Valiant: Tales From The Drift

[Tails #37: Tear The Veil]

Log Date: 2/15/12765

Data Sources: Lysanne Arrignis, Jazel Jaskolka

Event Log: Lysanne Arrignis

Dandelion Drifter Skipper-1

3:07pm SGT

“You think she’s already down there?” I say, hanging onto the frame of the cockpit’s hatch.

“I find it highly likely, considering what my harpies have reported.” Raikaron replies from where he’s sitting in the copilot’s chair, regularly checking his phone. “I did not expect her to get here this quickly; I thought we would have at least a couple of days to familiarize ourselves with the planet, based off what Sång had told me. I know with certainty that Azra is aware that there are many eyes on her, and she may have decided to move up her timetable to throw off those that are working against her.”

“This is going to change our approach.” Milor says from the pilot’s chair. “The original plan was to get down there and set up an ambush in the temple. If she’s gotten there ahead of us, the only point where we might get the element of surprise is as she’s coming out of it.”

“W-will it be a good idea to fight her if she comes out of the temple with Andalus?” Ozzy asks from where he’s seated in the passenger cabin along with Dandy, Jazel, and Jayta. “The whole point of going to the temple was to grab the sword before her and use it against her…”

“Andalus will not measurably increase the danger she presents to you all. Whether or not she has the sword, the seal still compels her to give you all a fair showing.” Raikaron affirms. “If the sword comes into her possession, it simply gives her a broader range of tools to employ against all of you in battle. She still must use them fairly and proportionately.”

“Shit, gettin’ another call in from the Tareya planetguard.” Milor says, glancing at one of the screens on the dashboard. “I’m guessing they’re still pissed we dropped a skipper into atmosphere without waiting for permissions and a reentry corridor.”

“Didn’t we tell them we were here on CURSE business?” Jayta asks.

“That would’ve flown with the Challengers. Not with CURSE.” Milor says, flipping a couple switches on the dash so he can check a couple of other screens. “CURSE built their entire brand on yielding to the sovereignty of nations and planets. They’re supposed to get permission before running operations on a given world. Tareya’s government didn’t call us here, and we didn’t call ahead to ask permission to handle business on this world, so what we’re doing here isn’t exactly welcome.”

Raikaron turns his head towards the long-range sensor screen that Milor’s pulled up. “Do you need me to handle those for you?”

“Handle what?” I say, coming into the cockpit and peering over the back of Milor’s seat to check the screen.

“They sent a couple of strike fighters to intercept and escort us to the nearest starport.” Milor mutters, motioning to the two contacts on the screen. “Still a few minutes out, but they’ll be here soon enough. You said you could handle them, demon boy?”

“I could, yes.” Raikaron says, adjusting his glasses.

“Wait, what do you mean by ‘handle’ them?” I demand quickly. “You’re not going to bring them down, are you?”

“Hardly. I have no intention of punishing innocent soldiers for doing their jobs, and I don’t imagine disposing of them would do your group any favors on the diplomatic front.” Raikaron says, steepling his fingers. “It should be enough to simply redirect them. Confuse their sense of direction, give them a few ghosts to chase while we make our assay against Azra. If you’ll allow me a moment, I’ll do that now.”

“Did they really have to send two strike fighters after us?” Jazel asks from the cabin behind me. “This is an unarmed skipper, heading into a completely uninhabited part of their world. Dispatching two military jets for an interception seems like an overreaction.”

“Just because a vehicle is unarmed does not mean that it is harmless.” Dandy points out. “Unarmed vehicles can still carry dangerous cargo, and a skipper that does not wait for landing permissions is typically something that raises red flags with the planetguard.”

“Well, normally we would wait, but when there’s a demon goddess that’s gotten the jump on you, you can’t afford to sit around in orbit waiting for the planetguard to shuffle paper.” Milor says over his shoulder. “Speaking of which, everybody brought something they could use to trim fox tails, right?”

“I have a knife, yes.” Jazel confirms.

“I acquired a vibrobladed knife to meet that requirement, yes.” Dandy confirms. “We also have an assortment of aerogel blades for those that are not able to provision their own bladed weapons. They are in one of the weapons lockers in the cargo bay.”

“Bluugh. Aerogel?” Milor grunts. “Are we sure that’s what we wanna bring to a fight with a demon goddess?”

“It was all that could be sourced on short notice.” Dandy replies. “I know it is not ideal, but it is what we’ll have to work with.”

“What’s the problem with aerogel?” Jayta asks, shifting in her seat.

“Aerogel is used for forming and creating objects on the spot. It’s very light and it can form extremely sharp edges, but it’s also brittle and prone to breaking or shattering against hard objects.” I explain. “It’s easy to eject the blade and form another one, since it has such a low density as a solid versus when it’s a liquid, but it’s viewed as a mugger’s weapon. Cheap, brittle, disposable, and you can get a ton of uses out of a single vial of liquid aerogel.”

“The fighters have been diverted.” Raikaron announces, unsteepling his fingers. “You will not have to worry about them; they will be spending the next few hours chasing a phantom back towards one of Tareya’s equatorial cities.”

“I’ll be damned, they’re actually pullin’ away.” Milor says, glancing at the sensor screen. “Suppose you are useful for something after all, demon boy.”

Raikaron gives a benign smile. “Oh, thank you, Deputy Milor. I’ve almost been tempted to say the same thing about you from time to time.”

Milor opens his mouth, then presses it shut, letting off an aggravated exhale and a little shake of his head. He’s been finding over the last few weeks that his quips and twanging frontier barbs have no effect on the demon Lord — Raikaron’s congenial demeanor and his sincere, backhanded compliments are the perfect counter to Milor’s country swagger. And I will admit, it’s been satisfying to see someone give Milor the verbal slapdown he’s undoubtedly earned after years of fast-talking digs at the expense of other people. It doesn’t seem like he’s accustomed to having a competitor in that arena.

“Whatever.” he mutters. “So we scooted down here in a rush because Azra got here early, and we didn’t have time to huddle on the ship. Since this isn’t an ambush anymore, it’s an interception, we need to come up with a different plan of action. What’s our play here?”

“Deal with the cultists, since they’ll probably be standing guard outside the temple.” Jazel says, checking the knife he’s taken to carrying with him more and more often. “Once we’ve killed them, get in position for Azra once she leaves the temple. The moment she’s out in the open, we pin her down and go for the tails.”

Milor considers that. “…that’s a good start, but we need a little bit more than that. If we can get the element of surprise—”

“The entrance to the temple is on a flat expanse with almost no topographical features within a three-mile radius.” Raikaron says before Milor can finish, extracting a pocketbook from his greatcoat and opening it.

“He is correct.” Dandy confirms. “Based on the coordinates given, the publicly available maps, and what I can see from orbit, our destination is on the glacial plain. Likely the only cover we will have is what will be provided by the skipper when we land.”

“Okay, not ideal, but we can work with that.” Milor exhales patiently. “So we’ll need to put this bird down close to the temple’s entrance, facing the cargo bay away from the temple so the cultists can’t shoot right up into the skipper. We can use the body of the skipper for cover, and then we can—”

“Kill the cultists and deal with Azra.” Jazel finishes for him.

Milor glances over his shoulder. “Kid, look. I know you really wanna get your fox back, but this plan needs more steps than just ‘kill cultists, trim fox tails’. We need an actual strategy, or we’re gonna get our asses handed to us.”

Jazel gives an impatient roll of his eyes. “Fine. I have a honeycomb shield spell, so I can use that as mobile cover to get up on them while you guys are providing cover fire. Is that enough of a strategy for you?”

“Okay! That’s a good first step. That is part of a strategy. Specifically, it’s your part of the strategy.” Milor says patiently. “Now we have to figure out everyone else’s part of the strategy. Jayta, I hear you’re a brawler with a nasty spaceball swing — you mind taking point with your brother?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.” Jayta says quickly.

“Good. Strawberry soda, you’re our rifleman, so we’ll keep you in the back, and Ozzy, I hear you can sling a few spells…”

Event Log: Jazel Jaskolka

Dandelion Drifter Skipper-1

3:32pm SGT

There is a time and place for everything, even the dark arts.

I use my forefinger to navigate through my pentafractal grimoire, hooking my nail within the empty spell slots and using them to pull into the glowing depths of the tattoo. Raikaron’s words echo in my head as I take stock of the filled slots, each one containing a sphere flattened into a circle for the sake of storage.

Do you mind if I take a look? As a matter of professional curiosity.

He’d come to visit me in the lab now and again, usually when I was alone. I wasn’t stupid; I knew he picked the times carefully, probably to ensure others wouldn’t be around to listen or eavesdrop on us. Most often, he seemed to listen and offer advice — to encourage me in things that I think the others would’ve been opposed to. He was particularly interested in the little black book where I’d recorded the spells I’d learned from my past lives — though he couldn’t use the spells himself, he seemed to think that I should give them serious consideration.

Yes, I see why some of these spells might’ve disturbed you. Dangerous tools for a darker time… your earliest incarnations did not enjoy the civil luxuries of a more modern, peaceful age. Still, every key has a lock.

Talking with Raikaron was different than talking to anyone else. Despite the fact that he was a demon Lord, there was a certain… comfort in it. He had the demeanor of someone who had seen many things and had an open mind; and his residency in one of the hells meant that he was familiar with taboo subjects. At ease, even — and as a result of his background, he did not seem altogether bothered by the more horrific spells pioneered by my past selves. I could talk with him about my little black spellbook in a way that I couldn’t with Lysanne or any of the others — he would not judge me for its contents the way that the others would.

This one, I think. You will find this one most useful next time you encounter Azra in person, assuming you can channel it properly once it has been cast. And this one here — this is what you will need to defeat her. Choose the moment carefully, though. You will not get a second attempt.

His recommendations weren’t what I’d expected. Given the chance to peruse the little black spellbook, the two spells that he’d recommended weren’t destructive or powerful in the traditional, measurable sense. They seemed more utilitarian than anything else — spells that could have a range of uses, depending on how you decided to employ them.

I had almost questioned his decisions, had almost pointed out that there were other spells in the black book that were more powerful and had more concrete applications in battle. But there was a certain confidence to the way he’d pointed me to those two spells, almost like he knew something that I didn’t. And considering how he’d helped get CURSE off our backs, I knew he was there to help us — so he probably had good reasons for recommending the spells he had.

“Are you ready?”

I glance at Jayta, who’s in the seat next to me. She’s noticed the way I’m fingering through my grimoire, taking stock of my spells. “I don’t think I am.” I answer. “I don’t think I’ve been ready for any of the other stuff I’ve done up to this point, but I still did it. Because I have to; because it’s what I need to do to get Kaya back.”

She nods, looking down at her hands. “I know the feeling. You just kinda do it because you have to. Act first and worry about the consequences later.” She starts fiddling with the bracelets around her wrists; each one has a little silver charm hanging from it. “I’ll be right there with you. The House of Regret trained me to fight, so I’ll be able to hold my own; you don’t need to worry about me.”

I feel a little guilty, because I hadn’t been worrying about her — I’d been so fixated on Azra that I’d spaced the fact that Jayta would be in danger right alongside me. “Raikaron will protect you, right? The rest of us have blessings from Maelstrom and Radiance; did Raikaron do something similar for you?”

“I think I already have that protection. I’ve been working under him for a while, and whenever I’ve been in deep danger, he’s always intervened to keep me safe.” she says, glancing towards the cockpit. “Azra knows that I’m under Raikaron’s protection. I was there during her centennial, and she saw me snuggled up to Raikaron. She knows.”

“Alright kiddos, comin’ in for our final descent!” Milor calls from the cockpit, the nose of the skipper angling down slightly. “Grab your things and make sure you’ve got all your spells, firearms, and stabby sticks on hand and ready to go. We’ll be touching down in sixty seconds, doors open at sixty-five, deployment at seventy. Remember to stick to the plan, communicate with your comrades, and don’t be a martyr. If this goes south, we’re gonna need all of you alive so we can do it all over again on another planet. Is that understood?”

We give our murmured confirmations to Milor’s orders, and start making sure we have everything ready. Tareya’s an ice moon, and the temperature reflects that; at the equator, it sometimes gets up to fifty or sixty degrees, but once you head towards either of the poles, the temperature regularly gets below freezing, diving to subzero as you get close to the polar caps. As a result, we’re all dressed in winter clothes, doing our best to arrange our equipment around the added bulkiness. I’m lucky in that regard — all I need is my Viscori knife and my grimoire, neither of which take up much space or weight. But Lysanne’s got her rocket launcher to contend with, Dandy is checking the strap on her plasma rifle, Milor will have to keep a hand on his plasma shotgun, and so on.

“Alright, we’re about to touch down. Get ready to deploy.” Milor calls as the skipper starts to slow down, angling up slightly as the landing gear comes out, and the thrusters start to to change orientation for a vertical touchdown. Dandy unbuckles and starts moving towards the door leading to the cargo bay; I unbuckle as well, but remain seated until I feel the skipper bounce a little on landing. Once it’s settled, I stand up as the others do, and make my way to the cargo bay, where the ramp has unsealed and is starting to lower. Pulling my honeycomb shield spell out of my grimoire, I pop it, the translucent yellow shield forming in front of my hand as I make my way down the ramp.

Arriving outside is a bit of a shock, because the air is so cold when you step out into it; it takes your breath away, and not in a good way. Out here on the glacier, it’s just flat and white, for miles and miles; you can see furrows in the glacial sheet where wind might’ve eroded or carved the top of the sheet, but aside from that, everything is an unbroken expanse of white. With no terrain to break up the wind, it howls across the top of the sheet in ruthless gusts, and I find I have to take a wider stance just to keep myself steady. The skipper’s landing gear likewise seems to be drilling down into the ice sheet to anchor itself in place, and keep the wind from moving it out of position.

“Contacts spotted, they’re raising fortifications and assuming a defensive posture.” Dandy says from where she’s already come off the ramp with her plasma rifle raised. I follow after her and see what she’s talking about: Azra’s followers are loosely scattered around what appears to be a recently melted hole in the ice sheet, but a couple of them are using magic to raise the loose snow on the glacier into packed walls. “Lysanne, you will need to breach their defenses with one of your rockets. Jazel and Jayta, begin deploying forward so you can take advantage of the breach when it presents. Ozzy and Milor will follow up behind you as the reinforcing wave.”

I know if I stop to think about it, I’ll hesitate, so I don’t stop and I don’t think about it. Keeping my hexpaned shield in front of me, I start moving towards the snow wall, with Jayta staying on my heels; turning my grimoire hand slightly, I pull out another spell sphere and let it pop. It further divides into five spheres, each one containing a distorted swirl of light, that settle into an orbit around my shoulders. Behind me, I can hear a familiar mechanical racking; glancing back, I can see that Jayta’s pumping what looks like a plasma shotgun, a hellish orange glow seething along its rail.

“Where’d you get that from?” I ask. I certainly don’t recall seeing her bring any weapons onto the skipper.

“You’ve got your witch tricks, I’ve got my hellion tricks.” she says, then nudges me with the muzzle. “Eyes forward, they’re shooting at us!”

I twist back around in time to see a coilgun spike ping off my honeycomb shield, one of the hexagonal panes shattering as another one filters in to replace it. Though the yellow panes, I can see one of Azra’s followers pointing a handgun over the snow wall, firing away at me, at least until a plasma bolt nails them in the shoulder, knocking them back over the wall. I keep moving forward, angling my shield in the direction of the next cultist to pop over the wall; this time it’s a bolt of red lightning that slams into my shield, shattering multiple panes as the discharge ripples across the surface. The panes from the edge move inwards to fill the gaps, leaving the shield much smaller than I’m comfortable with, and I shout over my shoulder. “If you could put a hole in that wall, that’d be great, Lysanne!”

I don’t get an answer, although there’s a sizzle as a plasma bolt hits the snow wall next to the lightning cultist, and he ducks back under cover. The moment he does, another one pops up, and I swing the shield back towards the next one, barely quick enough to catch the next coilgun spike before it hits me. With how cold it is out here, shouting is pretty hard on your throat; but I’m about to do it anyway. But before I can get Lysanne’s name off my tongue, a rocket goes hissing past us, slamming into the snow wall beneath the cultist and exploding.

The detonation has me staggering back a couple steps, while the cultist gets flung into the air with a burst of fire and snow. As he comes back down on ice with a heavy thud, I lurch forwards, rushing for the hole in the wall and drawing my Viscori knife as I do so. Charging through the drifting smoke and the hole in the wall, I lock onto the first cultist I see and launch myself at them before they can get back to their feet, letting out a wild witch-scream as I pin them down, stabbing with reckless abandon. Somewhere behind me, I hear the crackling blast of a plasma shotgun being discharged, mixed in with the shouting of the cultists behind the wall.

Movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention, and I jerk my honeycomb shield up in time to block a baton crackling with crimson lightning. Several of the yellow panes pop and shatter as the lightning sparks against them; the shield is shrinking at a prodigious rate. Acting without thought, I use what’s left of it to pivot the baton off to one side while I lunge right up at the cultist, my knife out and leading the way straight into her throat. She doesn’t react quickly enough, the blade phasing through into her throat; though she manages to grab my arm, I flip my grip on the handle and keep the momentum going, slamming her down against the icy ground with the knife still in her throat.

A flash light and the sharp tang of conflicting types of magic catches my attention; glancing to my side, I can see red lightning sparking against the cerulean glow of the spellwork woven into my cloak, and just beyond it, the cultist that cast it at me. Smoke is rising from the fabric; dropping the honeycomb shield, I use that hand to point to that cultist, and then to another one on my other side. Two of the five orbs circling me zip in those directions, detonating on impact; even if they aren’t direct hits, the blasts of fire and repulsing force send both cultists flying, all while the cultist with my knife in her throat continues struggling beneath my hand.

As their bodies thud to the ground, I turn my attention back to the one I’ve got pinned, ejecting the vial in the hilt of my knife. It’s full of the soul of the first cultist I stabbed to death; catching the vial, I tuck it away, then pull out another one, jamming it back into the hilt and twisting the cover shut. The cultist gasps, clawing at my jacketed arm as the blade starts siphoning her soul out of her, but I don’t shift my grip until I see the line down the center of the knife glowing. At that point, I yank my knife away, the blade phasing back out of her throat; though it’s left unmarked, her head drops back against the ice as the rest of her goes limp.

Standing up, I hear muffled thumps, and I turn around to see Jayta beating a prone cultist with what looks like a spaceball bat wrapped in barbed wire. I only barely recognize her; she’s morphed into what looks like a pale white demon with large, leathery wings, digitigrade legs, and wavy horns riding through her pale yellow hair. She only stops when the cultist isn’t moving anymore, and it looks like she’s turned at least two other cultists into corpses as well.

The crunching of scorched snow draws my attention, and turn around to see Milor rushing through the hole in the snow wall, with Ozzy gasping and staggering along behind him. Milor’s got his plasma shotgun up and primed, though he lowers it after giving the area a once-over. “Well damn. Were you guys planning on leaving anything for us to clean up?” he says, throwing his arms out.

“You were supposed to be right behind us.” I say, starting to walk towards one of the two cultists I sent flying earlier. As I go, I point to the other one; one of the orbs around me zips towards him, a direct hit this time. Limbs and chunks of ice go hurtling across the snowscape as I close in on the remaining survivor.

“Trust me, I tried, but Mr. Asthma Attack over here just about killed himself doing the fifty-yard sprint. I had to make sure he wasn’t gonna keel over on the way here.” Milor protests, motioning to Ozzy.

“Ah’m good. Ah’m good. We’re here. I made it.” Ozzy wheezes, heaving great big gasps  as he braces himself on his knees, his face ruddy-red as if he’d been running for miles. “Air up here. Just. Really thin and cold. Y’know? Must be… the altitude. Oh god have mercy… I think I need to sit down…”

“Alright, alright, take it easy, old dog.” Milor says, patting Ozzy’s back. “There’s a demon goddess around here somewhere. Stay alive long enough for her to kill you, alright? I’d hate to write on your tombstone that you got vibe-checked by an asthma attack.”

I change out the vial in my knife as I walk towards the remaining cultist, slotting in an empty one as I tuck away the filled one and zip my pocket shut. Kicking aside the arm he’s trying to use to fend me off, I slam my boot down on his chest, pinning him down. “When did you all get here and how long has Azra been down there.” I order, leaning my weight on that boot.

“You’ve got nerve, using her name.” he gasps as Lysanne and Dandy arrive, Dandy keeping her rifle leveled, while Lysanne has one of the aerogel blades out and at the ready.

“She’s your goddess, not mine. I don’t owe her anything, least of all respect.” I say, grinding my boot on his chest. “Answer my questions. If you continue wasting my time, I will have no reason to keep you alive.”

“All you need to know is Tirsigal will be reborn. You can’t stop it.” he grunts past my boot. “And you won’t live to see it.”

I notice too late that he’s swinging his hand, crackling with red lightning, towards my leg, and grabs it before I can pull back. In an instant, I’m racked with that familiar-by-now pain, as if all the pain receptors in my body were being welded open as the crimson lightning races over me. I can’t help seizing and convulsing as the pain rips across my body, and I lose track of where I am for a moment.

When I come back around, I’m on the ground, still twitching and shaking. Hands are on me, dragging me away, while the cultist is being slammed on the ground again and again by Jayta, who’s ragdolling him with a strength that I don’t remember her having, and that definitely outmatches her size. Eventually, she hurls him through the air hard enough to leave a bloody dent in the snow wall, pausing to catch her breath afterwards.

“Are you okay, Jazel?” Lysanne asks, placing a hand on my chest. It looks like she and Dandy are the ones that dragged me to safety while Jayta brutalized the cultist.

“I hate redstreamers.” I pant as the pain zinging through my body slowly starts to subside, leaving an unpleasant tingling in its wake.

“Well, that was a temper tantrum on par with the ones I had when I was a kid.”

Even though I recognize the voice and know who it is, I still twist my head to see Azra’s fluffy, white-tipped ears rising out of the hole in the glacier. The rest of her quickly comes into view as she strides out into the open; unlike the rest of us, she’s wearing ripped daisy dukes and a tank top cut off at the midriff, with a jacket hanging off one shoulder. Even from here, I can feel the heat; it’s like she brings her own tropical atmosphere with her, similar to the warmth that Radiance gave off when we had lunch with her out on the balcony. In one hand she’s got a sword, letting the tip drag along the ice behind her; the blade is pale blue and translucent, as if it had been carved from a single massive shard of aquamarine.

“Bitch.” I rasp, scrambling to try and get back to my feet, despite the residual pain still reverberating through my body.

Azra shrugs. “Honestly, you’re not wrong. I am, categorically speaking, a bitch. The queen bitch, if you will. And I see you all have so helpfully congregated in one place so I can hand your asses to you all at once. I appreciate that.”

Jayta gets a hand under my arm, helping me to my feet. “None of us want to fight you. We’re doing it because you’ve got my brother’s girlfriend. Give her back, and we’ll leave you alone.”

“If I give her back, I won’t have a mortal vessel to finish my work. So unless you just so happen to have a ninetailed morphox in your back pocket, ready and willing to be possessed, I think I’ll keep this one for a little longer.” Azra counters, pulling the sword around in front of her to point it at us. “Now, which one of you should I kill first?”

“Look, foxbitch, we’ve killed your escort detail and got you outnumbered.” Milor says, pumping his shotgun. “The math isn’t lookin’ good for you.”

“Oh, so this is a numbers game?” Azra smirks, lowering her sword. A copy of her steps away from from her, followed by another, and another, and another, each one fanning out from the original Azra. Instead of a single Azra with nine tails, we’re now dealing with nine Azras that each have a single tail. “How’s the math looking now?”

Lysanne glares at Milor. “You had to say something, didn’t you.”

“How was I supposed to know she could do that?” Milor protests.

“How are we supposed to take her tails off now?” Jayta murmurs to me, keeping her voice low as the Azras start to circle around us. “We were supposed to take them off all at once. Will it still work if we take them off one by one?”

“I doubt it.” I mutter back as I finish digging around in my grimoire, pulling out one of the two spells that Raikaron had recommended to me. “Let’s focus on beating her, and then we’ll go from there. I’ll take the one with the sword.”

With that, I let the spell sphere pop. It fades away without any external effect, but in my head, I can feel the veil that separates me from my past lives start to tear open. The thoughts and the voices of all the people I have ever been — they start to bleed through as I lunge away from the group and towards the Azra that’s holding the ice blade. I know that what I’m doing here is dangerous — this spell isn’t good for my sanity or mental stability.

But when you’re up against a goddess that’s thousands of years old, it’s best if you bring a few thousand of your past lives to the fight.

Somewhere behind me, I can hear Lysanne yelling at me, probably for making the first move without warning. I don’t know what she says; it’s drowned out under the voices of my past lives. There are many of me, but most of the voices and thoughts filtering to the front at the moment are the ones that were warriors, who spent some portion of their lives in battle, or otherwise exposed to combat. And they already have ideas about how to handle Azra.

Pulling a hilt out of my cloak — one of the aerogel weapons that had been passed out earlier in the skipper — I flip the switch and turn it on. A thin pole telescopes out of the hilt, vanes flicking away from it, pulling open a mesh that acts as the scaffolding; the aerogel is injected along that mesh, quickly hardening and forming a narrow, brittle blade. I don’t slow down as I pelt towards Azra, and she grins, bringing the ice blade up to a horizontal stance. “Fearless! I like it! Show me a good time!”

Instead of returning her banter, I go for a clearing swipe at her legs when I reach her, forcing her to jab her blade down into the ground at an angle to block the swing. A portion of my aerogel blade shatters when it strikes Azra’s blade, but it’s put her sword where I want it: acting as a ramp where I can plant my boot on the flat of the blade, giving me a running start to a flying knee aimed at Azra’s face. Her grin disappears as she realizes what I was going for, and jerks to the side enough for my knee to miss — but doesn’t realize I brought my other leg around. The flying knee missed, but the flying leglock snaps shut around her head and neck, my momentum sending her staggering, twisting, tripping, and then falling as my weight drops both of us to the ice.

“Sonnuva BITCH!” she shouts into my belt buckle while I catch my breath. I think she let go of her ice blade when I got her head in a leglock, because both of her hands are now on my thighs, her claws coming out and digging into my pants. Little sparks of sunlight fizz against her nails as she comes up against Radiance’s blessing. “Get your CROTCH out of my FACE, you horny little WITCH!”

“Oh I’m sorry, you told me to show you a good time!” I snap back at her, my voice layered with voices of my past selves, like a chorus speaking in unison. Reaching down, I grab a handful of Azra’s scarlet hair, and throw myself sideways, rolling off my back and flipping Azra onto hers in the same motion. Keeping my legs clamped around her, I push myself upright into a sitting position, yanking my Viscori knife out of its sheath. “Give me my mate back!”

“You have five seconds to get off me before I bite your DICK off—”

“Give me my mate back!!”

“I swear to Maelstrom, I will DO IT, I will bite right through that goddamn zipper—”

“Yeah? You want it that bad?!”

“OH SHUT UP! That’s not what I meant and you know it!”

“Oh really? You’re the one that’s threatening to eat my dick!”

“I said I’d bite it off, you scrawny little runt, I never said I’d swallow!”

“Yeah? That’s what she said!”

“That IS what I said!!”

With that, her grip on my thighs tightens as she opens her mouth wide, jerks her head as far forward as she can in the leglock, and sinks her teeth into the crotch of my snow pants. I let off a high-pitched yelp, my leglock loosening on reflex as she snarls and growls, gnashing her teeth and starting to shred through the fabric. I try to shove her head back with the hand I’ve got tangled in her hair, but it isn’t deterring her, so in a panic, I grab one of her fluffy red ears instead, yanking on it. “Ah! AH! BAD FOX! Bad fox, stop that, stobbit!”

Azra yowls when I yank on her ear, tilting her head back and trying to relieve the pressure on it. “Let go of my ears, you little shit! Those are sensitive!”

“Not until you give my mate back!” I snap at her. In the background, I can hear the others fighting the other Azras; guns being fired, more aerogel blades being shattered, shouts and crosstalk as each of the other Azras taunt their opponents. I wish I could keep track of what’s going on with everyone else, but one Azra is almost more than I can handle; keeping track of nine of them is beyond my capability.

“I’ve already told you that’s not gonna happen.” Azra spits, baring her teeth at me as she starts sinking her claws into my thighs again. “And just because my mom gave you her blessing doesn’t mean you’re safe from me. It can only protect you from so much.” As if to reinforce her point, sunlight sparks start fizzing around her fingers as her claws cut through my pants and get closer my skin.

I hook the tip of my Viscori knife under her chin in response. “I will do it.” I threaten.

“I know you would.” she grins, just before evaporating in swirl of crimson smoke.

“Kid! Behind you!” Milor shouts from off to the side. My first instinct is to look around, but the legions of my past selves know better than that, and I duck and roll over on my back, seeing a ruby blade swing through the space where my head was. Another Azra is holding it, this one with two tails, and she brings the blade up for an overhead slash, the sword morphing into a katana as she does so. I point without thinking, and one of the two remaining orbs circling me zips towards her, catching her right in the sternum and detonating before she can bring the blade down. The blast sends her flying over Dandy’s head and shoves me back a few yards; scrambling back to my feet, I run over to where I dropped my aerogel blade, snatching it up and charging the Azra that just chokeslammed Lysanne into the ice.

“If I have to kill you eight times to get you where I can handle you…” I growl in my reverberant voice, thrusting the blade at her. Azra jerks backwards, the stab spearing past her, but I’m already twisting the blade ninety degrees and slashing it to the side, catching her in the throat. As before, this one collapses in a burst of crimson smoke. “…then I will.”

Down on the ice, Lysanne catches her breath, grabbing her aerogel sword as she struggles to her feet. “What’s wrong with your voice?” she wheezes as I scan around, taking stock of how everyone’s doing.

“I’ll tell you later.” I say as I lock onto Ozzy, who, rather than fighting, is just running from one of the Azras while she chases him in circles, screaming his head off. I point to the ice just ahead of that Azra, my last orb zipping over and detonating at her feet; she’s blown into the air, feet over head, though she twists around in the air like a cat, coming down on all fours and screeching at me as she lands. “We need to kill the clones and force her back into a single body.”

“Easier said than done.” Lysanne grunts, reaching into her coat and pulling out a vial, winging it another Azra charging us. It explodes in cloud of blue vapor that leaves that Azra staggering and falling over on her face, her balance clearly thrown as she struggles to get back to her feet. Lysanne runs her down, bringing her aerogel blade around in a cleaving slash; as that one collapses into crimson smoke, I notice another one pelting towards us.

“You got any more of those vials, Lysanne?” I call, sheathing my Viscori knife so I can take my aerogel blade in both hands.

“I don’t have enough to throw at all of them—” she starts to answer before she’s set upon by another Azra. With Lysanne occupied, I’m on my own once again, and the Azra charging me knows it. She holds a hand out, and I hear ice cracking behind me; the voices in my head order me to me to move, and I do so just the aquamarine sword goes spinning through the air where I was. Azra catches it, letting its momentum spin her around as she kicks off the ice with a shockwave that launches her a good thirty feet into the air. I start backing up when I realize her trajectory is going to bring her right down on me, and at the apex of her leap, she flips the ice blade around to grip the hilt with both hands, holding it downwards as she descends.

But I’m not ready for what happens when she lands. The weight of the impact fractures the surface of the ice sheet into long shards that radiate away from her, the ends tilted up into the air to form a spiky crater with Azra at the center. Everyone else is thrown into the air from whatever slab of ice they’re on, launched towards the center of the crater, myself included. Azra’s clones all evaporate, the one in the center of the crater regaining all her tails, and in the second before we’re all about to land there with her, she throws her arms out. A radial wave of force whips outwards, slamming all of us back against the sides of the crater.

The breath leaves me as I slam back against one of the ice slabs; it’s as hard as rock and just as unyielding. I slide down the slope of the slab I’m on, gasping for breath just the same as the others are doing; Dandy is the only one that doesn’t have to breathe, and she’s already lifting her plasma rifle to loose a couple of shots at Azra. Azra yanks her ice blade out of the ground to block both shots with inhuman speed, then makes a flicking motion with her free hand. The ice slab that Dandy’s on suddenly tilts in the other direction, launching her back out of the crater, and the Azra spins in place, pointing at the other slabs; they all likewise tilt backwards, flipping the rest of the Drifters back out of the crater. The only one that doesn’t is the slab that I’m on, leaving me in a conical arena where it’s just me and Azra.

Shoving to my feet, I bring my aerogel blade up once more, holding it horizontal with both hands as I start circling in towards her.

“Playtime’s over. Just you and me now.” Azra says, her hot green eyes burning into me as she mirrors my circling. “I see you, Aurescuran. You were not this capable last time we fought. You’ve torn the veil to call on your past lives; I look into your eyes, and I see thousands of warriors staring back at me.”

“We have overthrown tyrants, and defied goddesses.” I reply, the chorus of thousands reverberating through my throat. “And you are both.”

“And what price for this experience you summon?” Azra demands, letting the aquamarine blade drag along behind her, leaving behind a scar on the ice. “I see her memories; I know how you suffered last time the veil was torn like this. You almost lost your mind, lost track of who you were. That veil was not meant to be torn; mortals are not supposed to know what came before. You sacrifice your sanity to save someone who does not understand what it costs you to bring her back.”

“She came to get me back. I will do the same for her.” It’s my anchor, my lodestone; the one thing that helps me remember who I am among the convocation of voices that consume me.

Azra narrows her eyes. “All these weeks later, you still won’t give up on her.” She brings the ice blade up and around, resting it on her shoulder as she stops circling. “I won’t try to change your mind anymore. It’s a waste of my time and yours too. You’re stubborn and hardheaded, almost as much as I am, and I respect it. Since I can’t change your mind, there’s only one thing left to do: grind you to dust beneath my heel.”

She tilts towards me with that, and I move to meet her. Our blades meet, and mine shatters, but I don’t stop, fighting with what remains of it. The knowledge of lives gone by tells me that this fight can’t be a contest of strength, with the brittle blade that I wield; it has to be a dance, and so I treat it like one. When Azra slashes or stabs, I dodge or deflect; I never block, knowing that it will further shatter the other side of my blade to do so. Likewise, when I attack, I go in only when there is an opening, an overextension, an opportunity. Azra is as adroit as I am and more; she is quick to weave and twist away from my assays before they can land. Even with thousands of years of combat experience opened unto me, there are hard physical limits imposed by my body. I am still mortal, and Azra is still a goddess.

But that doesn’t mean this is easy for her. There is no more banter, no more jokes coming from her; her eyes flick and dart back and forth, tracking my movements and measuring my feints and ripostes. Experience counts for something, and it’s requiring her focus to counter my assays and capitalize on them, smacking aside my blade, deflecting it here and there, chipping away the brittle aerogel bit by bit. We are matched, at least until until the weariness of my frame catches up to me and I make a stumbling error when a backstep lands on a slick patch of ice. Noting my stumble, Azra immediately comes around with a wide, bisecting swing that forces me to block outright. The rest of the aerogel blade shatters, the telescoping spine bending out of shape as she forces it down, slamming it against the ice.

Knowing what’s coming next, I let go of the aerogel hilt and yank my Viscori knife out of its sheath just in time to deflect her wild swing back in the other direction. She knows she has the advantage in weapon weight and reach now, and she doesn’t hesitate to capitalize on it; that wild swing smoothly glides around into an overhead cleave that she brings down right on me. All I can do is throw my Viscori knife up, bracing the back of the blade as Azra’s translucent sword slams down into it, biting an inch deep into my knife and sending me skidding back. But it’s an opportunity; with her sword’s edge notched into my knife, I have the leverage advantage, and twist the knife to one side, forcing her blade out of the way so I can headbutt her. While she’s reeling, I yank my notched knife away from her sword, flip it around, and plant a hand on the pommel as I ram the phasing blade into her chest, shoving her back as far as I can.

Azra grunts, dropping her ice blade and staggering backwards a few steps before steadying herself. Grabbing my jacket, she nails me with a punch that probably would’ve snapped my neck if it wasn’t for Radiance’s blessing flaring and eating some of the impact; as it is, I see stars, the force throwing me clear and knocking me flat on my back. I can taste blood in my mouth, and as I reel, trying to brace myself up on an arm, I see Azra looking down at the hilt sticking out of her chest, reaching down to grab it and yank it out. The fuller down the center of the knife is glowing with a molten red light, and I realize, with a sinking feeling, what I’ve done.

“You DARE.” Azra seethes, her hot green eyes going from the Viscori knife to lock onto me. Behind her, the scarlet tails combust, morphing into undulating columns of raging fire. “You have the AUDACITY to use a Viscori knife on ME? To siphon the soul of a GODDESS?!”

Oh yeah, I screwed up.

I start to scramble backwards, but it’s a vain effort. Azra casts the knife away and is on me in an instant, grabbing me by the front of my jacket and slamming me into the ice. It fractures beneath me, cracks racing away in all directions, and though Radiance’s blessing flares around me, keeping me from being pulverized into a red mist, I can still feel my ribs groan. The solar corona wreathing me doesn’t seem to be deterring Azra; she lifts me up and slams me down again and again, using me to beat a dent into the glacier as I feel the bones in my torso start to creak and fracture in some places. If she keeps going like this, she will absolutely bludgeon me to death, regardless of Radiance’s blessing.

“Hey foxbitch!” someone shouts over the sound of me getting pounded into the ice. I faintly recognize it as Milor’s voice, followed by the discharge of a shotgun; a spray of superheated plasma splashes against Azra’s scarlet aura, and I can see Milor perched on the tip of one of the ice slabs. Dandy’s scaled the one next to him, leveling her rifle and taking a shot at Azra; the more concentrated bolt penetrates deeper into her aura, and she actually pauses to look over her shoulder. The moment she does, Jayta glides over the ice slabs ringing the crater, with Lysanne hanging from one of her hands. Lysanne pulls something out of her pocket, and points it at Azra—

And everything turns blindingly radiant and golden.

When I come around, it’s to find that I’m in a massive crater about thirty feet deep, sunken into the mush of half-melted ice filling the bowl. Little streams of water are trickling down the sides of the crater, and above me is what looks like the pale white underside of a steamy mushroom cloud. Everything hurts, though I think that’s because of Azra ragdolling me for twenty seconds straight.

Sucking in a hungry breath, I try to move, only to find confirmation that everything hurts and moving is a bad idea. The sound of boots through snowmush gets my attention, and I turn my head (since that hurts a little less) to see Raikaron coming to a stop nearby, standing over where Azra is laid out not far away. She’s spreadeagled on the ground at the center of the crater, like she took the full brunt of being nuked thirty feet down into a glacier, and there’s a blank, nonplussed look on her face.

Raikaron has his arms folded behind his back as he stares down at her over the rims of his glasses. “I assume, by your present expression, that this came as something of a surprise.” he remarks mildly.

Azra just lets out a short, wordless grunt, staring at the sky.

“Indeed.” Raikaron agrees. “I do not envy being on the receiving end of one of your mother’s spells. I hear she was a spectacular archsage during her mortal tenure.”

After a moment, Azra starts to move, peeling herself out of her mushy imprint in the half-melted crater. She staggers upright, stumbles a few feet, and faceplants right back into the snowmush with a wet plarp. Raikaron does not move to help her, simply watching.

“Perhaps you should mark this particular engagement as a draw for the time being.” Raikaron recommends gently. “It does not appear that either you or the heroes are in any shape to continue duking it out.”

Azra lifts a single hand with a middle finger extended in Raikaron’s direction, but she holds her other hand out as well. The aquamarine blade comes slithering over the edge of the crater, slipping and sliding down until she can grab it; stabbing it into the ground, she uses it to flip herself over, then points it it at the sky. Her form glows and blurs upwards, disappearing in a streak of blue.

With her departure, Raikaron turns and treads through the snowmush to stand over me, bright green eyes considering me through his glasses. “I see you took my advice.”

“It didn’t work.” I wheeze. “We didn’t win.”

“No, it did work. You weren’t supposed to win.” he says, leaning down to touch my forehead. “You were supposed to survive.”

I feel a rush of cool sensation flow through me as his fingers brush my forehead, rushing through my body. The parts that are ringing with pain are suddenly silenced, like a flood extinguishing a million little forest fires, and a wave of darkness follows it. A heavy drowsiness, thick and engulfing.

And after what I’ve been through, I don’t fight it.

Event Log: Lysanne Arrignis

Dandelion Drift: Lysanne’s Room

9:12pm SGT

“I need to go check on him and make sure he’s alright—”

“You need to rest.”

Dandy’s standing in front of the door of my room, arms folded as she blocks me from leaving. Every time I try to move past her, she grabs me by the shoulders and pilots me back into my room with the firm, commanding strength of the crysteel-alloy skeleton beneath her soft exterior. I couldn’t hope to overpower her on a good day, and this isn’t even a good day, considering I’ve got an arm in a sling.

“It’s just a quick check, Dandy, won’t take more than five minutes.” I say, trying to reason with her again. “You heard him while we were on the surface; his voice was doing that thing where it sounded like a bunch of people talking at the same time—”

“His voice is no longer doing that. I have performed a stability and cognition check; he is mostly fine.” Dandy says firmly. “He will need time to recover, so he is resting — like you should be.”

“I rested earlier today, I’m fine.” I say, eyeing up the gap between the door and Dandy’s leg, and wondering if I could duck under and squeeze through. 

“You took a fifteen-minute nap after a ten-minute dinner.” Dandy counters, noticing where I’m looking and adjusting her stance to cover more of the doorway. “The rest you need is a full night of sleep with no high-intensity activity for the next week. Jazel is not going to spontaneously combust in the next eight hours; you can check on him tomorrow morning. I will be monitoring him, and Mr. Syntaritov will be on hand to assist with any emergencies if they arise.”

I scowl at that. “You mean the same guy that just stood there on the edge of everything and watched us get clobbered?”

“He told us at the outset that he would not be able to get directly involved, Lysanne. And while it is true that he simply watched while we fought Azra, he has consistently provided us guidance and direction on how to handle the situation we are currently in.” Dandy says firmly. “You need to sleep. The strain of today’s events is coloring your perspective; sleeping on this will provide you a more balanced outlook in the morning.”

“So what, you think he’s got our best interests in mind?” I demand. “You’ve seen the way he drifts around, the way he watches us like we’re—”

“Adjutant.” Raikaron suddenly steps into view behind Dandy, resting a hand on her shoulder. “If you’ll allow me.”

My hands curl into fists as I glare at Raikaron, though I have to remember to relax the arm that’s in the sling as I feel the soreness flare up in my shoulder again. Dandy’s eyes flick to the hand on her shoulder, displaying a brief flash of disgruntlement before her expression goes neutral again. “Mr. Syntaritov. I appreciate your concern, but I can handle this—”

“I am sure you can, but it is not a question of your capability.” Raikaron replies. “You should not have to answer the discontent of others on my behalf, and I have no intention of putting you in that position. If Lysanne would like to vent her dissatisfaction with me, then I will make myself available so she can express her concerns.”

Dandy is quiet for a moment, as if processing, measuring, and evaluating her options and responses. After a moment, she exhales. “Very well. Please treat each other civilly. Lysanne, I will be cycling back around to check on you later on.”

She turns and heads down the hall with that, purpose in her step — there’s undoubtedly many tasks for her to handle in the aftermath of our fight on Tareya. Once she’s gone, I return my glare to Raikaron. “You’re not fooling me.”

“To fool you first requires that you be a fool, and you do not strike me as a fool.” Raikaron replies mildly. “While I do have ulterior motives for my involvement in this matter, you are premature to assume that I am pursuing them to the detriment of the crew of the Drift.”

I hadn’t expected him to admit it so readily. “You’re trying to lower my guard.”

He inhales a deep breath, reaching up to rub his forehead in what seems like an attempt to lengthen his patience. “Ms. Arrignis, you have glimpsed the background from which I hail; the politics that I daily deal with in the circles of the exalted and the damned. I assure you that I have no interest in playing those games here when I am already involved in them, sometimes against my will, in so many other places. I make exception for Deputy Milor, but only because he is asking for it, with that ego of his.”

I snort, shifting a little on my feet. “Not a lot of people that can put him in his place.” I mutter. “So you said you had ulterior motives. What are they?”

“My reasons are many. When you occupy a position like mine, actions and projects are often in the furtherance of multiple goals.” Raikaron explains, lacing his fingers together. “But if I were to pick two that were most important, it is that helping resolve this situation will be a feather in my cap. A little bit of prestige to gild my resume, if you will. And the second reason is that Azra is more useful to me alive than she is dead.”

I scoff at that. “She’s a goddess. You can’t kill gods.”

Raikaron merely raises an eyebrow at that.

“You… can’t kill gods, right?” I say hesitantly. “I mean, they wouldn’t be a god if you could kill them, right?”

“Just because something is difficult does not mean it is impossible.” Raikaron says, adjusting his glasses. “I will not burden you with the mechanisms. It will suffice to say that there is a reason that I prefer the Drifters defeat Azra and return her to the Maelstrom. Because if you all fail, there is a contingency in place, and I will likely have to participate in it.”

“That’s not ominous at all.” I say, trying to fold my arms, then remembering that I’ve got an arm in a sling. “So what, you just want us to trust you because you said that you’re on our side?”

“There are many sides in this crisis, Lysanne.” Raikaron replies. “Some of them, you have not even been exposed to. Others that you were exposed to almost overwhelmed you with their scale and complexity. Understand that I do not mean this in a derogatory manner, but Maelstrom and Radiance had to dumb things down for you and your friends, and you all still struggled to wrap your minds around the scale of the crisis. Where you are only aware of a few sides that have a stake in the conflict, I am aware of all of them, and am doing my best to navigate them while trying to arrange the best possible outcome for you and your friends, for Azra herself, and for mine and Jayta’s affairs. It is not an easy balancing act.”

“You seem to think pretty highly of yourself.” I say, leaning against the doorframe.

“I know my capabilities. I would not have been selected for this role if I did not have a firm grasp of my position on the food chain, and a good sense for the people and places upon which I can effectively exert my influence and power.” he answers calmly. “Most importantly, I would have you know that I am here to help you and your friends, at least within the boundaries of what I am permitted at the moment.”

“If you think I’m gonna trust a Syntaritov, you’re gonna be disappointed.” I say. “I’ve heard about your kind, and I read up on your family after the way Ozzy reacted when he met you. Trusting anyone with that name would be a mistake.”

He allows for a small smile. “A well-founded caution. That said, my lineage is not a monolith; we are individuals unto ourselves. Often, we are valuable allies, if you allow us to be.” Reaching into his vest, he pulls out a little vial containing a transparent crimson liquid. “On the topic of aid, you will find this helps speed along your recovery, and will help you sleep tonight. It’s a dose of a brand-name Rantecevangian healing potion, with a drop of liquid narcolepsy added.”

I’m not enthusiastic about taking it, but I can’t deny that I’d like to get over my injuries as quickly as possible. Mine were far from severe — a few hairline fractures and a shoulder dislocation that was quickly resolved — but recovery would still take time, and I wasn’t sure how much of that we would have before we encountered Azra again. After a moment, I reach out and take the vial. “I’ll consider it. Don’t assume that it changes anything.”

“Hardly. I need you functional so you can wrangle the more willful members of the crew.” he says, tucking his hands in his pockets. “I will leave you to your devices now. I have matters to tend to, and I am sure you tire of my presence.”

“Wait, you’re not going to stop me from visiting Jazel?” I say as he starts to walk away.

He glances over his shoulder. “No? I see no reason why I should do so. If you wish to visit him, that is your prerogative. As Dandy stated, he is currently stable, and he is presently asleep. I saw to it that his injuries were diagnosed and treated in accordance with their severity, and he is expected to make a speedy recovery.”

That leaves me a little confused. “Wait, you treated his injuries? But why? I thought Dandy was handling all the medical care.”

He shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I? He is the brother of my partner. If he is in poor condition, then Jayta will be upset and stressed out. Additionally, he is an important part of the crew. Without him, it will be difficult to defeat Azra.”

I don’t really have a rejoinder for that; the points are sensible and straightforward. I suppose I was secretly hoping he’d have some sort of obscure, sinister motive, but it really just boiled down to ‘girlfriend will be unhappy otherwise’. And I couldn’t deny that was a pretty compelling motive all on its own.

“If that’s all, I’ll be heading my way now. Good night.” he bids farewell again, starting to walk again. I let him go, not bothering to return the farewell; I have a feeling he doesn’t need it. After a moment, I wave my door closed, and as it spirals shut, I glance at the vial in my hand.

I didn’t like accepting help from someone like him, but my pride’s not worth the pain of a longer recovery, so I pop the cap on the vial as I make my way over to my bed.

Event Log: Jazel Jaskolka

Dandelion Drift: Jazel’s Room

2/16/12765 12:25pm LST

I’m sweating when I come awake.

It’s cold sweat, the kind that is usually coupled with heart palpitations and nightmares. Which isn’t too far off the mark; my rest was unsettled and turbulent, full of the voices of my past selves. I spent the night stumbling through memories of the lives I have lived, many of the recollections taking place during times of turbulence, war, and conflict. It’s probably a result of leaning so heavily on my past selves that were soldiers and warriors; their memories are most prevalent in my mind right now, volatile echoes of lives that often burned hot, furious, and short.

And though I know that spell had been essential to holding my own against Azra yesterday, I was very much regretting the identity hangover it was giving me. After the torment I’d endured while I was Grimes’ prisoner, I’d hoped I’d never have to go through that trauma again.

“Just in time for lunch, I see.”

The voice has my heart doing another skip in my chest, and my head snaps around to see that the redheaded demon Lord is in my room, standing near the terrarium against the wall. I try to sit up in my bed, only to find that my body still aches all over. The pains aren’t as bad as they were yesterday, at least — they’ve faded into soreness, like a full-body bruise.

“What time is it?” I ask, and find that my mouth and throat are dry, and my voice is coming out scratchy. But it’s just my voice — there are no other voices layered into it, like there were yesterday.

“Twelve twenty-seven pm, local ship time.” he answers, stroking a finger over one of the petals of the spirit blooms in the terrarium. “You have been sleeping for the better part of eighteen hours, which is to be expected, considering yesterday’s events. Your lunch is on the tray on your bedside; it is still warm.”

I look over to my nightstand and see that there’s a covered bowl along with a couple of rolls on a tray there; grimacing, I start to work on pushing myself upright. Between waking up in a cold sweat, and grime of battle from yesterday, the first thing I’m gonna do is get a shower once Raikaron leaves the room. “What about everyone else? Are they okay?”

“They are not in the best shape after yesterday, but they will all recover.” he says, plucking one of the spirit blooms and lifting it out of the terrarium, closing the lid afterwards. “Radiance and Maelstrom’s blessings worked as intended and protected all of you from a substantial portion of the damage Azra might’ve otherwise done to you. Most importantly, they shielded you from the spell that Radiance gifted to Lysanne.”

“What kind of spell was that?” I grunt, rubbing my face. All I could remember is Lysanne pointing down at Azra, and then an overwhelming blaze of golden light that consumed everything.

“The sort of spell that hypernaturals use to knock each other down.” Raikaron says, turning to snag a chair next to the wall, bringing it over to my bedside. “Not strong enough to do any real damage, but strong enough to get their attention and get a point across. A spanking, if you will, considering that Radiance intended for the spell to be used on her daughter.”

I snort at that, picking up the glass of water and sipping from it. “You think we could ask Radiance for a few more of those?”

“One could ask. I don’t think we’d receive.” Raikaron says, sitting down in the chair as he holds up spirit bloom. “I admire your taste in floriculture. Spirit blooms are notoriously difficult flowers to cultivate, and are exceptionally rare because of it.” His green eyes flit to me. “But I’m sure you’re already quite familiar with that, considering how many of them I’ve seen in your terrarium, lab, and throughout the temperate biome in this ship’s biosphere.”

I feel my battered heart sink. Raikaron clearly knows exactly what the spirit blooms are, and how I’ve been feeding them. “They’re… they’re backups.” I say weakly, setting the glass back on my nightstand. “I keep them for just in case…”

“In case your lover needs something to feed on that isn’t you.” Raikaron says, twirling the flower in his fingers. “I noticed that little cache of soul vials your crew has kept hidden in the core room on this ship. As well as that knife that you are so fond of.”

I draw a sharp breath as I remember my Viscori knife, sitting upright and then immediately wincing at the pain it causes me. I start looking around my room, searching for the clothes and gear I’d been wearing yesterday, but I don’t see it anywhere — perhaps it was taken and thrown in the wash. The vials of soul I collected yesterday, the knife itself — without it, I wouldn’t be able to harvest any more souls to create more spirit blooms or feed Kayenta—

“Relax. I wouldn’t have left an artifact like that behind.” Raikaron says, setting the spirit bloom down on my bed as he leans back in the chair, reaching into his vest. He pulls out the two vials of extracted soul first, one glowing yellow and the other green, tossing those on the bed alongside the spirit bloom. Finally, he pulls out the Viscori knife, its fuller still glowing a virulent scarlet as he turns it over in his hands, examining the deep notch in the blade. “I must commend your audacity. Stabbing a goddess with a Viscori blade is heresy in no uncertain terms; sacrilege and disrespect to the utmost degree. Had her seal allowed her to, Azra likely would’ve obliterated you the moment she realized what you had done to her. The fact that she tried to beat you to death, even with the amount of protection that Radiance gave you, should demonstrate the extent of her fury.”

I reach forward, snatching up the vials and the flower to keep them safe — they’re valuable resources, and even if Kaya isn’t here right now, it doesn’t mean I’ll stop stockpiling things to keep her fed. “It was the only weapon I had on hand. Besides, it didn’t kill her the way it does most other people. I assume that means she’s got more soul than the blade can siphon out of her?”

“Indeed. Not so different from you, for that matter.” Raikaron says, twisting the cover at the bottom of the hilt open, and ejecting the vial and catching it so he can hold it up and examine it. Where the other vials merely glow, this one emits so much scarlet light that it washes out all the colors around it, painting everything in shades of red. “But just because this wouldn’t have killed her doesn't mean that it wasn’t a great affront. To siphon the soul of a hypernatural is to invite destruction upon yourself. The only reason you got away with it is because there are a very specific set of circumstances preventing Azra from atomizing you with a thought. If I were you, I would not attempt that again. Radiance’s blessing can only provide you so much protection, and Azra’s seal may restrain her, but it does not forbid her from killing you, if she can do it fairly.”

I hold my hand out for the Viscori knife, feeling anxious while it’s in Raikaron’s hands. It may be unfounded, but I’m worried he’ll keep it, instead of giving it back — and then I’ll be stuck without anything to harvest souls with. “I’ll keep it in mind. Can I have that back?”

He glances at me, then twists the cap on the end of the hilt shut, before handing it back to me. I set it on my bedside with the other vials and the spirit bloom, before realizing that he’s also holding the scarlet vial out to me. I reach for that as well, but he tilts it out of reach right before I’m about to grab it.

“Before I give you this, Jazel, I need you to understand that this vial of soul is not like the other ones you have collected.” he says, his bright green eyes drilling into me. “A soul extracted is already a rare and valuable resource; as a demon Lord that deals in contracts and souls, I know this better than anyone else. But in this vial is the soul of a demon goddess; a fragment of it, granted, but it is still a shard of an exalted, divine entity. It is incredibly valuable — on par with a Dragine artifact, if you know what those are. Moreover, it is extremely potent and powerful. You cannot feed this to Kayenta. And if you feed it to your spirit blooms, it will corrupt them to an extent you cannot begin to imagine.”

He tilts the vial back towards me with that, and I take it, but more cautiously and gingerly than before. “What am I supposed to do with it, then?” I ask, almost reluctant to touch it with my bare hands. It’s strange, but I can feel the scarlet light pressing against my skin, almost like the vial was giving off radiation.

He leans back in his chair, lacing his hands together in his lap. “…what are you willing to do, willing to sacrifice, to get your mate back, Jazel?”

The question sets off alarm bells in my head, and I close my fingers around the vial. “Why are you asking?”

“Both you and I saw that even with the spells I recommended you, you were barely a match for a single Azra with a single tail.” he replies, folding one leg over the other. “You may have had the knowledge and the skills of your past lives at your disposal, and they served you well, but you are mortal, and a mortal body has limits that even knowledge and skill cannot overcome. It is not your fault that you were born into the vessel you currently occupy, but neither can you ignore its limitations. So I ask: what are you willing to do, to sacrifice, in the name of rescuing Kayenta?”

I press my lips together, but I don’t hesitate. “She came for me when I was lost. I need to do the same for her.”

He doesn’t smile, like I expected him to. There is something in his look that is measuring and assessing, like I was a thing to be studied and analyzed. And I realize, in a moment of clarity, that this might be how other people feel when I sometimes look at them.

“Keep that vial. Do not let others know you have it. And do not use it on anything.” Raikaron says, standing and picking up the chair he was sitting in so he can return it to where it originally was. “I need to do some research, and speak with a few professional acquaintances.”

He offers no further explanation as he moves towards the door, and I have a feeling that even if I ask what he’s going to study or who he needs to talk to, he’s not going to tell me. Still, I need him to answer something before he goes — as ancient as he is, he knows too much, and I can’t let that opportunity slip by.

“Wait. Before you go…” I rasp, my voice scratching again. “…you know what I’m doing, what we were doing here. You knew about the cache of soul vials in the core rooms, about the…” I motion to the spirit blooms and the soul vials on the nightstand. “I have been looking for over a year, trying to find another way to make it work, to find an alternative, a substitute, but everything I’ve read, all the research I’ve found, all the myths and legends I’ve dug into… nothing is panning out. You’re a demon Lord; you’ve been alive for god knows how long, and you seem to know a lot about souls. Is there… a way? To make it work?”

He stops short of the door, studying me, then turning his gaze to one of the witch lanterns that I use to illuminate my room. “A soul is not something that can be imitated or falsely forged. Those that attempt to forge substitutes find that their products collapse from the lack of quality. And those that have the skill, patience, time, and resources to create a passable forgery come to find that in the pursuit of verisimilitude, they have, in fact, created the authentic article. If you put decades of effort and dedication into a forgery, you often find that you have created a new masterpiece by accident.” He returns his gaze to me. “All this to say: no, there is no substitute for what you have been doing. Souls cannot be cheaply produced; a fully-formed soul is a product of time and accretion. That process cannot be cheated or short-circuited. Kayenta is two centuries past the natural lifespan of her species; in order to continue living, she will need to eat souls for the rest of her life, however long she wants that to be. You may find things for her to feed on that are less nutritious — emotions, memories, thoughts, feelings, if you ever figure out a way to corporealize those into a form she can eat — but none of them will ever equal the full sustaining value of a soul. A soul will always be the healthiest option for her, and there is nothing you can do to change that.”

I slump a bit. It doesn’t come as a surprise. I think deep down and in the back of my head, I’d always known that was going to be the case. An instinctive truth that had been lurking on the edge of acceptance, being fended off with each new book or research paper, hoping there was another way, any way, to make this work. But confronting it and accepting it was still a bit of a blow nonetheless. “Thanks. I kinda figured, but I just never had anyone that could tell me that with certainty.”

Raikaron is quiet for a moment, then speaks. “And even knowing that, you would still pursue this relationship?”

I look down at my hands, then at the spot on my bed that Kayenta would occupy when she was still with us. “Yeah. I would.”

He tilts his head to one side. “You’re an unusual sort, Jazel Jaskolka. I think I will enjoy helping you.”

With that, he waves a hand, the door to my room spiraling open, and he steps out. As the door spirals shut behind him, my eyes go back to the scarlet vial in my hand, the red light pressing against my fingers like it was trying to force them open. The fragment of a demon goddess’s soul, in the palm of my hand; a couple years ago, this would’ve been a prize of unparalleled value. The prestige I could have in the Preserver Academy, the renown I’d have in the arcanological community for discovering and researching something like this, would’ve made my career. But now…

Only one thing could fill the empty spot in my bed and in my heart, and it wasn’t this.