“Wander too far into darkness and your way will be lost forever. There is no escape from the shadowy path once embarked upon.”

—Ilgras Mastia, former Grand Vizier of the Church of Qualmad, in a proclamation on the Temple of Fialgon

Zaina took a step back. “Ovela—what’s going on? This—tell me this wasn’t you!”

“I’ll tell you what’s really going on,” Ovela said, stalking toward Zaina with a heretic’s fang in hand. “I may never be able to be a lancer again—but I can be something better than a nobody.”

Disbelief laced Zaina’s words as she shouted, “You’re—it really is you. It was you the whole time!”

“That’s right.” Ovela gestured toward the orb and said, “And now, you have unfinished business.”

Zaina put more distance between herself and Ovela. To stall, she kept asking questions. “Why—why did you kill Ardo Nash?”

Ovela kept walking slowly toward her. “Ardo Nash—that fool—wanted to study the stone’s power, but didn’t want to let it in. No—I went to the orb to receive its blessing at night. I was told I’d be alone with it. Nash interrupted us to study his precious Order’s most ancient enemy—at that moment, his fate was sealed.”

Zaina kept backing up. “And Yla Fidabow?”

Ovela winced. “That one wasn’t supposed to happen, either; but she noticed my mark and gave me no choice. I killed her and ran, knowing the Eldritch’s power would mask my presence. Luckily, the scholars were stupid enough to buy that woman being the killer—they were so happy to sweep it under the rug, to have someone easy to blame, that my mistake didn’t end up mattering. They were so quick to overlook me—a mere attendant—that in their transcendent wisdom, they fell for a cheap trick.” She pulled the collar of her shirt to one side, revealing the Mark of the Recalcitrant on her collarbone. “See, Zaina? I’m just like you now. Soon we won’t have to hide. Sooner than I thought, even—once I heard they were taking the orb to the Sky Vault, my plans had to accelerate.”

Zaina gulped. That’s right—Ovela was there when the scholars discussed that.

To keep her talking, Zaina asked, “And my hut—scratching at it at night? What did you hope to accomplish then?”

Ovela smiled. “I wanted to get you alone—to bring you here. But your mentor stopped you before you reached my trap. All too unfortunate—though I suppose it’s doubly convenient now that she’s gone. Why she would side against her own kind, I don’t know.”

“Ovela,” Zaina said, her back nearly against the far wall—she was running out of space. It took all her concentration to resist the pull of the whispers, much less talk her friend down, but she persisted. “Ovela, this isn’t you. I know you—you’re a lancer. A good person—”

“I was a lancer once,” Ovela replied. “But then my gifts were taken from me. They say Riiva is wise, but really, it’s cruel. So I found new gifts. Oh, Zaina, can’t you feel it—can’t you hear the whispers?”

Zaina winced. They were growing stronger, emanating from the Eldritch’s orb, offering her everything she could ever possibly want: eternal life for her and her family, a lifetime of happy memories, a peaceful existence free of strife—

“Come, Zaina,” Ovela said, extending a hand. Her voice was deeper now, speaking in unison with a darker voice within. “Take the orb—become the new Eldritch. You will be the inheritor of cosmic power, and I will be your faithful servant until the end of time.”

“Wh-what? That’s what this—that’s why you’re doing this? To help that thing find its new host?”

She didn’t know if she was a match for a heretic, even a new one—Ovela seemed different than Beni. She seemed more herself, but still gone—lost in the madness of the shadow’s power.

Ovela spread her arms. “Leave behind these mortal trappings. You could be like a god! The Eldritch will give you power beyond what you ever dreamed of. You can create a world where no one will judge you, cast you out for who you are—you can cleanse the ignorant, and the weak, and anyone who refuses to accept you. Everything can be whatever we want, forever!”

“When did this happen?” Zaina asked. “Did you—did you meet the stone the first night I came?”

“Yes,” Ovela said. “You showed me I was wrong about heretics—you showed me that I was being lied to. I was curious about their power, and I was tired of being treated like I was no one. But now—now, we are someone. Come, Zaina—there isn’t much time before they discover us.”

Zaina shook her head. “No, I can’t do that, Ovela.”

Her friend glared. “Why not?”

Zaina raised a hand over her heart. “If I let the Eldritch in—if I give it control, I won’t be me anymore. Don’t you get that? I want to be me. And as my friend—you should want me to be me, too!”

Ovela readied her sword. “What we want is irrelevant. You can’t escape from this—it’s always been your destiny.”

“No,” Zaina said as her hands curled into fists. “No matter what you say, I’m not going to serve that thing! I’m a lancer!”

Ovela tilted her head back and gave a shrill laugh, with echoing contours of the Eldritch’s much deeper, more sinister chuckles. “You—a lancer? Please. You don’t have your armor, your equipment—no strand glove means no magick for you. But me?”

Ovela reached out toward a desk lining the wall and said, in an echoing, deep tone, “Rise to serve.”

The desk hurdled toward Zaina, flying through the air. With a yelp, Zaina leaped to one side, mistiming her landing and falling onto her shoulder. Ovela reached out again—another small desk and two chairs hovered in a circle around her.

With a devilish grin, Ovela said, “My magick is at its peak—lancer. The Shining Will is far more willing to divulge its secrets than Riiva.”

Zaina focused and summoned her cipher. Its metallic ring filled her with resolve—she wasn’t going to give in, no matter what. Readying the blade like Arbala had taught her, Zaina said, “Ovela, I don’t want to hurt you—but I’m not going to let you do this. If hurting you is the only way to stop you, well—I won’t have a choice.”

Ovela glared. “You really intend to fight?”

“Guess I don’t have a choice.”

The first chair rocketed toward Zaina—she barely deflected it with her cipher. Painful vibrations ran up her sword arm on impact. With a screech, her blade cut partially into the metal chair as Zaina cast it aside.

“Why?” Ovela demanded. “You have the chance to be the vessel of ultimate power—the host of a cosmic essence!”

The second chair zipped forward—Zaina missed her block, and the chair smashed into her elbow, sending waves of pain surging through her arm.

“Some of us,” Ovela said as she launched the desk at Zaina, “would kill for that kind of power!”

Zaina dropped to the ground, narrowly avoiding the flying furniture, and then jumped to her feet.

Ovela pointed her heretic’s fang at Zaina’s heart. “You would fight to avoid the opportunity of a million lifetimes—you cling so desperately to your mortality when more is right at your fingertips! Why?”

“At this point,” Zaina said between deep, heaving breaths, “I doubt you’d understand.”

Ovela charged forward—Zaina rushed to meet her advance. Their blades crossed in the middle with a resounding, deep clang.

Zaina tried to keep up, but Ovela was much more experienced at sword-fighting. The dark fang danced around Zaina’s cipher, deflecting all her attempted attacks and getting closer and closer to landing a hit. With a shout, Zaina tried to overpower Ovela, swinging wildly with an overhead strike—Ovela parried and counter-slashed, her fang slicing into Zaina’s midsection.

A shriek of pain roared from Zaina’s lips—blood gushed from the wound on her side as she leaped back, putting distance between herself and her opponent.

Ovela pointed the fang at Zaina’s heart. “You have no idea how much I wish I could be you. How much I wish I still was a lancer, so the Eldritch could choose me. You’re lucky, Zaina—you may not see it now, but I’m helping you.”

“Shut up,” Zaina said, readying her cipher once more. The whispers were getting to her—at any moment, her brain was going to split into two. Still, she fought on. “You don’t get to decide that for me!”

Ovela’s eye twitched. Then, she charged again. Zaina staved off her initial thrust, and barely centered her cipher in time to knock away the follow-up slash, but she was too slow to recover. Ovela’s fang surged forward and pierced the shoulder of Zaina’s sword arm.

Lightning-hot streaks of pain tore up and down Zaina’s arm and torso—she cried out, screeching in agony as her cipher dissipated. She fell to the ground.

Ovela chuckled again, then said, “You—a lancer. Come now, Zaina.” She raised her hand, and the shattered desks rose once more, swirling around Zaina, ready to pulverize her at a moment’s notice. “Give up this ridiculous game. I don’t want to break you—but I will if it means speeding this up.”