Xheavend stared at him.
Then laughed.
Good.
He'd wanted that.
"Come on."
She wiped beneath one eye before he could acknowledge it.
"Where?"
"Hunting."
Qaritas frowned.
"Why?"
"Warakai asked us to help."
"Why?"
"Because we agreed to work."
"I was hoping they'd forgotten."
"They didn't."
Qaritas sighed.
"Mortals have an upsetting respect for agreements."
The Walking Pantry looked like garbage.
Qaritas stared at it.
Then at the Veyrathi hunter holding it.
Then back at it.
Folded—
the thing resembled several black rods strapped together with fabric and cable.
Yandaro stood beside it.
Apparently no longer grounded.
Or—
considerably more likely—
still grounded and simply ignoring it.
His father was nowhere nearby.
Qaritas decided not to become involved.
He was already hated enough.
Yandaro unfolded the device.
CLICK.
Two sections extended.
CLACK.
Panels opened.
THNK.
A net deployed.
Qaritas's eyebrows rose.
Yandaro reconfigured it.
Low frame.
"Oruun."
Again.
Two arms.
"Kavari."
Again.
Wide panels.
"Velka."
Again.
Suspended.
"Alarm."
Qaritas stared.
"So you carry one thing."
Yandaro nodded.
"And it becomes whatever trap you need."
Another nod.
Qaritas looked at Xheavend.
"We need one."
"We have powers."
"We still need one."
"Why?"
"Because it folds."
Xheavend stared at him.
Qaritas pointed at the device.
"Look at it."
Yandaro's throat markings glowed proudly.
They caught four Oruun before midday.
Released two.
Kept two for food.
Qaritas was informed this was deliberate population management.
He was also informed he had attached the trap backward.
He blamed translation.
Nobody believed him.
The Echo Cage was less funny.
By evening—
they were deep inside the Kaereth forest.
No talking.
That was the rule.
Veyrathi hunters moved silently around a circular clearing.
Blackwood tubes surrounded it.
Buried cords connected each one.
Xheavend crouched beside Qaritas.
Yandaro was not here.
Good.
Qaritas didn't want him near this.
One hunter raised two fingers.
Ready.
Another pulled a cord.
Somewhere across the clearing—
footsteps.
Qaritas's head turned automatically.
Fake.
Another tube activated.
A whisper.
"Over here."
Another.
Running.
Another.
Metal scraping.
Silence.
Then—
from between the trees—
Qaritas heard himself.
"Over here."
His blood went cold.
Xheavend's eyes found his.
Neither spoke.
Something moved.
Four metres.
Maybe five.
Black.
Thin.
Its limbs ended in hooked points.
A crown of dead-looking branches rose from its upper body.
Pale filaments hung from them.
Threnkel.
It stepped into the clearing.
Stopped.
From its body came another voice.
Xheavend's.
"Q."
Qaritas didn't move.
Again.
"Q."
Different direction.
The creature had stored it.
Perhaps days ago.
Perhaps from when they'd first crashed.
"Q."
Xheavend's jaw tightened.
Then—
CLICK.
Six nets fired sideways.
FWHUMP.
The Threnkel vanished beneath them.
Cables tightened.
Anchor spikes buried themselves into Kaereth trunks.
The creature thrashed.
And screamed—
not with its own voice.
With dozens.
"OVER HERE."
"RUN."
"I FOUND SOMETHING."
A child's laugh.
Someone crying.
Footsteps.
Qaritas's voice.
Xheavend's voice.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Nobody answered.
That was the rule.
Once the Echo Cage closed—
nobody spoke.
Qaritas understood why.
The next trap was worse.
The Unfinished Room was beautiful.
That was the problem.
Perfect walls.
Perfect symmetry.
Perfect temperature.
No wind.
No vibration.
No irregularity.
A room built in the middle of chaos where absolutely nothing changed.
Qaritas stood on a platform above it.
Xheavend beside him.
A Veyrathi hunter pointed toward the forest.
Nothing there.
Qaritas squinted.
Still nothing.
Then the silver mist bent.
Xheavend touched his arm.
"There."
"I don't see anything."
"Neither do I."
"Excellent."
Something approached.
A limb appeared.
Disappeared.
Three eyes floated through empty space.
Then none.
Half a face.
No face.
A torso that apparently couldn't decide whether it existed.
Utrumamja.
The thing stopped outside the chamber.
Qaritas felt it searching.
Not smelling.
Not seeing.
Something else.
Stability.
The doorway waited.
The Utrumamja entered.
One limb.
Then another.
Pieces.
Missing.
Wrong.
The door closed.
The stabilization fields activated.
MMMMMMMM.
Reality tightened.
Qaritas watched—
and immediately regretted possessing eyes.
The Utrumamja rendered.
Completely.
Every limb.
Every joint.
Every eye.
Every piece of flesh that ordinarily hid between states.
Xheavend stared.
Qaritas stared.
One of the Veyrathi hunters slowly looked away.
Qaritas whispered:
"I preferred it unfinished."
Xheavend nodded.
"Much."
Hours later—
Qaritas saw the pillars.
Black.
Enormous.
Buried among the trees.
One.
Then another.
Then another.
Hundreds.
All bearing the same carved symbol.
Qaritas looked around.
"Territory markers?"
The Veyrathi hunter beside him stopped.
His throat markings dimmed.
"No."
Qaritas looked at him.
The hunter had become serious.
"They're teeth."
Qaritas's smile disappeared.
He looked again.
Not individual pillars.
A circle.
Kilometres across.
Hidden beneath forest.
Buried cables.
Gravity nodes.
Resonators.
Anchors.
Collapsed corridors.
Devices built into the land itself.
Xheavend walked toward one pillar.
Touched it.
"What does it catch?"
The hunter answered.
Qaritas understood enough now.
"Anything."
Silence.
The Last Route.
Not a trap for Threnkel.
Not Utrumamja.
Not Zythol.
Not one species at all.
A section of forest engineered to become a mouth.
Bait brought something inside.
Routes collapsed.
Trees fell.
Sound redirected movement.
Gravity altered escape paths.
Cables rose.
The forest closed.
And eventually—
the teeth bit.
Qaritas looked farther into the trees.
Then noticed one pillar.
Broken.
Not fallen.
Broken.
From the inside.
His expression changed.
Another stood farther away.
Split.
Another—
missing entirely.
Qaritas stared.
"How many Last Routes are there?"
The hunter answered.
Dozens.
Across Hstrarkit.
Qaritas looked at the broken pillar.
"What did this one catch?"
The Veyrathi didn't answer immediately.
Then—
"I don't know."
Qaritas turned.
"You don't know?"
"It is older than my father's father."
The hunter touched the broken stone.
"Our records say only that it closed."
A pause.
"And later—"
His four eyes lifted toward the forest.
"It opened."
Qaritas looked through the silver mist.
Something had been caught here.
Something large enough to require kilometres of forest to contain it.
And it had gotten out.
Beside him—
Xheavend slowly removed her hand from the pillar.
"Q."
He looked at her.
She wasn't looking at him.
Her eyes were on the trees.
"What?"
A pause.
"I think something is looking back."
Qaritas followed her gaze.
Nothing.
Silver mist.
Black trees.
Violet grass.
Beautiful.
Quiet.
Alive.
Qaritas sighed.
"Of course it is."
And somewhere—
very far away—
something moved between the trees.
Qaritas found Xheavend running.
Not from the thing in the forest.
He realized that almost immediately.
She was too fast.
Branches cracked beneath her feet.
Violet Shaal flattened behind her.
Silver mist tore around her body as she moved between the enormous black trunks.
"X!"
She didn't stop.
Qaritas followed.
"Xheavend!"
Nothing.
Then—
"No."
Qaritas slowed.
Xheavend hadn't spoken to him.
She was looking over her shoulder.
At nothing.
"I said no."
Her breathing was wrong.
Too shallow.
Too fast.
Qaritas's expression changed.
He knew that voice.
Not the sound of it.
The way she used it.
Short.
Flat.
Controlled so tightly that every word sounded like it had teeth.
She'd spoken like that when she was nine.
In Yeitshoja.
To Yzer.
Qaritas stopped joking.
Xheavend kept moving.
"You're not here."
Silence answered her.
She flinched anyway.
"No."
Another few steps.
Then she stopped so suddenly Qaritas nearly passed her.
She turned toward an empty space between two Kaereth.
Nothing stood there.
Silver mist.
Black bark.
Violet grass.
Nothing else.
Xheavend stared at it.
"Don't call me that."
Qaritas went cold.
Pet.
She didn't need to say the word.
He knew.
Xheavend backed away.
"I'm not yours."
Nothing.
Her jaw tightened.
"I was never yours."
Nothing.
Her fingers curled.
"Stop."
A pause.
"Stop."
Another.
Louder—
"STOP."
Conquest stirred.
Qaritas felt it.
The forest seemed to hold itself still.
He moved carefully.
Not toward her.
Into her line of sight.
"X."
Her head snapped toward him.
For one horrible second—
she didn't recognize him.
Then she did.
Her breathing caught.
Qaritas didn't touch her.
Didn't tell her there was nothing there.
Didn't tell her she was safe.
He simply stood where she could see him.
"Q."
"Yeah."
Her eyes moved past him.
Back toward the trees.
Nothing.
Qaritas looked too.
Still nothing.
"Is he there?"
Xheavend swallowed.
"No."
Qaritas waited.
Her hands trembled.
"Yes."
A beat.
"I don't know."
That answer hurt considerably more.
Qaritas looked toward the empty forest.
"Does this happen often?"
Xheavend said nothing.
Qaritas looked at her.
"X."
"Sometimes."
"How often is sometimes?"
Silence.
Too much silence.
Qaritas's stomach dropped.
Xheavend rubbed one hand over her wrist.
The same wrist Yzer had once injected with his blood.
"He talks."
Qaritas went completely still.
"You hear him?"
"Sometimes."
"What does he say?"
Her expression emptied.
"Things he used to say."
She looked toward the trees.
"Things he might say."
A pause.
"Sometimes things he hasn't said yet."
Qaritas didn't like that distinction.
At all.
"Do you know which is which?"
Xheavend looked at him.
"No."
There it was.
The part she hated.
Not seeing him.
Not hearing him.
Not knowing.
Because Yzer had spent years teaching her that distance meant nothing.
Worlds meant nothing.
Universes meant nothing.
If she could see him—
perhaps he wasn't there.
If she couldn't—
perhaps he was.
Qaritas looked toward the empty space between the trees.
Then deliberately turned his back on it.
Xheavend noticed.
"What are you doing?"
"Being disrespectful."
"Q."
"If he's actually there, it'll annoy him."
A tiny sound escaped her.
Almost a laugh.
Qaritas glanced at her.
Good.
"And if he isn't?"
"Then I've successfully insulted a tree."
Her mouth twitched.
"You've done worse."
"Frequently."
Her breathing began to slow.
Qaritas didn't mention it.
After a moment, Xheavend looked behind him again.
The space between the Kaereth was empty.
This time—
she didn't run.
But as they walked back toward the others—
Qaritas noticed she checked behind them seven times.
He counted.
Hstrarkit should have taught Qaritas something.
Specifically—
stop volunteering to be bait.
Unfortunately, Qaritas had never been particularly gifted at learning lessons that interfered with entertaining himself.
So when Warakai explained that the Veyrathi needed another Utrumamja alive—
Qaritas volunteered.
Xheavend volunteered approximately half a second later.
Warakai stared at them.
All four eyes.
No blinking.
No movement.
Just—
staring.
Qaritas leaned toward Xheavend.
"I think he's impressed."
"He's deciding whether we're stupid."
"Those aren't mutually exclusive."
Warakai said something.
Qaritas understood almost all of it now.
That remained disturbing.
Five days of Veyrathi food had apparently done something deeply suspicious to his understanding of their language.
Words that had once sounded like clicks, resonance and nonsense now carried meaning.
Not perfectly.
But enough.
Warakai's question translated roughly to:
You intend to let it chase you?
"Yes."
Warakai stared.
Deliberately?
"Yes."
Longer stare.
Then:
Why?
Qaritas pointed toward Xheavend.
"She runs quickly."
Xheavend pointed toward Qaritas.
"He heals."
Warakai's throat markings pulsed.
Qaritas narrowed his eyes.
"You're laughing."
"I am."
"At us?"
"Yes."
"Good. We're communicating."
A noise came from behind them.
Qaritas turned.
Yandaro stood on one of the upper platforms.
Thirteen years old.
Four arms wrapped around the railing.
Eyes enormous.
Absolutely delighted.
His father stood behind him.
Deyaro was considerably less delighted.
In fact—
Qaritas had rarely seen a man communicate this outsider is ruining my child so effectively without speaking.
Yandaro called down:
"Can I watch?"
"No," Deyaro said.
"Yes," Qaritas said simultaneously.
Deyaro's four eyes moved toward him.
Qaritas reconsidered.
"...From very far away."
"Qaritas."
"Extremely far."
"Qaritas."
"Behind something?"
Deyaro pointed one upper hand toward him.
"You."
"Me."
"Stop encouraging him."
"I've encouraged nothing."
Yandaro immediately shouted:
"He taught me how to increase the compression threshold!"
Deyaro closed all four eyes.
Qaritas looked at Xheavend.
"I may have encouraged one thing."
"You're terrible with children."
"Children love me."
"That's the problem."
The trap was prepared before sunset.
An Unfinished Room.
Qaritas recognized it immediately.
Dense mineral slabs.
Stable temperature.
Controlled airflow.
No vibration.
No irregular light.
Everything designed around one biological obsession:
stability.
The Veyrathi couldn't reliably chase an Utrumamja.
Couldn't track one normally.
Couldn't restrain something whose limbs occasionally decided not to participate in reality.
So they gave it something irresistible.
A place where existence behaved.
Then—
they waited.
Qaritas stood in the clearing.
Xheavend beside him.
Warakai remained above them with the stabilization team.
Yandaro watched from considerably farther away.
Deyaro stood directly beside his son.
One hand remained on Yandaro's shoulder.
Another rested near a weapon.
Two others gripped the railing.
Qaritas noticed.
He understood.
Even now.
Even with the boy surrounded by hunters.
Even with Warakai nearby.
Even with two Ascendants standing between Yandaro and the forest—
Deyaro watched his son.
Not the monster.
His son.
Qaritas looked away.
Silver mist moved between the Kaereth.
Nothing happened.
Then—
the mist bent.
Xheavend's eyes sharpened.
"There."
Qaritas stared.
"I don't see it."
"Neither do I."
"Then why did you say there?"
"Because the mist moved."
Qaritas considered that.
"Excellent."
A branch shifted.
No wind.
Something appeared beneath it.
An arm.
Gone.
A shoulder.
Gone.
Three eyes.
Seven.
None.
Half a face existed for less than a second.
Then—
nothing.
Qaritas felt the hairs along his arms rise.
The Utrumamja moved closer.
Xheavend stepped forward.
Female.
Her body remained relaxed.
One hand near her weapon.
The creature stopped.
A face appeared.
No mouth.
Then a mouth.
Wrong place.
It tilted its head.
Xheavend tilted hers.
Qaritas whispered:
"Don't flirt with it."
She didn't look at him.
"I hate you."
The Utrumamja lunged.
Xheavend moved.
Fast.
Its arm appeared where her ribs had been.
She twisted.
Struck.
Her fist passed through its chest.
Nothing there.
Another limb materialized.
Xheavend blocked.
KRAK.
She slid backward.
The creature followed.
Again.
Strike.
Block.
Turn.
Duck.
The Utrumamja watched.
Learned.
Its attacks changed.
It started accounting for her reach.
Her height.
Her balance.
Her preferred angles.
Qaritas saw it happening.
"So that's unpleasant."
Xheavend barely avoided another strike.
The creature adjusted.
Predicted her turn.
Cut off her escape.
Xheavend stopped.
And smiled.
Qaritas knew that smile.
"Oh."
Her body changed.
Not yesterday's chaos.
Not panic.
Not bone violently rewriting itself beyond her control.
Choice.
Her shoulders broadened.
Height increased.
Center shifted.
Arms lengthened.
Weight redistributed.
Male.
The Utrumamja struck where Xheavend's head should have been.
Wrong.
She was taller.
Her forearm intercepted it from an angle the creature hadn't accounted for.
She stepped into the attack.
Turned.
And for half a heartbeat—
Qaritas wasn't looking at Xheavend.
He was looking at her father.
Zcain.
Not his face.
Not literally.
Something in the shoulders.
The grounded stance.
The slight angle of the jaw.
The way one foot turned before the rest of the body followed.
The absolute certainty behind the strike.
Something Zcain had taught his daughter so thoroughly it had survived ten years, trauma, worlds and bodies.
Then Xheavend looked toward Qaritas.
Grinned.
"Now!"
There she was.
Qaritas smiled.
Resemblance ruined.
He slammed his hand against the trigger.
WHUMMMMMMMMM.
The stabilization field activated.
The Utrumamja screamed.
All of it appeared.
Every limb.
Every eye.
Every unfinished piece suddenly forced into existence simultaneously.
Xheavend hit it.
Male body.
Full weight.
Full reach.
Perfect angle.
BOOOOOOM.
The creature flew backward.
Straight into the chamber.
Warakai dropped all four hands.
The doors slammed.
THOOM.
Silence.
Then—
Yandaro screamed from the platform.
"DO IT AGAIN!"
Deyaro slowly turned toward his son.
"No."
"But—"
"No."
"Did you see—"
"No."
"You were looking—"
"I have decided I saw nothing."
Qaritas laughed.
Deyaro's eyes found him.
The laughter stopped.
Mostly.
That evening—
Qaritas watched mortals repair a trap designed to imprison something that occasionally ceased existing.
And realized Ascendants were idiots.
Not individually.
Well.
Some individually.
But collectively?
Definitely.
They called themselves gods.
Immortal.
Ancient.
Powerful.
Some could split planets.
Others could manipulate time.
Matter.
Souls.
Space.
Reality.
And yet—
for thousands of years—
Ascendants had run from Fragments.
Hidden.
Fought.
Lost.
Retreated.
Survived.
Meanwhile—
mortals had been born on Hstrarkit.
A world where mountains ate mountains.
Predators stole voices.
Gravity descended from the sky when hungry.
Trees walked.
Reality occasionally grew teeth.
Sleep could send your consciousness to another world.
And the Veyrathi had apparently looked at all of that and decided—
Fine.
Then built homes anyway.
They learned which mist meant danger.
Which sounds should never be answered.
Which animals could be redirected instead of killed.
Which monsters could be tricked.
Which plants could feed children.
They raised families beneath predators large enough to swallow buildings.
Made jokes.
Cooked meals.
Fell in love.
Argued.
Invented.
Built ships.
And somewhere nearby—
a thirteen-year-old boy was attempting to reach space using an engine that had caught fire eleven times.
Qaritas smiled faintly.
Mortals weren't weak because they could die.
Perhaps mortality was exactly why they became so good at living.
His smile faded.
Ayla entered his thoughts.
What Ecayrous had done to her.
The Hellbound.
The Fragments.
The commanders they still needed to find.
And somewhere inside Qaritas—
Eon slept.
Silent.
Ten years.
Qaritas looked toward the sky.
The war for the Third Universe had already begun.
They simply hadn't reached every battlefield yet.
The ground moved.
Qaritas frowned.
Once.
Then harder.
THUM.
Nearby Veyrathi froze.
A hunter looked down.
THUUUM.
Shaal illuminated.
Blue-white veins raced outward through the violet-black grass.
One metre.
Ten.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
Light spread across the forest floor in enormous ripples.
Someone shouted:
"Drekthal!"
Warakai turned.
"No."
Qaritas looked at him.
The chief was staring upward.
Not down.
Qaritas followed his gaze.
The clouds—
moved.
No.
Something behind them moved.
The turquoise-gray sky darkened.
Silver clouds spiraled.
For one strange second—
everything stopped.
Then—
an eye opened.
Qaritas stared.
Enormous.
Black sclera.
Burning center.
Floating among the clouds.
Then another opened beside it.
Another.
Another.
Another.
Ten.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
Eyes filled the sky.
Xheavend stopped breathing.
Qaritas looked at her.
Every trace of color had left her face.
"X?"
Her lips moved.
No sound.
Then—
THOOOOOOOOOM.
Light struck the forest.
A Kaereth tree vanished.
Not fell.
Not burned.
A tree that had lived for thousands of years—
ceased being there.
The blast continued downward.
Earth erupted.
Silver mist became steam.
Shaal ignited.
Qaritas moved.
"DOWN!"
The second beam struck.
BOOOOOOM.
Platforms shook.
Cables snapped.
Veyrathi moved instantly.
No screaming confusion.
No useless panic.
Light flooded the settlement.
Silent alarms.
Blue.
Red.
White.
Platforms retracted toward enormous Kaereth trunks.
Gravity lifts descended.
Children disappeared into armored sections.
Hunters grabbed weapons.
Ships detached from docking structures.
Vaelith rings ignited pale gold.
Warakai shouted commands.
The peaceful settlement transformed in seconds.
Not into chaos.
Into war.
Veyrathi ships rose through the canopy.
One fired.
A brilliant lance struck an eye.
The eye ruptured.
Qaritas smiled.
"There you—"
Three more opened behind it.
His smile disappeared.
"...are not."
Beams fell.
One Veyrathi ship twisted sideways.
Missed.
Another fired.
An eye exploded.
Another opened.
Then—
every eye stopped.
Every pupil moved.
Together.
Toward Xheavend.
She went still.
Qaritas felt something inside himself become very cold.
The forest became silent.
Then a voice came from the sky.
Everywhere.
Calm.
Almost affectionate.
"There you are."
Xheavend stopped.
Qaritas looked at her.
She wasn't looking at the eyes.
Not at first.
She was staring at the empty space beside herself.
As though checking.
As though after all these years she still needed to determine whether the voice belonged to the world—
or only to her.
Then every eye blinked.
Together.
And Qaritas understood.
This time, Yzer was really here.
Xheavend's fingers trembled.
Qaritas stepped beside her.
Yzer continued.
"I've been looking for you, my pet."
Xheavend said nothing.
"Come home."
Her jaw tightened.
A Veyrathi ship fired.
One eye turned.
FLASH.
The ship disappeared.
Xheavend flinched.
Yzer sighed.
"Please don't make them suffer because you're stubborn."
Qaritas looked upward.
"You bastard."
Yzer ignored him.
Of course he did.
Another eye turned toward the forest.
"Look around you."
THOOOOOM.
Trees exploded.
"Children."
Another beam.
BOOM.
"Families."
Another.
A distant Veyrathi vessel fell burning through the canopy.
"An entire species."
His voice softened.
"How many should die before you stop pretending this is their decision?"
Xheavend's eyes filled.
No.
Qaritas knew that look.
He knew exactly what she was about to do.
Coordinates appeared across the sky.
Not written.
Burned into cloud.
A location.
Yzer's voice came from every eye.
"Come alone."
Pause.
"Or I remove Hstrarkit from the universe."
Xheavend moved.
One step.
Qaritas caught her wrist.
She stopped.
Looked down.
Then at him.
"Let go."
Qaritas did.
Immediately.
His hand fell to his side.
But he didn't move away.
Xheavend stared at him.
"Q."
"No."
Her brow furrowed.
"You let go."
"You told me to."
Another explosion shook the forest.
"Then what are you saying no to?"
Qaritas stepped beside her.
Not in front.
Beside.
"I'm not helping him make this choice for you."
Her expression cracked.
"People are dying."
"I know."
"He'll destroy the planet."
"I know."
"Then what choice do I have?"
Qaritas pointed toward the burning forest.
"That's the point."
She stared at him.
"He knows exactly what you'll do."
Another eye opened overhead.
"He puts a knife against millions of throats and tells you your hand is holding it."
Xheavend's breathing became uneven.
"If I go, he'll stop."
"Maybe."
"He wants me."
"Yes."
"Then—"
"This isn't choice."
Qaritas looked toward the eyes.
"It's a hostage situation."
Xheavend went silent.
"If you choose to face him someday—"
His jaw tightened.
"I'll hate it."
She almost laughed.
Almost.
"But it will be your choice."
Qaritas looked at her.
"Not his."
Another beam charged overhead.
Qaritas's eyes narrowed.
"So no."
He looked upward.
"I'm not helping him take you."
A voice shouted behind them.
"I CAN GET YOU THERE!"
Everyone turned.
Yandaro.
Of course.
The boy came running through the smoke.
Deyaro followed approximately two seconds behind him.
"YANDARO!"
The boy ignored him.
Bad decision.
Understandable.
"My ship!"
Qaritas blinked.
"The one that catches fire?"
"Not anymore!"
"How recently?"
Yandaro hesitated.
"Yandaro."
"Yesterday."
Qaritas stared.
"That isn't reassuring."
Yandaro pointed toward the eyes.
"Their targeting follows stable propulsion signatures."
Qaritas's expression changed.
"The experimental fuel."
Yandaro nodded rapidly.
"Azhren destabilizes the exhaust pattern."
"Which is why your prototypes kept burning."
"Yes."
"Your engine looks broken."
"Yes."
"But their targeting system might also think it's broken."
Yandaro's eyes brightened.
"Yes!"
Qaritas smiled.
"Oh, I really like you."
"No."
Deyaro arrived.
All four hands grabbed his son.
"No."
Yandaro struggled.
"Father—"
"No."
"I can help."
"You are thirteen."
"I built it."
"You nearly died building it!"
"So I know how it works!"
Deyaro froze.
Yandaro froze too.
Father and son stared at each other.
Behind them—
Hstrarkit burned.
Deyaro's hands tightened.
Then slowly—
loosened.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
He looked toward Qaritas.
Hatred.
Fear.
Understanding.
Then back at his son.
Deyaro reached toward his belt.
Removed a small tool.
Placed it into Yandaro's hand.
"Bring my ship back."
Yandaro blinked.
"It's my ship."
All four of Deyaro's eyes narrowed.
"Then bring yourself back."
Yandaro swallowed.
Nodded.
Then ran.
Qaritas followed.
Xheavend beside him.
The little ship waited between two platforms.
It was—
horrible.
Beautifully horrible.
Mismatched black plating.
Three different crystal types.
One gravity ring that looked stolen.
Biological tubing threaded through metal.
Patched burn marks everywhere.
One entire side was visibly newer than the other.
And painted on the hull—
badly—
was a constellation.
Qaritas stopped.
Something inside him moved.
Not Eon.
Something else.
A memory.
No.
Recognition.
He climbed inside.
Touched the control frame.
TICK.
Qaritas froze.
The sound didn't come from the ship.
TICK.
His blood went cold.
Chronolock.
Yandaro climbed past him.
"Move."
Qaritas didn't.
"Qaritas."
He stared at the boy.
Thirteen.
Grease across one cheek.
Burn mark along his sleeve.
Four hands moving across controls.
A design.
A component.
A name.
Something Iezel had once said.
Something Qaritas hadn't understood at the time.
Until now.
His eyes widened.
"No."
Yandaro looked at him.
"What?"
Qaritas stared.
"You."
"What?"
The Chronolock ticked again.
TICK.
Yandaro frowned.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
Qaritas understood.
Not everything.
Not remotely.
But enough.
Yandaro.
This child.
This ridiculous thirteen-year-old inventor whose aircraft had caught fire eleven times—
would help create the Chronolock.
Someday.
In the future.
Which meant—
Yandaro had a future.
Qaritas felt relief first.
Then terror.
Because knowing someone survived today did not tell you what tomorrow did to them.
"Q?"
Xheavend touched his shoulder.
Qaritas blinked.
"Later."
Yandaro frowned.
"Later what?"
"Survive."
"That was already the plan."
"Excellent plan."
Yandaro slammed four controls simultaneously.
The engine screamed.
Qaritas's eyes widened.
"Should it sound like that?"
"No!"
"Wonderful!"
The ship launched.
WHOOOOOOOM.
Qaritas slammed into the wall.
Xheavend grabbed a support.
Yandaro screamed something delighted in Veyrathi.
They tore through the canopy.
An eye turned.
Beam.
"LEFT!"
"I KNOW!"
The ship rolled.
Light passed beneath them.
A mountain ridge vanished.
Another eye opened.
Yandaro pulled three controls.
Nothing happened.
He hit one.
Still nothing.
Then kicked the console.
The ship dropped.
A beam passed overhead.
Qaritas stared.
"Did you just kick it?"
"It works!"
"That's not engineering!"
"It moved!"
"I retract my criticism!"
Another eye.
Ahead.
Too close.
Its pupil opened.
Light gathered.
Yandaro pulled back.
Nothing.
Xheavend raised both hands.
Qaritas reached for the Void.
Too late.
The eye fired.
Blue crossed the world.
Not blue light.
Fire.
WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOM.
The two attacks collided.
For one impossible second—
the sky became white.
Then blue.
Then—
the beam from the eye began burning.
Qaritas stared.
"That's not possible."
Fire crawled up the light.
Reached the eye.
And consumed it.
The eye screamed.
Actually screamed.
Flames spread across something that shouldn't have been capable of burning.
Blue.
Orange.
Gold.
Crimson.
The eye collapsed into fire.
Another turned.
WHOOOOM.
Gone.
A third.
Fire struck it from below.
The cloud layer ignited.
Rock beneath them melted.
The forest floor became glowing glass.
Yandaro stopped touching the controls.
Qaritas pointed.
"Keep flying."
"I'm not doing that."
"I know. That's why I'm concerned."
Heat distorted the world.
Something moved below.
A foot stepped into molten stone.
Bare.
Unburned.
Then another.
A man walked through the fire.
No.
Not a man.
Not entirely.
Charcoal skin covered an enormous leg.
Cracks ran through it.
Orange light glowed beneath.
Then his torso emerged.
Broad shoulders.
Narrow waist.
Muscle carved beneath skin that resembled the remains of a dead star.
Fire lived inside every fracture.
Yellow.
Orange.
Red.
Blue.
He wore dark leather.
Sleeveless.
Scarred.
Simple.
Almost no metal.
Probably wise.
The air around him screamed with heat.
Qaritas slowly looked higher.
And higher.
And—
"He's enormous."
Xheavend stared.
Nearly ten feet.
Maybe slightly under.
Maybe Qaritas didn't care.
At that size, measurements became emotionally irrelevant.
The stranger's face emerged from the flames.
Strong jaw.
High cheekbones.
Straight nose.
Handsome.
Offensively handsome.
Qaritas frowned.
"Of course."
Xheavend looked at him.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Then the giant opened his eyes.
Fire.
No pupils.
No ordinary irises.
Yellow burned at the center.
Orange.
Crimson.
And beneath everything—
blue.
He looked toward the burning remains of Yzer's eye.
His expression wasn't impressed.
If anything—
he looked disappointed.
"Such a waste."
Qaritas leaned from the damaged little ship.
"Of what?"
The stranger looked up.
Then smiled.
A genuinely beautiful smile.
Which Qaritas found irritating.
"Good fire."
Another eye opened behind him.
The giant sighed.
Cracks spread across his face.
Down his throat.
Across his chest.
Blue light poured through them.
Then—
he ignited.
Yellow flames rolled over his shoulders.
Orange raced across his chest.
Crimson curled around his arms.
Blue fire erupted along his spine, throat and fingertips.
His charcoal-black hair caught without burning.
Every strand became flame.
The leather darkened.
The ground beneath his feet softened.
Then turned to glass.
He wasn't a man standing inside fire.
The distinction between flesh and flame simply—
ceased.
The giant looked upward.
Thousands of Yzer's eyes looked back.
He smiled wider.
Then glanced toward Qaritas.
"Ylaris."
Fire exploded outward.
The sky turned blue.
And the giant spoke.
"I am the Ascendant of the Suns."