The warhorse paws fiercely, rejoicing in its strength, and charges into the fray. It laughs at fear, afraid of nothing; it does not shy away from the sword. The quiver rattles against its side, along with the flashing spear and lance. In frenzied excitement it eats up the ground; it cannot stand still when the trumpet sounds. At the blast of the trumpet it snorts, “Aha!” It catches the scent of battle from afar, the shout of commanders and the battle cry.
I am the warhorse, and I will do what needs doing. I will rush headlong into battle, unwilling to concede defeat—even if it means the end of my Everlife.
MLs converge. Determined, I go low, kicking out my leg and spinning. Multiple soldiers hit the ground as their ankles bounce together. As I straighten, I punch, and as I punch, my Troikan symbol flares with Light. The next blow burns through the MLs chest, my fist coming out the other side—a sword of fire in my grasp.
I reel, but he reels harder. His body seizes, Light spreading through his veins, racing under the surface of his skin. He screams in agony as he topples.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I didn’t want it to be this way.”
Other MLs back away from me. Afraid of me?
A mass of TLs come in behind them and, without hesitation, renders the necessary deathblows. Had to be this way, and it’s Myriad’s fault. They threatened the humans; they pay.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat. I open my palm, and the Pyre disappears. I swipe up my swords. The one who’d wielded the whip, stealing them, is now dead.
My gaze locks with Reed. He nods at me. Shadows move behind him. Behind all the Troikans. I shout a warning, but I’m too late. Spears pierce the TLs from behind, coming out of their chests.
Reed’s knees give out, and he collapses.
“No!” I rush to him, but just before I reach him I’m propelled up, up by a force greater than myself—
Carried by a beam of Light, I blaze through the Myriadian Buckler as if it’s butter. I reach a plateau, where I hover, looking down at the raging battle. Violent. Brutal. Bloody. My stomach twists. Reed is nothing but a speck on the ground.
He is spirit. He can survive. He must.
Can’t lose another friend.
A dark dome surrounds a mile-long stretch in every direction. The hole I created is growing together, closing. I don’t know how or why this happened.
I need to go back. I can’t abandon my troops.
—Orion died with those same words on his lips.—
The feminine voice flows from a room in the Grid. Princess Mariée. She’s helping me. One day, I’ll be strong enough to do this.
“I’d rather die fighting than live safe,” I tell her.
—Without you, we’ll crumble.—
Loyalty. Passion. Liberty. “No. I don’t believe that. The heart of Troika will never stop beating.”
Suddenly I drop. Whoosh! My heart and stomach switch places as I blaze through the shield once again. Impact throws me but I roll and come up swinging, taking down three opponents in quick succession.
Necessary. Must save Reed, must save the humans.
Another ML rushes into my path. Ready, I raise my swords—Sloan trips him, clearing the way for Killian.
I shout with relief, battling a painful urge to throw my arms around him. He’s here, and he’s alive!
His dark hair is matted to his scalp, wet with Lifeblood. He has several gashes on his face, and the collar of his shirt is ripped and hanging low, revealing thick scars around his neck. His only remaining weapon? Meredith’s ring.
His gaze slides over my still-glowing arm, and he nods, as if satisfied I’m healthy and whole.
A TL sprints up behind him, sword raised, but I grab the tattered remains of Killian’s shirt and push him out of the way, shouting, “No!” No more.
Loyalty.
What if Killian had been killed today? What if Reed is already in the Rest? What if the humans got caught in the crosshairs?
My determination changes course. “Stop! Everyone—just—stop.” Passion.
A round, disc-like beam of Light explodes from me, shocking me as it swoops over the masses.
MLs drop to their knees, even Killian and Sloan, and TLs freeze, the battle suddenly on pause. Every eye finds me and widens.
Tensions remain high, peace a fragile thing, as delicate as a gossamer thread. Uncertainty floods me. What do I do now?
Killian lumbers to his feet, his arm extended toward his brethren, the ring-gun aimed and ready. “Hear her,” he tells them. “Dare you.”
Liberty. I can lead these people. I can see myself. See it, do it. My life is a book filled with blank pages, and my actions and words are the pen.
“We have fought and warred against each other, but we’ve only birthed misery and pain,” I call. My gaze finds two Troikan Generals. Mykhail and Luciana. Both are drenched in Lifeblood, their tense posture proclaiming a fierce desire to return to battle. Next my gaze catches on Reed. He’s clutching his side, but he’s breathing.
Relief is a cool tide. “Myriadians, you hate us for our Light, and we despise you for your darkness. The two cannot coexist. We know this. We all know this. But why must we war because of it?”
Hear me. Please.
Silence reigns, but I’m certain not everyone likes the story I’m writing. Soldiers on edge, gearing to fight.
“I’m willing to call a truce,” Sloan shouts, and I’m grateful to her.
“Die,” someone calls.
The starting bell. Cries ring out, warriors blazing back into motion.
I am the warhorse, and I will do what needs doing. I will rush headlong into battle, unwilling to concede defeat—even if it means the end of my Everlife.
MLs converge. Determined, I go low, kicking out my leg and spinning. Multiple soldiers hit the ground as their ankles bounce together. As I straighten, I punch, and as I punch, my Troikan symbol flares with Light. The next blow burns through the MLs chest, my fist coming out the other side—a sword of fire in my grasp.
I reel, but he reels harder. His body seizes, Light spreading through his veins, racing under the surface of his skin. He screams in agony as he topples.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I didn’t want it to be this way.”
Other MLs back away from me. Afraid of me?
A mass of TLs come in behind them and, without hesitation, renders the necessary deathblows. Had to be this way, and it’s Myriad’s fault. They threatened the humans; they pay.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat. I open my palm, and the Pyre disappears. I swipe up my swords. The one who’d wielded the whip, stealing them, is now dead.
My gaze locks with Reed. He nods at me. Shadows move behind him. Behind all the Troikans. I shout a warning, but I’m too late. Spears pierce the TLs from behind, coming out of their chests.
Reed’s knees give out, and he collapses.
“No!” I rush to him, but just before I reach him I’m propelled up, up by a force greater than myself—
Carried by a beam of Light, I blaze through the Myriadian Buckler as if it’s butter. I reach a plateau, where I hover, looking down at the raging battle. Violent. Brutal. Bloody. My stomach twists. Reed is nothing but a speck on the ground.
He is spirit. He can survive. He must.
Can’t lose another friend.
A dark dome surrounds a mile-long stretch in every direction. The hole I created is growing together, closing. I don’t know how or why this happened.
I need to go back. I can’t abandon my troops.
—Orion died with those same words on his lips.—
The feminine voice flows from a room in the Grid. Princess Mariée. She’s helping me. One day, I’ll be strong enough to do this.
“I’d rather die fighting than live safe,” I tell her.
—Without you, we’ll crumble.—
Loyalty. Passion. Liberty. “No. I don’t believe that. The heart of Troika will never stop beating.”
Suddenly I drop. Whoosh! My heart and stomach switch places as I blaze through the shield once again. Impact throws me but I roll and come up swinging, taking down three opponents in quick succession.
Necessary. Must save Reed, must save the humans.
Another ML rushes into my path. Ready, I raise my swords—Sloan trips him, clearing the way for Killian.
I shout with relief, battling a painful urge to throw my arms around him. He’s here, and he’s alive!
His dark hair is matted to his scalp, wet with Lifeblood. He has several gashes on his face, and the collar of his shirt is ripped and hanging low, revealing thick scars around his neck. His only remaining weapon? Meredith’s ring.
His gaze slides over my still-glowing arm, and he nods, as if satisfied I’m healthy and whole.
A TL sprints up behind him, sword raised, but I grab the tattered remains of Killian’s shirt and push him out of the way, shouting, “No!” No more.
Loyalty.
What if Killian had been killed today? What if Reed is already in the Rest? What if the humans got caught in the crosshairs?
My determination changes course. “Stop! Everyone—just—stop.” Passion.
A round, disc-like beam of Light explodes from me, shocking me as it swoops over the masses.
MLs drop to their knees, even Killian and Sloan, and TLs freeze, the battle suddenly on pause. Every eye finds me and widens.
Tensions remain high, peace a fragile thing, as delicate as a gossamer thread. Uncertainty floods me. What do I do now?
Killian lumbers to his feet, his arm extended toward his brethren, the ring-gun aimed and ready. “Hear her,” he tells them. “Dare you.”
Liberty. I can lead these people. I can see myself. See it, do it. My life is a book filled with blank pages, and my actions and words are the pen.
“We have fought and warred against each other, but we’ve only birthed misery and pain,” I call. My gaze finds two Troikan Generals. Mykhail and Luciana. Both are drenched in Lifeblood, their tense posture proclaiming a fierce desire to return to battle. Next my gaze catches on Reed. He’s clutching his side, but he’s breathing.
Relief is a cool tide. “Myriadians, you hate us for our Light, and we despise you for your darkness. The two cannot coexist. We know this. We all know this. But why must we war because of it?”
Hear me. Please.
Silence reigns, but I’m certain not everyone likes the story I’m writing. Soldiers on edge, gearing to fight.
“I’m willing to call a truce,” Sloan shouts, and I’m grateful to her.
“Die,” someone calls.
The starting bell. Cries ring out, warriors blazing back into motion.
