The Starlight Lancer

Chapter Sixty-Four: The Fugitive

"The temptation is unlike anything I've ever experienced. Not just the promises of power—no, it finds out exactly what you want, and it finds a way to promise that to you, too. For forty years I've dealt with the Eldritch's whispers in my head, living on the verge of a utopia I can't accept—paradise cloaking a darkness within, all wrapped in those abyssal whispers."

—From the writings of heretic Jula Chedris

Zaina stared at the ceiling, bored of scrolling through her vexicon. This cell was much nicer than her last one in the Celestial Sanctuary, but it was still a cell she wasn't allowed to leave. Guards brought in fresh supplies daily. Supposedly, this was all for her safety.

Are they really trying to keep me safe, or everyone else?

Compared to her previous stay, this room was at least four times as spacious. All the same amenities provided by her hut lined the walls, leaving plenty of room to practice magick. Her abilities were still forming, and her progression was slow. All she could summon were bubbles of light and tiny waves of sound.

Whenever her sense of boredom became mind-numbing—which was often—she'd lay on her bed and pull up more information about magick, or the history of the Order of Riiva, or whatever was on her mind at the time. There was quite a vast library contained within the vexicon's network, with more being added daily whenever scholars transcribed old books and new to digital formats.

"House alert" was the friendly name for Kaado's planetary lockdown. There was little to be done but wait in this room until the situation blew over. Somewhere beneath the sanctuary, her mentor was awaiting trial. Much to Zaina's amazement, she still hadn't learned that awful woman's name—but her being the murderer didn't make a terrible amount of sense.

She sighed. Was her mentor guilty? She was brash, sure—rude, yes, and absolutely not a fun person to be around. But killing for the Eldritch? Zaina wasn't so sure. Besides, she saw the heretic and her mentor at the same time. If her mentor was guilty, there had to be someone else in on it, too.

Still, the evidence was somewhat damning. The video feeds near her mentor's hut were cut off that night by the same particle decay. Though she wasn't sighted en route to the Celestial Sanctuary, the video feed there, too, had been interrupted when the High Scholar was killed. They were last seen talking to an attendant before the frame froze—when next it picked up, several minutes later, the attendant was missing, apparently having been so distraught she locked herself in a closet; and the High Scholar was dead, a fang sticking out of her chest. One of her arms hung over the edge of her hover-bed, which was grounded and tilting to one side.

Zaina sighed. Part of her wanted to put all of this behind her—to move on with her life as a lancer and get to saving the galaxy. Another part of her was worried trouble was following her wherever she went, and that she'd never escape it. Was this a string of bad luck following her, or something more malicious?

With a wistful frown, she summoned her cipher and waved it around a bit. What good was this weapon while it was stuck in here? She knew the scholars suspected her—was that why they wanted her down here, comfortably out of the way?

One of her hands reached up and touched her face—something from Demelia had stuck with her forever, whether she liked it or not. No matter how far she traveled, how many lives she saved, how many heroic stories about her were told—she was still a heretic, and people would always blame her when bad things happened. Lancer powers were brief and temporary, but the Mark of the Recalcitrant was forever.

Zaina's cipher dissipated. Who would ever want this?

Her reverie was interrupted by a knock at the door. Zaina's head tilted—it wasn't the right time of day for resupply. Time usually passed by at a grindingly slow crawl—had she lost track of it?