry. We will protect you. We'll reach the Aeden Outpost before they catch us, and a good portion of the fleet has been recalled from various outposts and planets to gather there. We'll have plenty of support."

It all sounded like such a grand effort. And it was all because of him. That placed a tremendous guilt on top of everything else he'd been feeling. Plans were being altered, lives were being changed, and people of various races from across the _universe_ were placing themselves in the path of danger all for him. In spite of his resolve to view his life experiences in a more positive light, actually doing so was proving to be difficult. "I apologize for the trouble I've caused. I feel terrible placing such a burden upon you and your army. I didn't mean for all of this to happen."

Damien's head shook ever so slightly. "No one holds you responsible, Arus. If it hadn't been you, Truce would've found another boy to test his experiment on. Likely one much younger, as the design specifications called for a child under the age of ten. Supposedly, the likelihood that the implant would properly synchronize with the brain rises significantly with a younger host."

"Max . . ." Arus murmured, remembering the young boy that the Mages had tried to kidnap. "At least my experience protected him from having to go through it."

"For now," Damien noted. "But if we fail to get the plans for the device out of the hands of the Kyrosen and the Armada, the children of the universe will forever be at risk of being swept away into a cybernetic army of slaves. I fear this won't end until both Kindel Thorus and Sartan Truce are dead." His voice took an even more melancholy tone at that suggestion.

Arus looked up at him. The towering man's eyes were visibly pained. "I don't like killing any more than you do, but if they refuse to change their ways, what choice will we have?"

Damien nodded a slow agreement. "I just hoped to never have to face Kindel in battle. He was once a good man. I believe he still is, despite his vile interpretation of peace. He genuinely wants to see harmony and tranquility across the universe, but his methods of achieving such cannot be condoned."

They conversed for a bit, discussing everything from the possible uses of the implant technology to Kitreena's potential as a Morpher. Damien seemed pretty optimistic about her talents. He said she was something called an Elemental Morpher which, according to him, was a rarity. Although he'd been trying to help her harness her strength, he knew little about how Morphers channeled their energy. And since she was a rare breed, there were no others alive who could properly train her. Damien admitted that it made him feel a little less guilty about taking her from her homeland knowing that no one there could've taught her anyway.

"I just couldn't leave her there," he said. "When I found her in that alley, she was so scared, and she didn't want to go home to any of her other relatives. She was terrified that the Kyrosen were after her, and she didn't want them to kill any other family members while trying to get to her. Reassurances that something like that wouldn't happen proved useless. I was left with the decision of either leaving her alone on the streets to fend for herself or taking her with me when I left the planet. So I offered to take care of her. It took some convincing, but she agreed to it. Given her options, it made the most sense. And I'm glad she agreed. I may never have a child of my own kind, but Kit has been the best family I could've asked for."

He went on to thank Arus for urging Kitreena to abandon her vengeful desires. She'd made no such commitment, according to Damien, but she was quite taken with Arus, and he believed it was more likely that she'd listen to him than anyone else. "As much as I hate to say it, she has a stubborn way of ignoring my advice the way most children shrug off their parents' instructions," he said. "You've got a good head on your shoulders, Arus. Don't let her discourage you. Keep trying; you may be the only one who can pull her away from the dark path she treads."

Not that Arus had any intention of abandoning his efforts, but hearing the encouragement and appreciation was nice. Doc Nori shared Damien's feelings on the matter. Apparently, Kitreena had told both extensively about that first night on the Observation Deck. One afternoon, while allowing the doctor to examine the implant before heading to dinner, Nori made mention of the subject.

"I hear you and Kitreena have been spending quite a bit of time together," he said, turning Arus' cheeks red. They seemed to be doing that a lot as of late. "I'm sure I don't need to warn you what you're getting yourself into, oh no!" He shook with his usual jolly laugh and wiped perspiration that didn't exist from his brow before going on. "I exaggerate, of course."

Lying on the examination table, Arus tried to think of any topic of discussion that would embarrass him less. Nori didn't give him a chance, though. He tinkered for a moment with a pointed tool and a small magnifying glass, then shifted to his tool cabinet and began rummaging through it. "To be frank, I believe you're probably the best friend she could have right now," he said, speaking as though he were simply thinking aloud. "As someone who's been through his own share of hardship and come out on the other side of it all with a positive and optimistic outlook on life, you could help dissuade her from what she has convinced herself will give her some of closure to the pain of her past." He finally drew a pointed gripping tool from his drawer and returned his attention to the implant. "Besides, you two are cute together!" That brought more eccentric laughter from the old man.

"I'm not going to push her," Arus told him. "I can only tell her what I've learned and what I believe. It's up to her to decide which path to take."

"That's all anyone can ask," Nori said with a nod. "Now, let's see. I think if I remove this piece . . ."

Arus heard a snap, and the room began to spin. Instinctively, he put his hands on his head and squeezed his eye closed. "Ugh, what was that?"

"That was once of four electronic circuits that allowed for the input of commands to be transferred to your brain," Nori answered. "There are three others still in place. If I remove them and solder off the connections, it should prevent anyone from ever controlling you through the implant again."

"I'm dizzy," Arus groaned. "Are you sure it was the right piece?"

"It will subside. Though it wasn't actively controlling you, there was still a flow of data being transferred though the piece I removed. The dizziness will stop once your brain adjusts to handling the flows of information on its own."

The wooziness only got worse as Nori removed the other circuits. For nearly an hour, he lay there moaning softly as he fought the urge to empty his stomach over the side of the table. But a little nausea was a small price to pay to prevent himself from ever begin controlled again, even if Truce were to capture him once more. Of course, Truce could likely remove the "soldered" connections—Arus was going to have to ask what that word meant—and replace them with new ones, but whatever stumbling blocks could be placed in front of him were welcome. While Arus recovered, Nori also mentioned that he had rewired the implant's sensors along with the eye laser. Arus didn't want to use either, but Nori programmed them to be dormant until activated by Arus himself. He insisted that they could be valuable assets in keeping Truce at bay, and while that was likely true, Arus had no intention of resorting to them.

Through it all, he kept his training as his first priority. Every time his body felt as though it could go no further, he pushed harder. When his mind was exhausted from the strain of concentration required both in dueling and in piloting a starfighter, he deliberately added an hour onto his training session. There was no telling how powerful his enemies were, and to allow himself to limit his own abilities was akin to saying that no one in the universe was stronger. That was untrue, he knew for sure; only a fool thought otherwise. And even though he knew that there would always be a greater foe out there regardless of how much he honed his skills, it only drove him to work harder so that he might one day be able to meet their challenge. He would never be the best, but with the right amount of work, perhaps his abilities could at least be . . . enough.

After all, if he couldn't even defeat Vultrel, how could he expect to stand up to the villains of the universe?

### Chapter 7

On the afternoon of the sixth day of travel, Damien's communicator beeped while he was enjoying lunch with Arus and Kitreena in the cafeteria. "Go ahead," he spoke into the little silver device.

The voice of the helmsman, Jindar Tradek, responded. "Sir, we have a problem. Approximately three minutes ago, we received a distress call from Aeden Outpost Twelve. The fleet is under attack."

Damien nearly dropped his fork. Arus stopped short with a spoon of corn halfway to his mouth, and Kitreena was already rising to her feet. "What? By who?"

"The Vezulian Armada, Sir. Kindel must've issued orders to any Armada starships in neighboring systems to gather together and launch an attack once he realized his own band of ships wouldn't be able to catch up to us. Scans are picking up at least four starcruisers, two battleships, and an assortment of assault transports and starfighters."

Damien spared Kitreena a grim look. "The sword has been drawn, then. This is nothing less than a declaration of war."

"There's more, Sir," Tradek continued. "While I was receiving the transmission from the outpost, our sensors picked up two large ships obstructing our flight path. The proximity alarm went off, and the safety protocols automatically deactivated our engines. We've got two Vezulian cruisers sitting in front of us, and the _Black Eagle_ is quickly gaining."

He couldn't have given a worse report. Damien was on his feet in an instant, wiping his mouth as he headed for the door. He was flanked by Arus and Kitreena, fierce determination mixing with uncertainty in their eyes. "I'm on my way to the bridge. Perform evasive maneuvers immediately." He clicked a smaller button on the top of his communicator to activate the ship's intercom system. "Attention all crewmembers. This is Damien speaking. The Vezulian Armada has launched an assault on Aeden Outpost Twelve, and I have no doubt they are coming after us. I want all certified starfighter pilots to their stations as soon as possible. Be ready to launch when I give the word. Combat troops, prepare to repel boarders. I expect you experienced fighters to keep an eye on our rookies out there. Commander Naelas, please meet me on the bridge on the double."

The corridors leading toward the lift had never seemed so long. People were rushing up and down the halls in an organized frenzy. Tension was thick in the air, especially amongst the younger cadets that ran along with creases of worry framing their inexperienced faces. Damien had long expected a war with Kindel Thorus and his Armada, but he certainly did not welcome it. Many lives would certainly be lost— _I wonder how many have already died at Outpost Twelve?_ —and if the Aeden Alliance failed, then the Vezulian Armada would have gained one of the most technologically advanced weapons in the history of the universe. It could not be allowed, no matter what the cost. Some of the greatest tragedies in history had begun with the creation of revolutionary weaponry, yet the intelligent decision-making abilities of a living species had never been combined with the precision and versatility of machinery. The possibilities of such a concept were vast, and the dangers more so.

To his right, Kitreena made her irritation apparent, though Damien detected a hint of anxiousness lacing her mood. Her hands flexed unconsciously as she marched beside him, and narrow eyes combined with her tight lips creating an icy stare that could've squelched the heat of the sun. If she'd had a tail, it would've been lashing about like a steel whip. Damien was surprised that she hadn't begun flipping her whip back and forth as she had a habit of doing. In time, likely.

As for Arus, he seemed more uneasy than anything else. No doubt the strain of the situation was wearing on him; it couldn't be easy knowing that some of the most dangerous men in the universe were pursuing him. Still, he walked with purpose, giving no lead to either Damien or Kitreena. A brave youth, that was for sure. Damien hadn't seen anyone with such courage or drive since meeting Kitreena. He had unlimited potential despite his age, and that had little to do with the implant.

Lieutenant Meni began speaking as soon as the three exited the lift and stepped onto the bridge. "The _Black Eagle_ and her escorts are within visual range aft, Sir. They'll enter attack range in approximately ten minutes."

Lieutenant Tears added her report nearly over the tail end of Harold's. "I've alerted the Aeden fleet to our position and situation. They're sending a cruiser and several squadrons of fighters and assault transports to assist us while the Outpost summons reinforcements."

The sight that greeted Damien through the viewport was nothing short of terrifying. Not that he hadn't seen worse over the course of his career, but no amount of experience ever made it easier to stand up straight when confronted by hostile forces, especially when those forces were under the command of Kindel Thorus. The Vezulian starcruisers were positioned head-to-head just in front of the _Refuge_ , blocking the path to the Aeden Outpost. "Hard to starboard," he ordered. "Get us around them." They were quite majestic looking, plated with shining titanium along their long t-shaped hulls with rounded off heads where long panes of glass identified the bridge of each craft. The bellies of the ships dropped down in a wide section where the hangar doors stood open, ready to launch starfighters and transports if necessary.

"They are matching our movements, Sir," Tradek warned. "We have no room to maneuver."

Damien racked his brain for options, but feasible ideas were scarce. "Lieutenant Meni, how long until assistance arrives?"

"At least twenty minutes," Harold reported. "They're having some trouble breaking away from the battle."

"And the _Black Eagle_?"

The lieutenant's expression was bleak. "Seven minutes."

The _Refuge_ did not have nearly enough starfighters to properly defend herself, not against two fully armed starcruisers, the _Black Eagle_ , and her escorts. That left diplomacy as the sole remaining option. In any other situation, that would've been Damien's first choice, but it was no secret what the Armada was after, and no amount of negotiation would make him hand Arus over to Kindel. It was unlikely that Kindel could be convinced to abandon his pursuit of the implant, either. "This is going to get messy," Damien muttered.

Kitreena leaned close to his side. "We've got to secure Arus. We could put him in the security vault with a bunch of troops or something."

"It's not going to stop Kindel from trying to force his way onboard," he told her. "But if we launch fighters to try to hold him back, they'll get slaughtered out there. I want to minimize the loss of life, yet doing so would pretty much mean inviting Kindel to come on over."

"He'll board us anyway," she said, folding her arms across her chest. "He can teleport, remember?"

Damien looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "So what makes you think Arus will be any safer in the vault?"

Apparently, he'd spoken too loudly. Arus' ears perked at the mention of his name. "What? What vault?"

Kitreena sighed as she turned toward him. "We have a security vault in the center of the _Refuge_ where weapons and sensitive materials are stored. In the event that the _Refuge_ was destroyed, this vault would remain intact to be picked up by another Aeden ship later on. It would keep you safe from Kindel so long as he doesn't think to look for you there."

He made no attempt to hide his dislike for the idea. "No! Absolutely not! I didn't train night and day for the duration of this journey just to run and hide at the first sign of danger!"

"As much as you've improved," Damien said, turning toward him, "you have no idea what we're up against. You may have stood a chance against Kindel while you were under Truce's control, but without that programming, you would be easy conquest for him."

That made Arus' mouth drop open. Even Kitreena gave an incredulous look. "Damien!" she exclaimed. "You aren't suggesting that we use the implant to control—"

"Of course not," Damien said, raising his hands. "I apologize for the reference. I have no interest in repeating Truce's mistakes. I was merely trying to explain that Arus isn't ready to meet Kindel in battle."

Arus clenched his fists to his chest. "I want to fight!" he growled. "If you take me from the battlefield, I lose any chance I may have had of preventing this," he tapped the implant with his steel finger, "from happening to anyone else!"

"On the contrary," Kitreena responded, "locking you away may be the _best_ chance."

He said no more, but he ground his teeth and turned away in a stiff movement. Kitreena patted his shoulder softly. Behind them, the lift doors opened to admit Commander Naelas. A sturdy man in his middle years, his age was betrayed only by the white wisps of hair streaking back from his temples. He wore the standard brown uniform of the Alliance, though his was adorned with numerous tassels and pins across the breast of his coat indicating his rank. A narrow jaw framed his smooth face, and eyes of soothing green held years of experience in battle strategy and combat operations. As the commanding officer overseeing the movement and deployment of all soldiers aboard the _Refuge_ , it was his knowledge and expertise in which Damien was most interested.

"Commander Naelas," the Zo'rhan said with a nod, "we find ourselves in a bit of a pickle today."

"That much is certain," Naelas responded. A usually reserved man, his attitude became all-business whenever duty called. "I confess that I am not sure how we're going to squeeze out of this one."

"Securing Arus is our top priority," Damien said. "Even if the rest of the ship is completely destroyed, we must ensure Arus' safety and survival. Kitreena has suggested placing him in the vault."

Naelas shrugged. "Such a move would slow Thorus only. It will buy us time, but not completely prevent the Armada from getting their paws on him."

"Time is all we need," Kitreena put in. "We just need to survive long enough for reinforcements to arrive."

Damien raised a finger. "But, as you said, Kindel can simply teleport inside the vault, grab Arus, the teleport back to his ship."

"Then we'll line the interior with soldiers skilled in the use of magic," Naelas told him. "If they create and hold a magical barrier around the vault in the same way that the guards in the prison level have been keeping Truce's men from using their abilities to escape, it should prevent Kindel from teleporting inside. If he wanted to get to Arus, he'd have to crack the security codes on the hatch."

" _If_ he even thinks to look in the vault in the first place," Kitreena put in. "I'd say it's our best plan at this point."

Lieutenant Meni's voice put the emphasis on her point. "Three minutes, Sir."

Finally, Damien resigned himself to the idea. It was really the only option they had. "All right, here's what we're going to do. Commander, I want you to prepare the troops to repel intruders. Position squads at every possible boarding point. Prepare all pilots for combat and come up with some sort of plan to hold the Armada back while we wait for assistance. And send the necessary soldiers to the vault to create the energy barrier. Make no aggressive moves until I've ordered so. If, by some miracle, I can manage to keep this peaceful, I will."

"Yes, Sir!" Naelas said with a solid salute. Damien looked to Kitreena and Arus as the commander returned to the lift.

"Kit, get him down to the vault. Make sure that he's secure before coming back." Arus finally faced him again, and Damien placed a hand on his shoulder. "Your hard work and determination will serve a great many people one day. But today, you must allow us to do what is best both for you and for the good of the universe."

Arus' nod was solemn, though he clearly knew that Damien was right. "I know," he murmured. "I just wanted to make a difference. I'm tired of everyone fretting over me. I want to be a help, not a burden."

Damien smiled in spite of himself. "You will have your chance. Don't be overzealous; that can lead to disaster. Sometimes patience can be more important than any kind of weapon." The boy nodded again, albeit reluctantly, and followed Kitreena toward the lift with no further objections. "Kit," Damien called, "that goes for you too."

She shot him a look as the doors closed that said she wasn't in the mood for a lecture, but in many ways, she had just as much to learn as Arus. Hopefully, she would have the chance.

"Sir," Merille Tears called from the communications array, "we are receiving an incoming communication from the _Black Eagle._ It's Kindel Thorus."

With a heavy sigh, Damien headed over to the terminal. "Here we go," he muttered. "Connect us."

"This is Kindel Thorus of the Vezulian Armada," the calm voice announced over the speaker. "With whom do I speak?"

"It's me, Kindel," Damien responded.

"Ah, Aldoric! I was expecting one of your peons." Damien caught Lieutenant Tears' frown at that comment. "I assume you know why you find yourselves in this predicament."

"Whatever you want, I won't give it to you," Damien said. Every minute gained was crucial. "You'll have to destroy the _Refuge_ before I'll submit to your demands."

"A pity you would volunteer such an option so easily. I wonder if your comrades know how disposable their lives are to you."

On any other occasion, Damien would've refused to allow Kindel to draw him into a verbal confrontation. The officers of the Aeden Alliance accepted the fact that they might one day be forced to lay down their lives for the good of the galaxy, though most did not look forward to such a time. Damien certainly didn't want to sacrifice the _Refuge_ and her crew, and he couldn't fathom making the decision to send them all, Kitreena included, to their deaths. But with the way things were going, it was quite possible he'd be faced with that very decision quite soon. "My people know how valuable they are," he said quietly. "But they also serve the good of the universe, and they won't cower to your demands any more than I."

"And many have already paid with their lives," Kindel answered with a bit of amusement. "The Aeden fleet protecting your little base up ahead has suffered considerable casualties. It can be stopped, of course. You have the power to give the order for my ships to withdraw at any time. I simply ask that you hand the boy over to me. Once he is in my custody, the killing will stop."

"I will not," Damien growled, trying to rein his anger. "You speak as though Arus is a child looking for a father, an innocent toddler with no control over his future. I know that you care nothing for his well-being; you're simply after the implant. But I will not allow his free-will to be trampled upon. Regardless of what technology he holds, he is a sentient being capable of making his own decisions. And he has decided to remain with us."

"He is a child with no idea of what he is doing!" Kindel snapped back. "A Zo'rhan child is not even remotely ready to make decisions for himself until at least the age of ninety, and humanity is a race far inferior to—"

Damien raised his voice to drown out Kindel's. "Your comparison holds no water. Humans and Zo'rhan differ in too many ways to be expected to grow and mature the same way."

A moment of silence passed, no doubt as Kindel tried to regain his outwardly peaceful facade. "In the end, it makes little difference," he muttered. "We will be within firing range in mere moments. Either I will have my hands on that boy, or no one will. The choice, my dear brother, is yours."

The stiff click from the speaker indicated that the communication had been severed. Damien ground his teeth as he turned back toward the viewport to the two starcruisers blocking the way forward. "Helmsman Tradek, throttle the forward stabilizers to full and prepare to engage main engines on my mark. Get us over these bloody cruisers."

"Aye," Tradek responded, his fingers zipping across the control panel. "Forward stabilizers to full."

Through the viewport, Damien watched impatiently as the nose of the _Refuge_ began to rise, angling the starship's trajectory above the Vezulian ships. The enemy cruisers remained stationary for several moments before powering their own stabilizers in an attempt to block the path once again. Damien opened his mouth to order the engines to full when Harold whirled around from his position at the sensor array.

"Sir, the _Black Eagle_ is within firing range, but it isn't slowing down! Their current flight path will take them right over our heads!"

"They're going to try to block us," Tradek acknowledged with a frustrated groan. "Awaiting your orders, Sir!"

Damien unconsciously balled his fists. "Main engines to full, Jindar!"

Tradek nodded and pushed the main throttle to maximum. The stars stretched briefly as the ship leapt forward, but the proximity alarm flashed beneath a small red light on the sensor array, and the _Refuge_ came to an instantaneous halt. Lieutenant Meni tapped away at his control panel frantically. "Too late," he grumbled.

Damien, along with the rest of the crew, was already looking up. The shining black hull of the _Black Eagle_ sat dangerously close to the _Refuge_ , blocking the path above the two starcruisers. "Full power to rear stabilizers!" he ordered. "Go underneath!"

"It's too late, Sir," Lieutenant Meni reported. "The _Falcon Mist_ is moving in below us, and I'm tracking an assortment of astrotroopers launching from the hangar of the _Black Eagle_."

_Astrotroopers,_ Damien thought as he rolled his eyes. _Just want I need._ The elite soldiers of the Armada had been trained in interstellar combat using little more than protective spacesuits with miniature propulsion units built into their boots. Practically useless in a starfighter battle, their primary function was to board enemy starships and assume control. They used whatever means necessary to gain access, from entering through waste disposal ducts to cutting holes in the hull. Perhaps the vault had been the best idea after all.

Lifting his communicator, he activated the craft's intercom. "Attention all soldiers. We have astrotroopers incoming. I want all hull turrets manned and every disposal duct and ventilation shaft on this ship guarded. Starfighters are not to launch until I see enemy fighters in the air. Kitreena, please see that our guest is secured in his assigned location. When that is finished, return to the bridge. We will—"

The air began to ripple several feet in front of Damien, and a white light grew from its center. A blinding flash forced him to cover his eyes momentarily, and when he looked up, Kindel Thorus and his two bodyguards stood before the bridge.

"Greetings, Aldoric," Kindel said with a bow. "I've come to discuss the terms of your surrender."

*******

"Three, two, one, now."

Simultaneously, Kitreena and Naelas turned the tan keys in the control panels on either side of the vault's large hatch. Two red lights illuminated above, signaling that the room was secure. Kitreena removed the key from her console and slipped it into her pouch. It pained her to leave Arus in there, especially with the fighting spirit he possessed. And the thought that she might never see him again terrified her. _No, I can't let that happen. Thorus will_ not _win! He can't._ She ground her teeth and forced herself to turn away from the door. Naelas was there, trying not to let her see his sullen expression. He slipped the second key into his own pocket as Damien's voice blared over the intercom.

"Attention all soldiers. We have astrotroopers incoming. I want all hull turrets manned and every disposal duct and ventilation shaft on this ship guarded. Starfighters are not to launch until I see enemy fighters in the air. Kitreena, please see that our guest is secured in his assigned location. When that is finished, return to the bridge. We will—" The communication ended abruptly.

Now Naelas looked at her. "Better get moving. I've got to get our troops in position."

Kitreena nodded and patted the key in her pouch. "Keep it safe," she told him. "Whatever the cost."

He gave a quick salute before hurrying down the hall. Kitreena raced off in the opposite direction, snatching her communicator from her belt as she ran. "Damien, this is Kitreena, come in." No response. It was possible that the Armada was trying to interfere with their communications systems or that something more important had come up on the bridge. "I'm on my way," she said into the device before returning it to her belt. Thoughts and concerns filled her head until she thought it might explode. There was no need to go over the dangers of failure; the stakes were quite clear. Damien's safety weighed on her heart in spite of his capabilities. The Zo'rhan were born to fight; they were bred to be noble warriors of honor and valor— _most_ of them, anyway—and Damien had proven himself in that regard time and time again. It wasn't his skill or strength that made Kitreena worry. It was the underhanded tactics of his opponent that kept her stomach churning. _Hang in there, Damien. I'm running as fast as I can!_

The chilling rumble of an explosion in the aft section of the _Refuge_ brought her feet to a momentary stop. Multiple aerial battles and countless hours logged in the simulator had taught her to discern between the different sounds of interstellar warfare. _That was a missile._

As if to confirm her thoughts, the intercom came to life with Naelas' voice. "Enemy ships approaching! Launch all fighters! I repeat; Vezulian Armada starfighters and transports have been sighted! Launch all starfighters!"

The attack had begun. There was little time to spare. With clenched fists, she made for the bridge as fast as she could, weaving her way through the halls without looking back. _Arus will be safe in the vault_ , she kept telling herself. Armored soldiers and assorted ship personnel saluted as she passed, but she paid them no mind. The lift was just down the next corridor, and the longer the radio silence from Damien continued, the more her heart welled up with fear.

Fear that was quickly compounded when she rounded the corner.

At the end of the hall, just past the lift doors, a viewport gave a clear view of an assault transport hovering beside the _Refuge_. An astrotrooper floated between them, aiming a large laser rifle at the glass. Before Kitreena could even shift her feet, a powerful blast of green energy exploded through the window, allowing the vacuum of space to penetrate the hall. A furious wind began violently drawing the air from the deck through the shattered viewport, and Kitreena's body was lifted from the floor and hurtled toward the abyss of space. She flailed in a panic, desperately clawing for anything to keep from being sucked away. Somehow, her fingers found the edge of the lift doorway, and she held on with all of her might. The air was thinning rapidly, and her lungs felt as though they might collapse upon themselves. _Just a few more moments . . . Come on! Just a few more—_

A sharp whine signaled the activation of the emergency security shield. A solid wall of titanium dropped down from above the viewport, sealing the vacuum and allowing the deck to pressurize once again. Air came into Kitreena's lungs slowly, and she gulped down every breath she could get. When she opened her eyes, she found herself kneeling on the glass covered floor and clutching her chest. The world went in and out of focus repeatedly in a dizzying whirl of colors and shapes as the oxygen began pumping through her veins once again. When her senses had settled, she rose to her feet.

"Freeze," an electronically masked voice ordered. To her left, the astrotrooper aimed his rifle directly at her head. He stood at least a foot taller than she, clad in a heavy-looking uniform of thick silvery material with rings at his wrists and ankles into which his gloves and boots were fastened to create an airtight seal. None of his features were visible through his black visor. Two tubes ran from either side of his helmet to a pair of flat oxygen tanks strapped to his back, and an occasional hiss of air was expelled from a valve on top. He motioned with his weapon as he spoke. "Hands on your head!"

It was a fine time to find herself alone in the hall for the first time considering how many soldiers had been bustling about moments ago. She took her time responding to his demand, eyes darting about in search of some way out. The most dangerous option seemed to be the only one available, and desperation got the better of her. Raising her hands as if to comply with his orders, she grabbed the barrel of his rifle and directed it away from her head, spinning as she did so in order to swing her foot up into the soldier's gut. His armor must've absorbed the majority of the blow, because he simply took one massive hand away from the rifle and punched her in the face as hard as he could. She hit the ground like a pile of rocks, one hand fumbling at her belt for her whip while the other wiped fresh blood from her mouth. In the corner of her eye, she saw the barrel of the rifle come back down, and she kicked the weapon away just as the soldier pulled the trigger, sending a bright green burst of energy into the wall beside the lift. With her weapon in hand, she flicked her whip toward his wrist, and the sharp snap forced him to drop the rifle. A second snap against his head had no effect— _That helmet must be stronger than I thought!—_ and that prompted her to push herself up in a desperate lunge toward her attacker. Their bodies collided into the far wall with a loud clang the tanks on his back. More explosions sounded in the distant corridors.

"You're a feisty one," the soldier laughed between grunts. "You don't honestly think you can best me in a hand-to-hand fight, do you?"

Truthfully, brute strength was not one of Kitreena's strong points. She knew that if she could get some distance between herself and the soldier, she'd be able to use her whip much more effectively, but it was clear that he had no intentions of giving her any room. Instead, she struggled vainly against the large man, desperately hoping for the appearance of some friendly faces in the corridor. A violent shove from the soldier knocked her onto her backside, but she rose just as quickly as she'd fallen. The trooper's body spun in a blur, and his heavy boot connected with her chin, knocking her against the wall in a daze. He gave no room for retaliation, following the kick with a solid fist to her middle. Clutching her stomach, Kitreena slumped to her knees amid gasps for air. He stood over her, fists poised to strike, but a sudden voice from the communicator on his wrist stopped him in his tracks. "Ronah, are you there? Have you determined if the intelligence report was accurate?"

He snorted and punched Kitreena in the cheek as hard as he could. She felt as though she were adrift on a boat amidst of a raging storm with the way her head was spinning. Struggling to steady her senses, she squeezed her eyes closed and opened them again in hopes that the floor would settle. Vaguely, the soldier's words drifted through her ears. "Stand by, I'm checking." Before she could react, he tore the leather pouch from her belt.

"No!" she groaned, pushing herself to one knee. Her whip lay uncoiled beside her, and she grabbed the leather handle as she stood. Wooziness began to fade as she forced her body to cooperate. The astrotrooper was already several paces away, carrying his rifle in the crook of his elbow while he rummaged through her pouch. As he rounded the corner, she heard him speak again. "It's here. I've got it. Heading to the rendezvous point."

"Get back here!" Kitreena shouted angrily. She dashed after him as fast as she could, the floor seeming more solid with every step, but to her surprise, the soldier had vanished by the time she turned the corner, and he'd taken the key to the vault with him. She cursed herself loudly for having let him go, though she knew he wouldn't be able to get to Arus without Commander Naelas' key as well. The brute couldn't have gotten far in the brief amount of time that he'd been out of her sight, but a number of the connecting rooms had secondary exits leading to other rooms and corridors, and a quick peek through the first several doors revealed nothing out of the ordinary. She found an empty office here, a storage closet there, but nothing that suggested the trooper had escaped through either. Her heightened sense of hearing was little help; everything blended together with the distant sounds of laser fire and missile detonations. Instinctively, she lifted the communicator to her mouth to report the soldier, but Damien's warning had stated that there were multiple astrotroopers attempting to board the _Refuge_. Given that the Aeden soldiers were ordered to either kill or capture any Vezulian intruders they might encounter, announcing that one had stolen the key to the vault would do nothing but panic the crew.

With a growl of frustration, she wiped the blood from her nose and lips and headed for the lift. Failure was not something she was accustomed to, and knowing that her failure in this instance jeopardized Arus' safety made her feel that much worse. Her only solace came in knowing that Naelas would be safely guarded amongst his colonels in the battle command center several decks below. Coiling her whip, she pressed the call button on the panel beside the lift doors. "Where are those bloody Morpher powers when I need them?"

### Chapter 8

A slight rumble from somewhere within the ship echoed in the otherwise silent security vault. To say that Arus felt foolish sitting in the center of the room with multiple rings of armed soldiers surrounding him and an assortment of magic-wielding guards lining the walls would be a drastic understatement. He wasn't an incapable child, yet it felt as though he'd been told that his skills weren't required and that he was to lounge in a secluded hideaway somewhere while everyone else fought for his freedom. Why should they have to suffer the burden of protecting him? He was responsible. He could take care of himself. _No one should have to die for me. No one._ In truth, that very thought was the main reason he was so upset over being locked away. It wasn't that he questioned Damien's judgment; he knew what was at stake. But, simply put, Arus didn't want anyone to lose their lives trying to watch over him. And while he knew very well that there was a chance he'd be captured again if he were to face the invading forces, he hated the thought of simply sitting back and waiting while good soldiers like Rollock and Timen were out there fighting his battle. It made him feel like a coward.

Still, in his heart, he knew Kitreena and Damien were both right. If Truce or Thorus got their hands on him and somehow managed to regain control of the implant despite Doc Nori's assurances that the mind-altering components had been removed, the consequences for the universe could be deadly.

The vault housed mostly spare weapons and munitions. Wide crates of pistols and rifles lined the floor in rows, occasionally separated by larger containers painted in black and marked as "volatile materials." It truly was nothing more than a huge box of a room, its silver floor and ceiling as smooth and undecorated as its walls. Some of the crates had been shifted to the rear to make space for Arus and the troops surrounding him, but their presence still made for a cluttered feel. The air was thick and stale, and there were no ventilation shafts. _How long will we be able to breathe in here, anyway?_

Another explosion erupted in the distance, sending heavy vibrations through the floor. Arus bit his lower lip and sighed heavily, staring down at his boots as he tried to calm his nerves. People were dying. People were dying, and he was just sitting around biting his nails while his stomach turned itself inside out. He tried to force down the instinct to swear revenge for every soul that died, but it was much easier said than done. _I cannot submit to that way of thinking again,_ he told himself. _I can't! I won't! Vengeance got me into this mess. I can't forget that!_

Apparently, his apprehensions had not gone unnoticed. "Calm yourself," Doman's deep voice said as his heavy hand fell on his shoulder. "You will be safe here." He had been assigned to lead the squad of troops protecting Arus along with Samas and Orchi. The two girls stood at either side of the large entrance hatch where two sets of steel beams barred them securely inside. Their half-circle weapons were drawn and raised as though ready to strike, unblinking eyes fixed on the hatch itself. They had remained there, as solid and unwavering as stone, since Kitreena left. Doman claimed that they could stand in that position for days without moving a muscle. Extraordinary warriors, those two.

"I'm not worried about myself," Arus told him. "I'm concerned for the people out there who are fighting to protect me."

Doman drew one of the knives from his shoulder harness and examined the blade. "They do their job willingly," he said, running a finger across the edge of the weapon. "No one is forced to join the Aeden Alliance."

Arus nodded slowly, staring at the floor. "I know. But I can't help but feel responsible for what they're going through right now."

Doman twirled the knife between his fingers almost absentmindedly as he spoke. "You did not ask to be placed in the situation you're in. Sometimes we find the circumstances of life to be a bit more than we can handle on our own. The Maker has a way of providing for His children through even the roughest of times, much as He has done for you."

"I guess," he said with a shrug. The Maker. A fat lot of help _He'd_ been lately. Arus had never really decided whether or not he believed in the Maker. Other than enjoying the story of _The Blade of Kaleo_ , he'd never really given it that much thought. But he didn't want to insult Doman's faith. "I just want to do the right thing, and I'm torn. Either I risk myself to help the others, or I risk the others to protect myself. The latter just seems so selfish, yet that's exactly what I'm doing."

"You are focused too much on the here-and-now rather than the overall situation," Doman said with an understanding grin. "If the implant were to fall into Kindel Thorus' hands, he could learn to manipulate it and control it, and very likely, reproduce it! I know you don't have much experience with Kindel or the Armada, but if he were to develop an army of young men such as yourself, each equipped with an implant like yours, he could devastate and conquer as many planets as he wished. And I have no doubt that he would."

"Damien doesn't seem to think that Kindel is a bad man," Arus responded, remembering his conversation with Damien on the Observation Deck. "Just misguided."

Doman chuckled softly at that. "Damien's perception of Kindel is a bit unique. He truly believes that Kindel can one day be shown the error of his ways. Trouble is, Kindel has been rampaging across the universe for hundreds of years now. It's unlikely he'll see the light any time soon."

Arus' human eye bulged. " _Hundreds_ of years?"

Now Doman laughed openly, nearly dropping his knife on his own foot in the process. "Didn't Damien tell you? The average Zo'rhan lives to be nearly a thousand years old! Damien himself is closing in on eight-hundred, and Kindel is thought to be around six hundred and eighty."

"Wow," Arus murmured in disbelief. "I had no idea. The surprises never stop coming around here, do they?"

"When you've traveled across the galaxy as many times as I have, _nothing_ surprises you. I haven't been—"

"Someone comes," Samas said suddenly. She spoke as though she was announcing the arrival of honored guests, yet she and Orchi visibly tightened their holds on their weapons.

The knife in Doman's hand stopped in a white-knuckled grip instantly, his face becoming serious as stone. The rest of the soldiers stiffened as well, some hefting their pistols and rifles nervously. Arus instinctively reached for his sword, though he knew he would likely be shuffled to the back of the room in the event of a struggle. "How does she know that?" he asked.

"They can sense nearby life forms," Doman responded, his attention focused on the girls. "How many, Samas?"

"Difficult to say," she told him.

"More than twenty," Orchi added. "Perhaps double."

A thought ran through Arus' head, one he almost dismissed immediately, but his desperate desire to be of some use forced him to give the idea some thought. Every shred of humanity within told him that using the implant in any way other than what was absolutely necessary would be akin to submitting to Truce's will once again. Other soldiers survived by their own wits and skill, and he didn't want to rely on anything other than his own devices. Yet he considered his sword, an object he had not been born with, a tool he had trained to use to serve the good of the people, to be one of those devices. That blade, the same weapon that he'd used to murder Master Eaisan, had been used to defeat Aratus Truce years ago. It was a tool that could be used for either good or evil. In the hands of a murderer, a knife was a weapon. In the hands of a surgeon, it was a lifesaving tool.

Why, then, should the implant be any different?

"I will not use it for evil," he said aloud, drawing confused looks from Doman and the others. Closing his eye, he concentrated on the device. He didn't understand how it worked, but it took only a simple thought to activate the implant's scanning systems. The maroon tint that suddenly flooded his vision brought back terrible feelings and memories of his experience under Truce's command. _I am free now,_ he reminded himself. _I am free. He isn't controlling me anymore._ Again, unaware of exactly how he did it, he initiated a scan of the vault and its surrounding corridors. A three-dimensional diagram of the area appeared in his vision, complete with numerous white blips indicating nearby life forms. Without having to count, he heard himself reporting that there were thirty-five men outside the door. _I_ am _in control, right?_ A quick scan of several of those life forms brought up a diagnostic display of size, weight, body mass, strengths, weaknesses, and weaponry for each. Finally, he shut the implant's sensors down, ridding his vision of the crimson film with a sigh of relief.

When he looked up, nearly everyone was staring at him.

"What?" he shrugged. "What's wrong?"

"How can you possibly know all that?" Doman asked in astonishment.

He suddenly realized that he'd not only told them how many soldiers were outside the room, but every other detail about the individual scans he'd conducted. Everything from sword length and rifle intensity to the physical strengths and weaknesses of at least five different soldiers, if not more. Not knowing what to say, he held up his hands and shrugged again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to alarm anyone. I just wanted to know what we were up against. I wanted to help us defend—"

Doman was shaking his head alongside a few others. "Don't apologize," he said. "I just had no idea you had such abilities."

"I don't like to use them," he admitted. "I'm not proud of what this thing can do."

"Such talents should not be left to collect dust. You spoke of wanting to help; these skills bring something to the battlefield that no soldier can duplicate."

"They come!" Samas shouted.

The sounds of weapons being cocked mingled with scraping of swords against their scabbards as the thick bars across the hatch slid away with a mechanical hum. Doman pushed his way toward the front of the room while the rest of the soldiers converged to form a protective barrier ahead of Arus. A tall Thanai female named Sollete looked back at him. "Go," she ordered, "hide behind one of the crates in the back!"

Arus frowned. "Don't expect me to stay there if things get rough," he called as he scurried between the rows of containers. "I'm not about to watch everyone die protecting me just to get captured anyway."

The troops that appeared when the hatch finally swept open were quickly swallowed by a sea of brown. Aeden soldiers rushed forward as soon as there was room enough to fit through. The clashing of steel against steel was occasionally swallowed by intermittent laser fire and magical blasts, each of which made Arus cringe. He peeked around the corner of the crate to watch, unconsciously easing his sword from its sheath with his left hand. _At what point do I intervene?_ The laser fire intensified as the Aeden men pushed the attacking soldiers back into the hall, allowing more room for each side to maneuver. It wasn't long at all before Arus found himself alone in the vault watching a volley of laser blasts through the open hatch. _How did they get the keys? Kitreena said she'd make sure . . ._ The thought was replaced by an entirely new fear. It was unlikely that she'd be listening for his thoughts at the moment, but he tried anyway. _Kitreena! Can you hear me? Did they hurt you? Please answer if you're there!_

No response came as he crept forward, careful to remain hidden behind a crate or storage container as he moved. Once he neared the hatch, he could see a tan colored key protruding from a control panel just outside. _Kitreena? Are you there?_ Both brown and grey uniformed bodies littered the floor on the other side of the opening. The sight tore at his heart regardless of their allegiance. Beyond them, a pair of enormous balls of fire sailed past, followed by two blinding streaks of lightning from the opposite direction. That brought the gunfire to a halt for a brief moment, but when it resumed it was louder than ever. Reactivating his scanners, Arus performed a quick sweep of the area. Many had indeed died, though the readout showed a large number of life forms moving down the hall in either direction, suggesting that the battle had split in two. And more were arriving on both sides. He shut down the scanners and sat back against the wall beside the hatch. _Now what? I'm certainly not safe here, but where should I go?_

A woman's scream from the hall drew his attention. In the center of the intersection, a human female in an Aeden uniform collapsed to her knees as her rifle clattered to the floor beside her. Dangling brown locks of hair swayed over wide eyes, and her face was a sickly shade of white. Thick streams of smoke rose from the burning laser wound in her stomach where fresh blood oozed through her burnt uniform and smoldering flesh. A Vezulian soldier raced over and yanked her to her feet with an arm around her neck, using her body as a shield against enemy fire while he aimed his own pistol over her shoulder. The Aeden blasts died down while the Vezulian soldiers' intensified further, emboldened by the Alliance's unwillingness to fire at their own comrade. Arus could only assume that their reluctance to shoot around her stemmed from the fear that the Vezulian trooper would move her into the path of their lasers. In the end, it mattered little.

There was no thought. No hesitation. No fear. Arus leapt to his feet and drew his sword, activating all available functions of the implant as he rose. The pinpoint accuracy and precision he once had came flooding back to him as the scanning and sensor systems came online, and he lunged into the hall without looking back. A blinding beam of crimson burst forth from his cybernetic eye, searing through the Vezulian captor's skull in less than a second. His body fell to the ground with the Aeden woman, a gaping tunnel burned straight through his head. Troops from both sides gasped as Arus stepped into the hall to meet the Vezulian laser fire. Machine and body working as one, there was no need to even look at his sensor readout to know where each blast was aimed. Every shot met his whirling blade with a ringing clash of sparks as he swung it in dramatic flourishes around his body. He was in control of his functions and yet not. Aware of his actions though just as surprised as his assailants. To him, deflecting those laser blasts was as simple as walking; once you knew how to do it, you barely gave the process any thought. Still, he was not invincible, and very well aware of that fact. He filled his lungs to capacity and shouted as loudly as he could. "Unless you want to end up like your friend behind me, I suggest you cease fire!"

To his surprise, much of the Vezulian fire came to an abrupt end. Those that didn't stop right away quickly followed the lead of their fellow soldiers. Many wore their fear openly on their faces, though some seemed to be more furious than anything else. Quivering hands on their weapons betrayed their fright, and rightfully so. The implant's sensors noted the approach of the Aeden soldiers behind him, and he raised his mechanical arm with a sideways glance to order a halt. Most stopped, though one rushed forward to check the status of the fallen female. He was too late, Arus knew. Her signal had long since vanished from his radar. "Listen to me very carefully," he shouted with a commanding voice that would've made Master Eaisan proud. "Anyone who surrenders their arms and cooperates with the Aeden Alliance from this moment forward will not be harmed. I urge you to take this opportunity to spare your own lives and renounce your loyalty to the Vezulian Armada."

Doman's voice was suddenly at his ear. "What are you doing?" he nearly hissed.

Arus didn't look back. "I'm giving them the chance they never gave us. Everyone should have the chance to change regardless of what they've done."

"But these people believe that their ways are right and just! You cannot think that they'll simply abandon their beliefs to—"

"I cannot assume that they won't without giving them the chance."

One of the Vezulian men, careful not to lift his weapon as he took a step forward, frowned at them. "The Aeden Alliance prides itself in its cowardice and its refusal to make the sacrifices necessary to ensure the safety and security of the universe. We will never align ourselves with such a faction!"

Arus grit his teeth in a struggled effort to keep his outward appearance from showing the fire that raged inside. He took a step to the side and turned halfway toward the fallen woman, now cradled in the arms of another Aeden soldier. "Was _her_ safety and security ensured?" he asked, pointing his sword at her. His upper lip twitched in anger. "How about him?" he continued, directing the blade toward the Vezulian corpse beside her. He continued pointing out each and every man and woman that had died during the fighting, his voice growing louder with each one. "What about her? And him? How about that one? Did your values of peace ensure their safety? Did it? Come on, someone answer me! You initiated this battle, not us. So tell us, what makes you think your violent and heartless ways are going to bring about peace?" He swept his sword toward the surviving Aeden soldiers. "Tell us all! We're anxious to hear it!"

"The sacrifices made here today are necessary so that the greater good might one day prevail!" one of the Vezulian soldiers shouted.

"How?" Arus demanded. "How do the deaths of these people serve some sort of greater purpose? How did their lives impede the safety of the universe?"

"You are too young to understand," someone else muttered. "The Admiral will set you on the right path."

With Arus' anger came a boldness that surprised even himself. "Oh he will, will he?" he asked, motioning toward the nearest soldier. "Do you have a communicator?"

The trooper, a Thanai male, reluctantly produced a small silver device. "Wh-Why do you—"

Arus ignored the question and yanked it away with his free hand. With Doman and the other Aeden soldiers looking on in horror, he lifted it too his mouth and pressed the button on the side. "This is Arus Sheeth speaking. I wish to speak with The Admiral in charge of the Vezulian operation onboard the _Refuge._ "

Doman gaped openly at him now. "You're mad, boy. You're absolutely mad."

The comm remained silent, which only served to heat Arus' blood further. "I have twenty-four of your soldiers down here who want to know why you've left them to die at my hands!" He had never heard such anger in his own voice before, but his sudden forcefulness _had_ managed to keep anyone else from dying thus far. "Now if I don't hear from the admiral, I'm going to start—"

"Kill them." The calm voice from the communicator startled him. He stared at the device for a minute before replying.

"What?" he asked, shaking his head.

"Kill them. They have quite obviously failed in their mission, and your possession of their communication devices means that they allowed Vezulian equipment to fall into enemy hands. Their failure has made them more of a threat to me than anything else, and thus they must be disposed of. So, if you'd like to, then by all means. It would save me the job of having to do it later."

Arus shot a look at the Vezulian soldiers. "How do you feel about being the next sacrifices on this ridiculous quest for peace that you claim to pursue?" he sneered, holding up the communication device. "Your glorious Admiral has just sentenced you to death."

"That wasn't the admiral," a plump man in grey said. "That was the battle commander, Commander Arctis."

"And does _he_ have the power to decide your fate as he has stated?"

None of them seemed to want to meet his stare. Most looked at the floor or each other, but the dejected expressions on their face answered Arus' question. Their lives were going to be ended by the very people they claimed to serve.

The long-legged Thanai man stepped forward and placed his gun at his feet. "I surrender myself to the Aeden Alliance, and I accept whatever fate—" A bloody blade suddenly burst through his chest, turning his sentence into nothing more than a strangled grunt. Arus blinked in surprise, and the blade vanished just as quickly as it had appeared, leaving the soldier to slump to the floor in a lifeless heap. Another man abruptly gasped and fell, his throat sliced wide open. More began to go down, each mortally wounded in one way or another. Through his scanners, Arus could clearly see a single life form darting amongst the Vezulian soldiers, but shock and confusion held him still. Had an assassin been sent by their battle commander to see that his orders were carried out? No, there hadn't been enough time. It all happened so fast that the few seconds it took for Arus to shake off the surprise and step forward to intervene were a few too many. The final two bodies dropped, revealing a face that nearly caused Arus' jaw to crash to the floor.

"Vultrel?" he asked in an incredulous fury. "How? How did you get here? Where did you come from?"

"Checkmate." Clad in his usual black, he wiped his sword on one of the Vezulian uniforms before returning it to the scabbard on his back. "There's no time for that now," he said in a melancholy voice. He seemed to share the others' reluctance to make eye contact, and his face was alarmingly pale and dripping with sweat. "You're in danger here."

Turning his attention to the pile of slain soldiers, Arus ground his teeth again. "Why? Why did you kill those soldiers? I was trying to help them—"

"They were a threat," Vultrel responded, stepping over each casually as though they were fallen trees or dead bushes. "They were not about to cower to your demands. Come, we must get out of this area right away."

Arus tucked the Vezulian communicator into his pouch and sheathed his weapon. "You don't know that!" he insisted, deactivating the additional systems of the implant. "One of them was about to accept our offer of asylum! You cannot assume that people—"

"Look, can we discuss this later?" Vultrel snapped. "This area is not safe."

Finally, Arus forced himself to let the subject go. For the time being, anyway. "Where are we going?"

"I have orders to take you somewhere safe," he told him. His dark eyes shifted toward the Aeden soldiers as he added, "Alone."

If he had orders, then that meant . . . "Damien knows you're here?" That seemed unlikely, yet if Vultrel had been given orders regarding his safety, then it must've be true.

For some reason, Vultrel eyed him for a moment before saying, "Yes. Now let's get moving. We can talk later. The rest of these soldiers can head to the hangar. That seems to be where the bulk of the fighting is taking place."

Arus nodded and turned to Doman. "You heard him. I've got orders from Damien to go with Vultrel while the rest of you head to the hangar to help fend off the invading forces."

"We'll take care of it," Doman assured him, shaking his hand. "Go. Get yourself to safety."

Vultrel motioned toward the end of the hall. "This way."

Reluctantly, Arus followed him down the corridor and around the corner. Once they were out of sight, Vultrel set off at a dead run. Arus' questions about his appearance and how he'd gotten back to the _Refuge_ were mostly shrugged off as Vultrel continued to insist that there was no time to explain everything. He wouldn't even say where they were going, claiming that there were too many people listening. What that meant, Arus couldn't fathom. And Vultrel wasn't interested in clarifying. He looked different than when they'd last seen each other, beyond the ghostly look to his face. There was a new definition and tone to his bare arms that suggested he'd been training extensively, and his clothes were torn and tattered in many places. Beyond his appearance, there was an animosity about him that was much more amplified than it had been when he'd departed from the _Refuge_. All of it came together to form a very unsteady feeling in the pit of Arus' stomach. What could've happened that would've affected his best friend so? How had he gotten back to the _Refuge_? Why didn't Damien mention anything about him?

At the lift, Vultrel hustled him inside and hit the button for the bridge. The long ride was silent; any questions were waved away or shrugged off with a simple, "Not now." Vultrel's constant refusal to enlighten Arus on _anything_ irritated him to no end, which he made clear when his mechanical fist slammed into the wall in anger.

"By the Maker, we're at war here!" he shouted. "Can't you tell me anything at all?"

Vultrel only leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, refusing to make eye contact. "You'll know everything you need to know soon enough," he said. "And I have a feeling that when you learn what has transpired, you'll wish you'd come home with me rather than remaining here with these . . . people." That last word had been changed, Arus was sure. It almost seemed as though it had been wrenched from Vultrel's lips.

All questions vanished from Arus' mind as the lift doors slid apart, revealing a scene that put the fluttering of a hundred wild butterflies in his stomach. In the center of the bridge, Damien was matching another Zo'rhan warrior blow for blow in a battle unlike anything Arus had ever seen. Each attack was delivered with what looked like a killing force, yet both men somehow managed to remain standing. The second fighter, nearly identical to Damien in every way with the exception of a slimmer build and eyes that radiated with a pure blue light, fought with unimaginable speed and agility; it almost seemed as though he could predict Damien's attacks three and four moves ahead. But Damien somehow managed to keep up, his fists connecting more often than not, bringing streams of blood from his opponent's nose and lips. He was not without his own injuries, however, as a thick smear of blood marred the side of his face near his left ear, and another stream trickled from the corner of his eye. Arus didn't need an introduction to identify the intruder. Kindel Thorus had made his presence known.

Outside, ships of every size and shape twisted about, firing lasers and missiles at one another amidst the occasional explosion of fire and twisted metal. The starcruisers fired a steady stream of red lasers from a seemingly endless array of turrets lining their hulls, and assault transports launched missiles fiery green missiles at the larger starships. The _Refuge_ was repeatedly rocked by various attacks, and garbled damage reports came from the now vacant communications terminal. People were dying left and right, and the bridge of the _Refuge_ served as the center of the struggle.

The rest of the flight crew was no where to be seen. Perhaps Damien had sent them to find refuge elsewhere. To the right, two men uniformed in white and black held Kitreena captive near the side of the room. Dried blood crusted on her upper lip while fresh crimson shimmered on her chin and dripped onto a growing stain on her shirt. She watched the battle in an unfocused daze, and her arms looked limp in the grasp of her captors. They glanced at him as he entered alongside Vultrel, and despite the scarves that concealed their faces, Arus would've bet any amount of silver that they were smiling. Or grinning, at least.

Before even acknowledging the presence of Kindel, Arus yanked his sword from its sheath and dashed toward Kitreena's captors. "Let her go!" he screamed, leaping into the air. Like flying face-first into an iron wall, an invisible force smacked him out of the air and sent him sprawling on his back by the lift.

"Arus!" Damien's voice cried out. "Get out of here!"

Shaking his head in a vain attempt to shed the pain, he pushed himself upright and rubbed his forehead. _What? I thought Vultrel said he had summoned me here._

"You've done well, Vultrel," another voice said. It came from the center of the bridge. "Has he conceded your point of view?"

"I haven't had a chance to speak with him at length," Vultrel's response came. He, too, headed for the middle of the room. "If I had, he most certainly wouldn't have come."

Damien chimed in, both angry and appalled. "Vultrel! You've sided with _him_? How could you turn your back on—"

"Enough, Aldoric," Kindel cut him off. "Do not try to undo what has been done. Vultrel and I have discussed everything at length, and frankly, he agrees that you are unfit to care for the child."

Arus couldn't believe what he was hearing. Vultrel and Kindel were _allies_? The mere thought was more than he could stomach. His best friend, his partner, a young man he'd once called his brother, had betrayed him to an enemy who sought to control the universe through power and intimidation. It had been no secret that Vultrel had looked after Arus as they grew, being the better swordsman and all, but now he'd gone beyond simple brotherly protection. He had handed Arus over to a man who only wanted to harness the implant's power for his own personal gain.

At least, _tried_ to hand him over.

In an instant, every function of the implant was activated, and Arus leapt to his feet with an ear-shattering scream of anger and rage. His mechanical hand was clenched around the hilt of his sword, though he almost felt as though he might kill Kindel with his bare hands. "Get off this ship!" he growled, pointing above to the stars. "Get off this ship or I'll send you off in pieces!"

Damien and Kindel had parted, both staring at Arus intently. Damien's look of bewilderment was priceless; he had no way of knowing that the implant was fully functional and no doubt thought Arus was suicidal. Kindel, on the other hand, seemed to take the threat seriously. To a certain degree, anyway. He wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hand and whispered something to Vultrel, who stood beside him with arms crossed. To the right, Kitreena squirmed to free herself to no avail.

"Arus, a lot of people are after you," Vultrel finally said. "Dangerous people. They want to use you to further their own selfish desires. You hated being used, didn't you?"

"I am _not_ being used, Vultrel," he responded through a clenched jaw. "The only person in this room who wants to use me is _him_!" The point of his blade shifted toward Kindel, who shook his head with a sigh.

"I am not surprised that Aldoric has corrupted your mind, young one," Kindel said, an almost sincere sympathy lacing his voice. "He goes to great lengths to keep me from doing what is necessary to spread peace and harmony throughout the universe."

Arus swung his sword down emphatically as he stepped toward the Vezulian admiral. "I don't know who Aldoric is, but it doesn't matter. I'm not going with you, Thorus. You may as well leave now."

For a moment, Kindel's artificial smile turned to an open frown. A questioning eyebrow was directed toward Damien. "You haven't told him?" The smile was back before the words had completely exited his mouth. "I suppose that shouldn't surprise me either. Most people make great efforts hide their shame, especially those seeking to deceive others."

Looking at Damien, Arus spoke cautiously. "What is he talking about?"

Damien grimaced and shook his head before responding. "By birth, my name is Aldoric. Aldoric Thorus." He gave only a momentary pause for Arus to absorb the sentence before continuing. "While everything I've told you about Kindel was true, there are pieces of the story that I left out for personal reasons. Kindel is my brother, as much as it shames me to admit it. During the Ma'tuul's attack on our homeworld, his anger grew dangerously, and he became obsessed with his quest to see Zo'rhan safe once again. While his goals were just, the means that he intended to employ were not. Our father taught us honor, nobility, generosity, and love. We are a noble family . . . At least, we were long ago. Kindel disowned everything father taught him in pursuit of nothing but strength and power."

"Such traits may have sufficed amongst the Zo'rhan, but against the Ma'tuul, they only served to send many of our people to their graves," Kindel interjected. "You speak as though I am some kind of criminal, when it was I who liberated Zo'rhan from the terror of the Ma'tuul in the end."

"That's debatable," Damien responded, clearing his throat. "At any rate, I couldn't allow Kindel to continue on the dark path he'd chosen. He would kill our own people just to prevent the Ma'tuul from getting to them. He—"

"I struck quickly and vanished so that when the Ma'tuul arrived, they would find nothing but corpses. The theory was that it would make them think that they'd killed us all and leave Zo'rhan," Kindel cut in. "Though the plan didn't work in the end, it had to be tried."

"It was heartless and ruthless," Damien growled back, "and it had to be stopped." Looking back at Arus, he spread his hands in resignation. "So I took matters into my own hands. Our people have a tradition known as the Je'tai, which translates roughly to 'Blood Duel.' In a blood duel, two Zo'rhan fight hand to hand to the death. I made the challenge in haste as Kindel was preparing to leave the planet in search of advanced weaponry and technology that he could use against the Ma'tuul. I didn't want to kill him, and through the whole battle I kept trying to persuade him to reconsider his intentions. In the end, I was victorious, but I couldn't bring myself to kill my own brother. After how vocal I'd been about my feelings regarding his methods, it would've been hypocritical of me to murder him."

Kindel snorted with crossed arms. "Instead, you brought shame to both the Thorus family name and the honor of the Je'tai itself!"

Damien's eyes narrowed. "For someone who values strength over everything, I find it odd to hear concern from you regarding honor."

Kindel took a dangerous step toward him. "True honor comes in making the necessary sacrifices to ensure that the greater good prevails. That is why you hide behind that alias of yours. That is why you deny your true heritage. Because you think you can run from the burden of shame you must now carry for the rest of your life."

"I do not deny my shame," he replied, shaking his head. "And I see it every time I look in the mirror in the morning. But the reason I refuse to carry the Thorus name is the association it brings. I will not allow myself to be connected to you in any way, regardless of what dishonor it brings to me."

"Then, the Zo'rhan race agrees with Kindel?" Arus asked. "Do they also value power over honor?"

"No, not at all. I tainted the Thorus name by refusing to complete the Je'tai, not because I disagree with Kindel. Though there are some who follow him, the Zo'rhan race, for the most part, acknowledges his actions as unnecessarily violent and not in the true spirit of our people."

"They will see things differently once I have exterminated threats like the Aeden Alliance, the Kyrosen, and any other factions that seek to disturb the peace. I will not stand by and let—"

"You have said yourself that the Aeden Alliance is weak," Damien interrupted, stepping to meet Kindel's angry stare. "If we are so weak than why do you view us as a threat?"

"In the wrong hands, weakness can be just as dangerous as strength."

"He's right, Arus," Vultrel said, stepping around sensor terminals. "The Aeden Alliance cannot offer you proper protection. There are a number of groups out there who could easily overpower the _Refuge_ and force you to follow their orders. Kindel won't allow that to happen to you."

But Arus could only shake his head in disdain. "I can't believe what you've become," he said, his voice nearly a whisper. "You were my brother, Vultrel. I used to think I could count on you for anything. But now, I don't even know you. Master Eaisan would be disgusted with what you've done."

Anger flashed in Vultrel's eyes, mixed with something that almost looked like hatred. "Our fathers were blinded by humanity's isolation from the rest of the universe. They knew nothing of what went on amongst the stars, and thus their ideals of honor and nobility worked for them. But things are more different out here than they could've possibly known. It takes more than a simple moral vision of right and wrong. It takes a willingness to do whatever is necessary to win. You have to have the _will_ to win, Arus, and I'll do _whatever_ it takes to see that what happened to my father never happens to anyone else again!"

It was like speaking to a complete stranger. How Vultrel could've ever allowed himself to submit to such ideology was baffling, but regardless of how hard it was to believe, there he was, standing against Arus alongside the very man who sought to control him. He and Arus had faced off in battle many times before, but it had always been in a friendly competition of skill. Now, however, Vultrel was ready to stand beside the enemy in a fight to the death. _So be it, Vultrel. If this is the path you've chosen, so be it. But I cannot follow you._

With a split-second motion that would've been missed by a blinking eye, Arus yanked his small hunting knife from its holster at his waist and sent it sailing toward the white-clad man that held Kitreena. Her captor was forced to take a hand away from her shoulder in order to catch the blade, but that gave Kitreena all she needed. She violently yanked an arm free and thrust her palm up into the face of the black-masked man, stunning him long enough to pull her other arm loose. Snatching her whip from the floor beside her, she leapt over the communications array and dashed to Arus' side. "Thank you," she said quickly, snapping her whip against the floor angrily. Damien joined them near the lift while Vultrel and the two masked fighters surrounded Kindel.

"You're not going anywhere," Thorus said with a laugh. A shimmering light outlined his body as he clasped his hands together against his chest.

Damien's eyes widened as he stepped in front of Arus. "No!" A blazing ball of fire burst from his palm and crashed into Kindel, knocking him back several paces. The flames incinerated his shirt and scorched the flesh underneath, but the pain never reached his eyes. "We have to attack! He's going to try to teleport Arus back to the _Black Eagle_! We can't allow him to complete the teleportation technique!"

"You're outnumbered," Kindel gloated, clasping his hands together again. "The deed will be done before you even manage to lay a finger on me."

A blip on Arus' sensors indicated a life sign rising through the lift shaft. A quick scan brought a smile to his lips. If his suspicions were correct . . . "Don't be so sure!" he said confidently. "The odds are about to even themselves out."

Before any of them could question him, the lift doors began to slide apart. A large man carrying an enormous sword ducked through the doorway, clad in blue pants and a matching vest. His muscular physique heaved as he hoisted the weapon over his shoulder, flicking long strands of blond hair from his face as he did. An emblem depicting a wild boar was fixed to his vest. "Kindel Thorus, I presume?" Muert growled, his voice like a rolling thunder. "I have business with you."

The sudden fear that Muert may not have come to help struck Arus like an arrow through the chest. His loyalty to his family had been made clear, and there had been no effort to hide his feelings about Kindel. Still, if Muert could somehow iron out a deal with the Armada to ensure the safety of his family . . .

"Either you return my family to me, or you will die here and now."

The smile returned to Arus' face in a flash. Whether or not Muert had decided to ally himself with the Alliance was irrelevant now. At least they had a common enemy. The rest could be sorted out once Kindel was dealt with.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Kindel said, eyeing Muert sideways. "I don't believe we've met bef—"

"You have the remains of the Kyrosen race in your custody, yes?" Muert cut him off, ominously shifting the enormous sword on his shoulder.

The Vezulian Admiral looked as though he was about to laugh. "A Kyrosen? I've long suspected that the Alliance was in league with your kind! Now I have all the confirmation I need! Not only will your family not be returned to you, but all the Kyrosen be exterminated when I return to my ship!"

Muert set his jaw, and a brilliant sphere of electricity surrounded his body. "You fool!" he shouted, his voice resonating throughout the bridge. "Your selfish ambitions will be the end of you!" He dashed forward with the agility of a cat, speeding between Arus and Damien with his sword held high. The electrical streaks slithering around his body drew toward the blade, crackling and popping with each arc of light. Vultrel stepped in front of Kindel with his own sword drawn, and the two weapons clashed with a furious thunder that sent violent reverberations through the floor.

"You take Scimitar, and I'll take Kalibur," Kitreena whispered into Arus' ear.

"Right . . . Wait, which one is which?"

"Scimitar is wearing black," she told him, lunging toward the fighter in white. With careful snaps of her whip, she lured him to the right as Muert and Vultrel's battle shifted to the left. That left the man in black, apparently known as Scimitar, to guard Kindel alone. For whatever reason, Thorus did nothing. He simply stood back and watched, his eyes seeming to weigh and consider each fighter. _Why doesn't he send us to his ship if he has that power?_ It would've made sense, but Kindel instead watched quietly.

"Arus," Damien whispered in his ear, "you've got to get Scimitar away from Kindel so that I can attack."

With an acknowledging nod, Arus readied his sword and stepped toward the dark-clad fighter. Scimitar wielded two finely polished blades of his namesake, twisting them in a whirling flourish around his body as he prepared to meet his challenger. "I have stood against some of the most feared men in the universe, boy," he said in a raspy voice. "None have been able to best me, and I doubt that a human child will be able to achieve what they could not."

"Perhaps not," Arus admitted as his sensors displayed a diagnostic of Scimitar's strengths and weaknesses. He was nimble and quick, with strong legs and endless endurance, but whatever advantages he possessed in speed were lost in strength. Not a weak fighter by any stretch of the imagination, but his agility outclassed his power by far. "Then again, I'm told that there are no other fighters out there quite like myself. So prepare yourself, because you're about to be pushed like you've never been pushed before!"

Scimitar crossed his two weapons as Arus attacked, bringing his blade down hard on the intersection. The instant he did, Damien rushed past them and began his own assault on Kindel. Scimitar shot a quick glance at his master as he pushed the weapon away, but Arus gave no time for recovery, spinning and winding the sword around in a fluid sequence of attacks. Every strike was deflected with ease, bringing soft chuckles from Scimitar with every blow met and each thrust returned. Arus casually inched back as the fight raged, drawing Scimitar away from Kindel so that Damien had more room to maneuver. His sensors analyzed his opponent's movements and anticipated each attack with ninety-eight percent accuracy, but Scimitar's arms darted about with the speed and fluidity of a viper, swords coming within inches of flesh before being knocked away. If Arus' mechanical arm had possessed the ability to sweat, it would've been dripping. As it was, he could feel beads of perspiration soaking his forehead and causing his shirt to cling to his back. It took only a blink of his eye at an inopportune moment to gain a bloody gash on his knee, and the subsequent wince of pain rewarded him with another on his left side. _Even with the implant fully activated he's managing to remain one step ahead of me!_

When an awkward twist forced Scimitar to spin his body in a full circle, Arus brought his sword down with all of his might, not really caring where it landed so long as it connected with Scimitar's flesh. It did, slicing through the sleeve of his right arm and drawing a thick stream of crimson. He grunted angrily, dropping his sword and clutching the open wound. His black glove darkened further as it absorbed the blood, but seconds later he was back on the attack, pounding away at Arus' weapon with recharged fury. He showed no signs of slowing down—his endurance was indeed impressive—but Arus forced himself to remain optimistic. _I hope you're watching, Vultrel. Scimitar's defeat will only be the beginning of the downfall of the Vezulian Armada._

*******

The two stones clacked together in Kindel's pouch as he shuffled backward, preparing to repel the large Kyrosen's attack. To his surprise, Vultrel stepped between them, his stony gaze meeting his attacker's without so much as a twitch. Their swords met with a loud pop of electricity, and the boy immediately began to draw the Kyrosen into a duel to Kindel's right. Their fight had barely begun when Kitreena attacked, pulling Kalibur into a battle on his left side. That left only Scimitar to protect Kindel from Aldoric's onslaught. _I should've teleported the boy back to the ship when I had the chance,_ Kindel thought, cursing himself silently. _There's no way I can risk it now, not with two fights in progress so close to me. If any of them were to bump into me while performing the technique . . ._ He shuddered at the thought. Teleportation was risky in the first place. If someone where to be shoved into him during the process, the two could reappear as one mangled and mutated being somewhere. The threat of such a disaster was too great during a skirmish, but if he could bring a momentary halt to the fighting, it may be possible.

The boy called Arus was certainly an awkward sight to behold. The implant wasn't nearly as large or bulky as Truce's schematics had made it out to be, though Sartan had warned that the Alliance would probably try to modify it. Still, seeing child and machine coexisting in the same body was startling, to say the least. He seemed to move and act naturally—something Kindel had wondered about—and his words were clear and intelligent. There had been no indication of the alleged advantages Arus supposedly held over others in combat, but judging from the way the boy was staring down Scimitar, they were about to get a glimpse of what the device could really do.

As if answering to Kindel's unspoken request, Arus brought his sword down on Scimitar's weapons with impressive force. As soon as the clash rang out, Aldoric darted around Kindel's assistant and lunged forward with his fists clenched. Kindel sidestepped his brother and drove a stiff punch into his ribs, followed by another that Aldoric managed to knock away with his forearm. A powerful kick connected just above Kindel's hip, missing his belt pouch by a hair. _If you damage the Lephadorite or the amulet, Aldoric, I'll make your death more painful than you can possibly imagine._ They fought back and forth, twisting and flailing in the elegant style of the warrior race, each punch thirsty for blood, each kick intended to kill. Zo'rhan strength was something humans often underestimated; their primitive bones were like twigs to Zo'rhan fighters.

A grunt of pain behind Aldoric attracted Kindel's attention, and he was rewarded with a punch to his jaw. Angrily, he directed an open palm toward his brother and unleashed a stream of magical fire into his chest. Aldoric was knocked onto his back with a dull thud, clutching at the smoldering wound. Kindel looked to the source of his distraction and froze. Scimitar, now holding only one of his swords, was clutching his free arm as a stream of blood trickled though a slash in his sleeve and soaked into his gloved fingers. _No one has ever injured either Scimitar or Kalibur!_ Arus' sword met Scimitar's remaining weapon with a smooth precision and strength that even the most skilled swordsmen trained for many years to obtain. Kindel had pushed both of his assistants far beyond their limits before they began to show such quickness and accuracy. Now, of course, they were two of the most experienced and deadly warriors in the universe, but it had taken many years to bring them to that point. To see such experience come from a child was unimaginable!

Aldoric had risen to his knees, his dark eyes narrow over bared teeth. "Nothing short of death will stop me, Kindel. I won't let you win!"

The crack of Kitreena's whip drew Thorus' gaze. Despite the fresh blood dripping from her nose and the streams of red that ran from her forearm and gathered at the tips of her fingers, the girl's weapon was lashing from side to side in a violent rage. But that wasn't what made Kindel gape openly. A purple light consumed her eyes, and smoke seemed to be rising from her body. _She's learned to Morph!_ Not only that, Kalibur was hunched over in pain, gripping his middle where Kitreena's whip had apparently connected. _Both of them? How could two children have broken through the defenses of my best soldiers? How can it be possible?_ Surprisingly, the only thing that seemed to be going in his favor was Vultrel's battle with the Kyrosen. With movements faster than Kindel had ever seen from a boy of his age, Vultrel spun his sword in a blur much too quick for the bulky man to defend against. Bleeding gashes dotted his arms and legs, and while the Kyrosen was panting heavily, Vultrel looked like he could continue fighting for days. _Who_ are _these kids?_

A series of explosions rumbled in the distance, followed by a crackling transmission from the communicator at Aldoric's belt. "Aeden reinforcements reporting for duty. Sorry for the delay, Damien. We got held back there longer than we'd anticipated."

Kindel craned his neck around as one of the two carriers blocking the _Refuge_ exploded in a massive ball of flame, sending a shower of debris clattering across the bridge's viewport. Two Aeden battleships emerged as the flames dissipated, accompanied by a sea of starfighters and assault transports. The force of the blast knocked everyone to the floor, though the loss of the carrier was the last thing on Kindel's mind. Around him, the fallen warriors were shaking their heads and slowly pushing themselves up. Aldoric groaned loudly and held a hand against his charred chest as he rose to his knees. The others were recovering as well, but the momentary break in battle was all that Kindel needed.

Leaping to his feet, he clasped his hands in front of him and extended his energy toward them. At first, his intention was to return only himself, his allies, and Arus to the _Black Eagle_ , but he couldn't pass up the opportunity to eliminate Aldoric and Kitreena as well. The Kyrosen would come too; there was no sense in leaving him behind so that he may strike back at another time. Teleporting so many people required quite a bit more concentration and slightly more time, but only a few mere seconds. The icy warmth of the white glow surrounded them, the floor shifted beneath his boots, and the light dissipated to reveal the hangar bay of the _Black Eagle_.

The hangar was largely barren. Most of the fighters had been launched long ago, leaving nothing but abandoned fueling hoses and inactive maintenance arms littering the floor. A few damaged starfighters sat in the far rear of the hangar awaiting repairs alongside several passenger transports, but for the most part, the room was wide open. Kindel grinned proudly as he shifted his eyes to Aldoric, who was practically snarling with rage. His voice boomed in the expanse of the hangar. "I have won, brother. You can resist to your hearts content, but your refusal to resort to the measures necessary to defeat me guarantees my victory over you and your pathetic Aeden Alliance." Arus raised his weapon threateningly, joined by Kitreena and her whip, eyes still encompassed by amethyst, but Kindel merely laughed at their courage. "Boy, what I offer you today is a greater honor than any soul across the universe has been given. You shall be the guardian of peace for years to come, driven by the power of that wondrous device in your head."

"I will never serve your vision of peace," Arus shot back. "You make a mockery of peace and justice."

Kindel smiled warmly. "In time, you'll understand." Especially once the implant was reprogrammed. "You'd be a fool to pass up this opportunity." Kitreena said something under her breath, and Arus nodded in return. "I want to make you into the ultimate soldier, Arus. Why doesn't that sound appealing to you? Why do you insist on mediocrity?" The girl's fists were so tightly balled that her knuckles had turned white. _Is that mist swirling around her body?_ "And what has you so angered, my lady? I would be happy to give you a spot alongside him, if you so desire. Fitted with an implant like his, you could—"

The air suddenly grew cold as ice, and slithering streaks of electricity wrapped around Kitreena's hands. Her hair whipped violently as she threw her head back, and the scream she unleashed sent an icy chill down Kindel's spine. _What in the name of the Maker is she doing?_

*******

A burning sensation rolled through Kitreena's chest as she fought to maintain control of her senses. There had to be a way to wield her power while preserving control over her actions. _How can he speak of enslaving Arus so casually? How dare he even consider the thought?!_

"And what has you so angered, my lady?" Kindel asked through that infuriating smile. "I would be happy to give you a spot alongside him, if you so desire. Fitted with an implant like his, you could—"

The power welled up in her like a surging volcano, rushing down her arms and flooding through her chest. An oddly thrilling pain shot up and down her spine like jarring shocks of electricity, and she threw her head back with a blood-curdling scream. Vivid red light blinded her vision as she rose into the air, teeth clenched so tightly that she thought they might shatter. A tugging sensation drew her arms and legs toward her chest as all of the pain and warmth and anger and hatred gathered in the center of her body. It almost felt as though she was being torn apart and crushed into a ball at the same time. She was vaguely aware of the voices shouting below her, but their words were muddled beyond recognition. Finally, just when she thought her skull was going to burst, she threw her arms and legs out in an explosion of searing hot air and fire as the built up pain and raging emotions were replaced by an energy so pure and so powerful that Kitreena felt as though she could lift the _Black Eagle_ itself onto her shoulders.

When she opened her eyes— _I don't even remember closing them_ —she was hovering close to the ceiling of the hangar, nearly twenty paces above the floor. Every inch of her body down to the last strand of hair on her head was shrouded by a brilliant white light. In her hand, she held her whip, surrounded by a fire so intense that the weapon may as well have been _made_ of it. Energy pulsated in her veins with such purity and sweetness that she felt more invigorated and renewed than ever before. With the power she held, she felt nearly sure she could destroy every ship in the Vezulian fleet with a mere glance.

And that was the problem.

Though it had initially seemed that her furious rage had subsided, the truth was that it had become stronger than ever. However, it now manifested itself in the form of an arrogant ruthlessness that she was eager to unleash upon her enemies. The thought of tearing Kindel Thorus limb from limb brought a grand smile to her face. Anyone who sought to hurt the innocent would pay for what they'd done. Those that stood against her would suffer and perish at her hands. _No, I can't think that way._ But it was the only way. _No! I have to control myself!_ Kindel, Scimitar, Kalibur, and even Vultrel would have to die. _NO! I must keep my composure!_

It all happened in a matter of seconds. Scimitar and Kalibur, who'd drawn themselves up on either side of Kindel like regal soldiers defending their king, were on the ground before Kitreena even realized she'd moved. She could feel the anger pulsating through her, driving her fists forward as she streaked like lightning toward Vultrel. He, too, fell in a flash. That left Thorus alone to defend himself, and waves of pure energy radiated from her body as she shot toward him.

It took only his firm hand around her wrist to bring her to a sudden halt.

"My dear," he cooed mockingly, "you overestimate your strength. Aldoric may be able to stand toe-to-toe with me in battle, but our power dwarves your insignificant Morpher's talents." He twisted her wrist with a sudden snap, wrenching a shriek of pain from her lips. Bones shattered in his grip, bringing her to her knees as she frantically clawed at him with her free hand. How could he have such power? The energy that had driven her so strongly only moments earlier faded under the throbbing pain in her wrist. Damien had built her up to believe that she was almost invincible in her transformed state. _I'll have to kill him, too._ No! The power that came with Morphing was tainting her perception of everything! _But he lied to me. How could he—?_ The power was fading.

"Kitreena!" Damien's voice echoed in her brain. Or had it been Arus? One or the other, or perhaps both, they were calling to her. Footsteps raced across the floor, pounding in her brain like a blacksmith's hammer against the anvil, and were silenced by a brief explosion of light that Kitreena couldn't make out. Her vision was wavering, she realized.

A new sensation formed in the pit of her stomach, like the feeling one experiences just before vomiting. The room began to spin and heave, and she squeezed her eyes closed, still hammering helplessly against Kindel's grip with her good hand. Her breaths shortened to quick gasps as the rocking in her stomach shifted, spreading to her arms and legs so that her body felt like it was full of jelly. No, it was _made_ of jelly. Bones of jelly, surrounded by surging water that sloshed back and forth. It rocked higher and further with each passing moment, daring her to empty her stomach all over Kindel's boots. _He certainly deserves at_ least _that._

The glowing light that made up her body solidified and faded, reverting Kitreena to her true form. Kindel finally released his hold on her wrist and tossed it away, and she barely sensed the floor smacking her in the face before everything went black.

*******

The steel joint of Arus' shoulder was warm to the touch, but thankfully, it had withstood the force of Kindel's attack. Beside him, Damien was groaning through his teeth as he pressed a hand against the fresh wound on his shoulder. He seemed to be in no hurry to get up, perhaps aware of little besides the pain. Combined with the large burn on his chest, Damien had taken a good deal of abuse during the fight, though everyone had certainly shared in the bloodshed. Kitreena lie in a heap beside Kindel, blood still fresh on her chin and arm, wrist twisted in an unnatural way. To see her power reduced to nothing had been more than discouraging. When she had Morphed at Cathymel, she had downed _everyone_ in seconds, even Sartan Truce. But Kindel had not only withstood the explosion, he'd also tossed her aside as little more than a doll. Could _anything_ hurt him? Damien had managed to land a few punches, but Kindel seemed almost unaware of the dried blood smeared below his lip. The only thing that gave Arus any hope was the knowledge that the man did, in fact, bleed. If he hadn't seen it for himself, he may have thought Thorus to be invulnerable.

Besides Kindel, the only one still standing was Muert, who seemed to have a better idea of what he was up against. His confidence had long vanished, replaced by an uneasy determination. Whether he still thought he could win or not was irrelevant. He was certainly ready to die trying. _It may come to that if you're not careful, Muert._

Kindel made his disinterest with the Mage clear. "I have no time to deal with the petty problems of a Kyrosen," he said. "Had you approached me in a civilized manner about being reunited with your people, I may have been able to arrange something. As it stands, however, I'm afraid I have no choice but to dispose of you." His hands rose before Arus could even get to his knees, and a thick band of electricity shot from his palms, sending Muert's huge body sprawling across the floor. A rapid series of twitches and spasms rolled through his arms and legs before he stilled, hands going from clenched to limp in an instant.

Seething, Arus tightened his grip on his sword as he rose to his feet, ignoring the pain of the gashes on his side and knee that Scimitar had opened. "It doesn't have to be this way," he growled. "It's not too late for you to turn away from this path. Don't allow pride to prevent you from making the decision you know is right! Stop this mindless violence right now!"

Kindel sighed heavily, his hands dropping to either side in apparent resignation. He turned from Arus and stepped away, glancing toward his motionless assistants as he did. "You certainly have picked up much from my brother." He sounded tired as he spoke, and he wiped his forehead before facing Arus again. "He doesn't understand the universe as I do. I realize you've been raised with values and morals similar to those I was taught as a child, but like me, you have been confined within the boundaries of a planet where you could not see the real danger that waited amongst the stars. The Zo'rhan knew of interstellar travel, possessed ships, and even had some trade agreements with a few neighboring worlds, but we didn't go out of our way to interact with the galactic community. As a result, we were very sheltered people. In that way, you and I are the same."

Arguing wouldn't get him anywhere; Arus knew that. Perhaps a sympathetic ear, an understanding tone, a friendly voice of reason might prevail where force had failed. "That may be so," Arus conceded. "But just because there are heartless and violent people out there doesn't mean that I have to use the same tactics to battle them."

Kindel's eyebrows rose questioningly. "You think I am heartless?"

"You want to exploit the implant so that you can control me. I don't see much compassion in that."

Surprise of surprises, Kindel laughed at that. "No, that is what Aldoric told you. He is convinced that I am trying to follow Sartan Truce's footsteps. I assure you, I am not. My intentions are pure as snow. I simply wish to protect you from the _real_ criminals out there. I want to protect you from Sartan Truce. From the Kyrosen. From the Alliance. From yourself."

The last words registered as Arus opened his mouth to defend the Aeden Alliance. Instead, he furrowed his brow. "From myself?"

Thorus' smile took on a warm look now, one that somewhat resembled a father's concern for his son. "My boy, you are exceedingly young, and you don't know how to properly handle the power you've been given. I intend to rewrite your programming so that you'll have better control over how you use it."

Arus' lips tightened. "I will _not_ be programmed," he said. "I am a living soul! I will not have anyone telling me how to—"

A rolling sequence of explosions rocked the ship. Garbled voices came from Damien's communicator, but he made no move to respond. Kindel's own comm device came to life with a panicked male voice. "Sir, we are sustaining heavy damage. The Aeden reinforcements are overwhelming us! We've already lost five squadrons and four starships! What do you—"

"Take care of it," was all Kindel said. "I have important matters to tend to. I leave it in your capable hands."

"But Admiral, we are losing—"

With a click of a button, the voice fell silent. Kindel returned the communicator to his belt as another series of blasts rattled the _Black Eagle_. Turning his eyes back to Arus, he shook his head with a solemn expression. "Arus, you don't understand. I do not intend to control you. But a living brain has never existed side-by-side with a machine before. Imagine! A mechanical device that coexists with a living organism! Each depending on the other for survival, unable to exist independently! It is mind baffling, and though I'm sure you _feel_ as though the two are functioning properly right now, I'm willing to bet that certain tweaks could be made to improve your consciousness, speed, reflexes, and a number of other characteristics, all which could significantly strengthen you, both as a fighter and as a man. Arus, you are living a flawed existence, but once I am through with you, you will be _perfect_. Between the implant, your natural talent, and this . . ." He pulled a shining golden amulet from his pouch, followed by a round purple stone of some kind. "Arus, you could be unstoppable. No amount of evil will be able to stand up to your power."

Using his mechanical eye, Arus magnified his vision to get a closer look at the objects. The stone was something his scanners didn't recognize, a molecular structure unlike anything on record. The amulet was made of pure gold, embedded with jewels of varying color and cut. He was almost hesitant to ask what Kindel had up his sleeve. "What . . . is that?"

Thorus' eyes shifted from him to the stone and back again before he spoke. He almost seemed to be reconsidering whether or not he wanted to explain. "I have named this stone 'lephadorite,' derived from the Zo'rhan word for power, _Lephad_. Through extensive and exhaustive research, I have determined that, when fitted in the center socket of this amulet, this stone will grant the wearer access to a vast array of supernatural abilities." A dangerous thing. "To a human, this stone would open up a whole new world of senses and talents that they might never have experienced before. What's more, I've devised a way to clone it." He pulled another stone, about as big as a pebble, from his pocket. "My scientists are hard at work perfecting the process, and when they are finished, I will be able to give one to every soldier in the Armada! And you, Arus, are to be the first!" A dangerous thing, indeed.

Far too dangerous to be left in Kindel's hands.

"All I must do is surrender to you, and you'll give me the amulet?" he asked, stepping forward casually.

Kindel's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Not quite," he said, clutching the stones in one fist and the amulet in the other. "Once I have reprogrammed the implant to . . . receive the new abilities the lephadorite grants, you will have it."

"So . . ." Damien's voice startled Arus. He had managed to make it to his knees, though he was still holding an arm against the wounds on his chest. "You intend to make an army of implant-fitted, magic wielding, battle-programmed cybernetic soldiers?"

"We will be unstoppable, Aldoric," Kindel said flatly. "No conquering savages would dare challenge us then."

With a stifled grunt of pain, Damien forced himself to his feet. "Then I will do what I have to do." He clasped his hands together in front of him, and a white glow surrounded his body.

Kindel recognized the glow immediately; his eyes grew nearly as large as teacups. "Aldoric, what do you think you're doing?! You don't possess the strength of body or mind to perform the teleportation technique!"

Damien grinned as the light grew. "Desperate times, brother."

Driven by the timing and precision of the implant, Arus could only watch as everything seemed to move in slow-motion. The light surrounding Damien began to expand, encompassing the bodies of the allies he intended to transport back to the _Refuge_ with him. As it did, Arus made a desperate lunge toward Kindel, slashing the hand that held the two lephadorite stones with his sword. Kindel recoiled in shock, instinctively releasing his grip on the rocks in the process. The light grew brighter and brighter, but the cybernetic eye gave Arus a clear view of them as they fell. He dropped to the floor alongside the lephadorite and scooped them up in his free hand, then shoved his blade through the dangling loop of the amulet's chain and violently yanked it from Kindel's grasp. Just as it had when Kindel initially teleported them to the _Black Eagle_ , the world winked out momentarily, and when it came back, he was sitting on the floor of the bridge onboard the _Refuge_. How it had all happened, he couldn't explain, but a message blinked across the sensor report that read "Visual Perceptive Functions Offline" just before the _Refuge_ reappeared. Regardless, he was safely away from Kindel Thorus for the time being.

And he held the two Lephadorite stones in one hand while the amulet was looped around the blade of his sword in the other.

Groans of pain grabbed his attention. His scanners indicated three life signs, two of which were very faint. Pushing himself up, he stuffed both rocks and the amulet into his pouch. What he saw filled him with a mixture of relief and terror. Kitreena was lying on her stomach beside the sensor array, groaning softly every time she exhaled. Muert was lying on his back near the communications terminal, though his chest rose and fell at a dangerously slow rate. Damien was the worst of all, crumpled on his side by the lift doors, motionless as a corpse. His signal on the implant's radar was the weakest, and it was fading with each second.

Arus grabbed his communicator and pushed the intercom button. "Help! I need help on the bridge! Damien and Kitreena have been seriously injured, and we have another wounded man up here! Please, whoever can hear me, send help right away!" The plea was not exactly the embodiment of protocol, but that was the last thing on Arus' mind.

"Ugh . . ." Kitreena's moan grabbed his attention. "It . . . hurts . . ."

Arus sheathed his sword as he rushed to her side, ignoring the pain from the bloody gash in his knee as he knelt beside her. "I'm here, Kitreena," he told her. "Help his on the way. Please, just hang in there." He lifted her into his arms as best as he could, trying not to jostle her wrist too much. "You did well out there today," he said in soothing tones, trying to keep her calm. He ran his fingers through her hair as he talked to her, eyeing the sensor readings of Damien's life signal. _Come on, come on! Why doesn't someone—_

The lift doors slid open to admit Doc Nori and at least five other medical technicians, four of whom immediately dropped at Damien's side. The other headed for Muert. Nori himself took a look at Damien before coming to Arus. Despite the carnage scattered across the bridge, the old man was his usual jovial self. "You all look like you tried to jumpstart the engines with your teeth while standing in a pool during a lightning storm!" he said, bursting into laughter. When Arus gave him a wry smile, he waved his hands and flashed an assuring grin. "Don't worry, Son. We've been handling this stuff all day long. Seen much worse, to tell you the truth. They will be fine."

Kitreena moaned again, squirming weakly in Arus' arms before collapsing against his chest. "Feel . . . sick," she murmured before promptly emptying her stomach all over his shirt.

Arus couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, this tops off a perfectly wonderful day."

### Chapter 9

For a man who'd focused his studies on planetary ecosystems and indigenous species, rescue and repair operations may as well have been a different language. Lieutenant Petreit looked over the damage reports again and again, trying to decide where to begin. His training in tactical operations had been limited, but with the fleet facing as much devastation as they were, every available body was called upon to assist with the recovery efforts. It wasn't that Petreit objected to helping; he simply didn't know where to begin. One of the battle commanders had dropped a packet of papers detailing a portion of the damages in his lap and told him to calculate the resources needed to complete those repairs. Following that, he was to gather the manpower necessary using as few men as possible. What kind of equipment would be needed to do repairs in space? What would have to be done first? Where would the supplies come from? Petreit couldn't help but feel a bit overwhelmed.

Outside, the battle wore on. Starfighters wove through jagged debris, looping up and down in pursuit of their prey, most of which was Vezulian. The flaming wreckage of several starcruisers created a ring of destruction inside a perimeter of Aeden battleships and carriers. Blasts shook the _Black Eagle_ on a near-constant basis while Treage Nardale rattled off damage reports from the sensor terminal. Sixty-two percent of the Vezulian forces had been lost, and that number rose with each of Nardale's reports. Damage to the hull of the _Black Eagle_ had sealed off at least twenty decks and destroyed nearly twenty-five of her forty laser turrets. It was not going well at all.

"How long is this going to go on, Captain?" young Aarn Goldsyn asked. He had made less and less of an effort to hide his unease as the battle wore on.

"Until Admiral Thorus says otherwise," Tiras responded flatly. "He knows the situation better than us. We must trust his judgment."

That was an idea that didn't sit too well with Petreit. Although the Vezulian Armada had gained the upper hand almost immediately, the advantage had all but vanished once the Aeden Alliance reinforcements arrived. The tide of the battle had turned as quickly as a page of a storybook, and the Vezulian forces had been on the defensive ever since. Complicating matters was the admiral's sudden silence, leaving the entire fleet to fend for themselves. Most men were smart enough to recognize a lost battle when they saw one, but without Kindel's order to retreat, they had no choice but to press on with the fight and pray for the best.

Thorus' voice exploded over the intercom like a thunderclap, startling Petreit so that the pile of papers in his hand nearly spilled across the floor. "Captain Tiras, this is Admiral Thorus." He didn't sound frantic or even worried, but he was clearly furious about something. "Transmit the orders to the rest of the bloody fleet to retreat and rendezvous at the nearest planet. I don't care what it is." His voice rolled like the crashing of a mighty tidal wave. "Just get us out of here. I am returning to my office, and I am not to be disturbed by _anyone_ for _any_ reason. Failure to comply will result in _harsh_ penalties. I hope I've made myself clear." There was a shift in the tone of his voice at the end of the message that set butterflies loose in Petreit's stomach. Certainly his anger was due to the massive losses the Armada had sustained, but Kindel rarely lost his composure under pressure. And in the few times that Petreit could recollect where the admiral had allowed his temper to slip, he hadn't come anywhere close to the furious anger that his voice now held.

"Lieutenant Petreit, report to my office at once!" Kindel's booming order nearly made Petreit lose control of his facilities. The last thing the soldier wanted to do was face Kindel while he was in such a vile mood. Better to be sent out alone in a starfighter to take on the entire Aeden fleet.

"You heard him, Soldier!" Tiras shouted, pointing toward the lift. "Get moving!"

Petreit's teeth chattered as he made for the lift, face whiter than the paperwork he'd been studying. His brain desperately worked to find some way to excuse himself from the meeting, but there was rarely a good reason to ignore a summons from a superior commander. Especially when that commander happened to be Kindel Thorus.

He was standing outside Kindel's office before he knew it, finger quivering with fear as he pressed the visitor alert button. The door slid open almost instantly, revealing the face of a man whose jaw was so set with anger that he looked as though he might explode in a rage of madness at any moment. He stood in front of his desk with his arms crossed and teeth bared little more than five paces away from the entrance. Narrow eyes locked onto Petreit as soon as the door opened, and Kindel was questioning him before he'd even gotten a foot into the room.

"Have you discovered the origin of the lephadorite yet, Lieutenant?" he nearly snarled.

There was no right answer to that question, Petreit knew. None that he could give, anyway. "Uh . . . I'm afraid not, Sir." Kindel's face darkened. "That is, you see, every lead that I came up with brought me back to the same conclusion. The Lifestone theory, I mean."

"You've learned nothing more?" The admiral's disgust mixed with rage in his voice, creating a tone that almost sent Petreit scrambling away in a frightened panic. "What in blazes have you been doing all of this time?"

Horrified, Petreit heard himself begin to make excuses. "You see, with the battle and all, it has been impossible to really focus on research. I mean, because we are all needed to help recover and—"

Kindel seemed to lose control of his temper for a moment as he clenched his fists and let out something between a growl and a scream. Then, with Petreit's eyes nearly doubling in size, he raised an open palm. "I have been too lenient with my soldiers," he sneered, shaking his head. "But that will soon be remedied."

The lieutenant collapsed to his knees, no longer concerned with which words tumbled through his lips. "No, Sir! Wait, I'll do anything! Let me show you that I can—"

"Yours will be the first of many sacrifices today!" Kindel shouted over him. "The universe will learn not to incite the anger of Kindel Thorus!"

Petreit's pleading wail was muted by the sound of the blast that burst from Kindel's hand. Blue light drowned his vision, bombarding his body in a searing pain like none he'd ever experienced. Flames incinerated his clothes instantly, burning through his flesh as though coming from within. How could a commanding officer do this to his own soldier? For centuries, Kindel Thorus claimed to pursue peace and harmony for the galaxy. How could this kind of senseless murder further that agenda? Why had Petreit, even after seeing fellow soldiers meet a similar fate, continued to follow the Vezulian Armada?

For Lieutenant Petreit, those questions would never be answered.

*******

The corridors of the prison level were relatively quiet compared to the rest of the ship. The hum of the engines and dull whirring of the climate control systems were occasionally broken by distant clatters and clangs where early repairs were already underway and bodies were being exhumed from areas where furniture and equipment had buried them during the battle. Rumor had it that an overheard report to Captain Tiras had assessed the damage to the _Black Eagle_ to be quite extensive, and the overall impact to the Vezulian Armada to be nearly disastrous. It wasn't that the Alliance had been stronger or more skilled; they simply summoned enough reinforcements to overwhelm the Armada. To everyone's shock, they'd allowed the Vezulian fleet to withdraw without putting up a fuss. Probably Damien's work. That soft spot of his that led him to show mercy on his opponents would come back to haunt him one day.

Vultrel exhaled heavily has he passed through the rows of empty cells. His chest throbbed with every breath, thanks to Kitreena. The last time he'd looked in a mirror, half of his face had been a swollen shade of purple, though one of the nurses in the infirmary had run an odd blue light over it and told him that the treatment would heal him up in a day or so. Odd medical practices these people had. It was a wonder they hadn't learned how to resurrect the dead. He ran his fingers through his hair and winced as pain rolled across his chest like a galloping horse. Damien's girl packed a mean punch.

No doubt Kindel had been disappointed that Vultrel was unable to lure Arus away from the Aeden Alliance. Whether or not that was really necessary anymore was a question that Vultrel had been grappling with since waking. True, the implant would be better utilized by Thorus, and the benefits to Arus would be great, but he could no longer question whether or not the Alliance could properly protect him. Arus himself had been greatly underestimated, it seemed. The big news going around the ship was that both Scimitar and Kalibur had been injured, something that had never happened before. Some of the Vezulian soldiers had even complimented Vultrel on his own abilities. He wasn't surprised by that, however, as nonstop training for a week against both of Kindel's assistants had taught him a great deal. And as soon as he healed, he intended to resume that training. _Do we really need to pursue this quest to capture Arus?_

_Of course,_ he answered himself silently. _If the Armada doesn't go after him, the Kyrosen will._ Better for Kindel Thorus to get his hands on the implant than Truce. Kindel had a much more ideal vision for the universe, one without pillagers or conquerors. Truce simply wanted money and power to propel the Kyrosen back to their former glory. _I won't let you see it happen, Truce. That dream ends for you tod—_

He stopped short at the sight in front of him. The door to Sartan Truce's cell was half-open, and he was nowhere to be seen. Vultrel slipped inside and took a look around, searching for what, he wasn't sure. The bed was cleanly made; the floor was spotless. Upon inspection of the lock, there were no signs of tampering that would've suggested an escape. Nothing indicated a struggle; in fact, his cell now looked like all the other empty cells of the prison.

"He's gone," a woman's voice came from behind. Vultrel looked back to see the Belvid woman, sitting serenely on the bed in her own cell. "He left during the battle."

"How?" Vultrel asked, closing the door behind him as he exited. "How did he get out?"

"One of his comrades came and released him," she said, her blue lips twisting in disgust. "He dismissed the two guards with the authority of Kindel Thorus, and they obeyed without question. Curious that Kindel would suddenly decide to trust the man."

Kindel Thorus had ordered the release of Sartan Truce? Highly unlikely, though if it were true, it had to relate to Arus; it was the only thing that even made a remote amount of sense. "Did either of them say anything?"

She shook her head, flowing locks of maroon swaying as she moved. "I am but a lowly prisoner. They had no reason to speak with me."

"No, I don't mean that. I wanted to know if you may have overheard anything that would explain this."

"Just that the battle had taken a turn for the worst, and that no one could get in contact with Kindel Thorus," she told him.

If Truce was released by one of his own men at a time when Kindel was unreachable, then it was likely that he didn't know that the Mage was free. Truce could be lurking about anywhere, watching and waiting for the right moment to strike. The very thought made Vultrel shudder. He looked back at the Belvid for a moment, and her head jerked up as if something on his face had caught her interest. Standing, she walked to the cell door and reached her hands through the bars. "Your eyes," she murmured softly. "Let me see them."

The sudden request startled him. "What? Why?"

"The eyes hold a great deal of insight into a person's soul," she replied, reaching for his cheeks. "And yours . . . trouble me."

_I don't have time for this. I have to warn Kindel about Truce._ "Maybe another time," he said curtly. "I have important business to attend to at the moment."

A moment later, he wished he'd have stepped backward. She forcefully gripped his face between her hands and pulled him toward her. "It will only take a moment." Teal eyelids lowered slightly as she focused on Vultrel with a penetrating stare that made him feel like a child about to be scolded. "You have been deceived," her voice was barely audible. "There is an enormous confidence in your eyes, yet the truth is hidden away behind it. You know what is right, yet you've nearly forced yourself to forget it so that you can justify your actions. That arrogance in your eyes has blinded you to what you know to be true, and it will lead you down a dark and dangerous path."

Vultrel finally forced himself free, rubbing his aching cheeks, particularly the left. Apparently that bruise hadn't healed as quickly as the nurse had predicted. "Don't make assumptions about me," he said in as firm a voice as he could muster. "You don't know what you're talking about." Who was this woman, a prisoner he'd met once and whose name he'd forgotten, to tell him about the path he walked in life?

"Deny what you wish," she shrugged, returning to her bed. "Even if you do not wish to see the truth, it will still be there."

Rolling his eyes, he headed back the way he'd come as fast as he could. _The truth I once believed in is dead. The universe doesn't respect those ideals, and so a new truth must be formed to overcome the destructive nature of society._ Not that any of it mattered at the moment. The most pressing task was to warn Kindel about Truce's escape.

The lift was inoperable due to the damage incurred during the battle, leaving the emergency stairwell as the only method of traversing between floors. The twisting tower of stairs was dark and cold, illuminated only by the dim lights on the dull grey walls. Unlike the rest of the corridors, there where no carpets or viewports here, creating an incredibly isolating feeling that compounded with each echoing stomp of Vultrel's boots. The bruise on his chest ached with each leap and bound, but there was no way that he was going to let Sartan Truce get the upper hand on him again.

When he finally stumbled into the hall just doors away from Kindel's personal room, his legs burned, and sweat rolled down his cheeks. Using the back of his hand, he wiped his forehead as he hit the visitor alert button. The doors didn't budge. Again, he pushed the button, silently pleading for an answer. No response came. Perhaps Kindel wasn't in his office?

The next option was the bridge, but Captain Tiras and the rest of the crew were the only soldiers there, minus one of the cartography officers. Tiras checked the prisoner logs from one of the computer terminals, and the readout showed that Kindel's authorization codes had been verified before Truce was released. The man who had dismissed the guards before opening Truce's cell had been Olock, who claimed he was simply following Thorus' orders. There was no way to verify that, however, as Kindel had apparently threatened anyone who disturbed him with a fate that would make even the toughest man plead for death. That left Vultrel with a very uneasy feeling in his stomach, but Captain Tiras was more optimistic.

"Don't worry," he assured. "If the admiral's authorization codes were verified with the guards, then he must have ordered the release personally. He probably sent Truce over to the _Falcon Mist_ with the rest of the Kyrosen. I'd heard rumors over the past several days that the Kyrosen were going to be sent to battle ahead of Vezulian soldiers to minimize our own losses going forward. Given what happened during our skirmish with the Alliance, I can't say I disagree with the idea. My guess is that this is a part of that restructuring plan."

The explanation didn't sit well with Vultrel at all. The Kyrosen could've been reorganized without Truce, unless they'd decided on a mutiny against Kindel and his orders. Perhaps it was a diplomatic move to gain the Kyrosen's trust. Truce would know his people's strengths and weaknesses well; maybe he was sent to help assign soldiers based on their skills to ensure that their talents were best utilized.

Or maybe Kindel's authorization codes hadn't come from him at all.

Whatever the case, it meant that Sartan Truce was a free man, and if he was released by Olock, he was likely back under the protection of the rest of his people. "Where is Olock now?"

"Likely onboard the _Falcon Mist_. The admiral did put him in command there, after all."

And if Truce was with him, that effectively put _him_ in control. After seeing what Sartan had managed to create with the limited resources left over from the wreckage of his ships back on Terranias, Vultrel didn't even want to imagine what the Mage would cook up with an entire starcruiser at his disposal. He was a threat too great to be left alone, too dangerous to be left alive.

The way forward was crystal clear. The _Falcon Mist_ would have to be destroyed.

*******

Watching the stars glide by was once a soothing sight, one that helped Kindel to relax and temporarily forget about his troubles. It was nature at its finest, a visual wonder of the Maker's Grand Design where greed and power and war meant nothing. To one star, the strength of another meant little. It continued to shine its own light without concern of whether or not it was the brightest in the heavens. To a planet, the size of another planet was irrelevant. Each continued to float peacefully through the black abyss of space regardless of the properties of the other. There was something admirable about those of the Maker's creations that lacked consciousness or intelligence. A planet would never seek out and conquer another. A star would never murder another. Sure, two planets sometimes collided within their own patterns of flight, and stars sometimes collapsed and exploded, but such an event always brought about something new; a new planet emerged from the rubble of two, new stars from the dust and gases left behind by old. There was always something beautiful happening, always a positive future to look forward to.

But now, as Kindel stared through the viewport, endlessly grinding his teeth in anger, comfort was nowhere to be found.

_Curse that boy! I offered him everything, and he spat it all in my face!_ He paced the floor as his hatred bubbled within, forcing his fists to clench ever tighter. After everything he'd gone through to ensure the safety of the lephadorite, everything he'd done to keep the information classified, all of his efforts were blown by his own catastrophic blunder. No, it _could_ be salvaged. If the _Refuge_ could be destroyed, then the lephadorite could be recovered from the wreckage. Or perhaps they could be forced to surrender. One way or another, they would _not_ win. _He will pay. Aldoric, too. He's been poisoning the boy's brain from day one. With any luck, the teleportation has left him a mutated mess of a creature._ Aldoric had never had a gift for teleportation; it was a skill shunned by most. But he had shown a new depth to his power by invoking the technique, an act Kindel never would've expected. _They're stronger than I anticipated. More determined. More skilled._ And with the lephadorite and implant both in their hands, they were more powerful as well.

"No!" Kindel snarled, whirling away from the viewport. "I will not allow your power to exceed my own, Aldoric!"

There was only one option left, one that Kindel had resigned himself to using as soon as the stones had been stolen. There was great risk involved, but if he wanted to secure his position as the most powerful man in the universe, he would have to rise to the challenge. Strength never came easy, especially not the kind that Kindel sought. Then again, if he couldn't overcome the danger, if he couldn't handle the pressure, if he couldn't muster the strength to control the power necessary to defeat Aldoric, then he didn't deserve the distinction of being known as the greatest to ever live. He would never have considered resorting to such drastic measures if he didn't believe it to be truly necessary, but the threat the Aeden Alliance was now imposing on the universe was too great to be ignored.

Taking a deep breath, he slowly drew back the cloth that kept the shimmering sword concealed atop his cabinets. The sparkle of the diamond azure hilt was complimented by the equally exquisite twinkle of each gemstone embedded within it. The blade, clear as glass yet stronger than titanium, reflected Kindel's face with startling perfection. He was a man out of options. A man struggling and clawing for whatever advantages he could get. Images flashed in his mind, memories of the day he'd first touched the hilt of the weapon, memories of being brought to his knees by the intense energy that had radiated throughout his body. How could he even be sure he could harness such power? What made him think he could do it now when he couldn't even bring himself to lift it back then?

Aldoric's words surfaced in his brain like a shark's fin piercing the ocean waters. "Desperate times, brother."

_I won't hold it for long,_ Kindel told himself. _Just long enough to reclaim what is rightfully mine._

Hesitating, he realized his hands had come dangerously close to the weapon, and he drew them back as though bitten by a viper. According to the ship's trajectory readout, they would reach the nearest planet in another hour. It was a forested world called Arynias, a planet populated by intelligent—if underdeveloped—creatures called the Ayaans. They were thus far unaware of the existence of the other life forms throughout the galaxy, though they seemed to be in no hurry to explore space. Similar to Terranias, they possessed the intellect required to pursue wondrous technology, yet they didn't seem to have any interest in it. Such a primitive culture would make for more than suitable bait to bring Aldoric and his companions running.

His hands floated too close to the weapon once again, and Kindel yanked them away. Tearing his eyes away from the sword, he returned to the viewport and gazed at two blue auras glowing faintly in the distance. They seemed to be billowing azure smoke, though he couldn't quite make them out. _No matter, I have more important things to concern myself with._ He tried to visualize himself hoisting the sword, controlling the incredible power with ease. In reality, he knew that much more focus and determination were going to be required, but if he could manage to convince himself capable of wielding such a weapon, perhaps the actual act would be a bit easier to handle. Even if Aldoric had discovered the secrets of the Lephadorite, and even if Arus turned every function of the implant against him, both would pale in comparison to the strength of the sword forged by the fires of heaven and wielded against the might of Kuldaan himself. _My intentions are pure; I only seek to destroy legitimate threats to the universe. I shall hoist the sword with the blessings of the Maker as Azriel once did, and evil will crumble at my feet._

#######

### END OF VOLUME TWO

### Preview: Eye of the Tornado

### Volume III of The Fourth Dimension

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I think so. Give me a minute."

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

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

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

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

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

Olock nodded. "Several."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#######
Special thanks to my family for all of their support, and to my beautiful Laura Crump for never giving up on me. Most of all, thank you God for giving me the opportunities to get my ideas onto paper.

*******

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The adventure continues in Eye of the Tornado, Volume III of The Fourth Dimension!

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