26. Ashes to Ashes

 And then there were three.

In the course of just a few hours, Caela’s party had dwindled to almost nothing. Shade, Freija, Kazzik, Valerios, Lux - each had slipped away from her. Even Hayl, queen of warhorses, had vanished, leaving only her traditional steppe bridle.

Freija’s absence had, admittedly, proved temporary, but a chasm of unresolved emotions still yawned between them. The priestess, whose acidic banter had underscored the journey so far, was nearly silent now, her hair lying drably over soiled travelling clothes.

Johannes, too, was uncharacteristically somber, his usual jollity sounding forced. At least he remained as Caela’s one constant companion. Even so, it was clear from their time in Mulmais that his commitments were far broader and more cryptic than just the party.

No, despite the two silent followers at her shoulders, Caela felt utterly alone. The string of calamities had come too fast, too hard. Under the first blows, she had crumpled like a paper lantern -but at some point, she’d become as crushed as it was possible to get, left to rattle passively along the road with each stray kick.

As they trudged onward towards Ciria’s Palm, Caela felt every bit the reanimated corpse. She barely registered the majestic view that should’ve been their reward: a twilit panorama of the lands north of the Cirian Range. Forested foothills stretched below like an old, rumpled carpet of deep green fuzz, broken by water mills and trappers’ camps. Most majestic of all was Aegiswood itself, the Sarciel rising above the pines like their ancient grandfather.

Caela paused to stare at the leviathan tree: its trunk broad enough to encircle a town, its bare branches scraping the clouds. Wide stone platforms spiralled around the colossal trunk, buildings clustering on top of them or spilling off their edges. From this distance, the city’s lights were nothing more than fireflies, scattered across the bark and glowing deep in the trunk’s hollow heart.

Freija gasped - a puff of vapour disappearing as quickly as it appeared.

“Blessed Nature, it’s enormous,” she breathed. “There must be tens of thousands living there - maybe hundreds!”

Her snow-speckled, red-cheeked face turned sober. “I wish I could’ve seen it when the Sarciel was alive. I wonder what the elves who live there are like?”

She glanced hopefully at Caela, trying to spark a flicker of camaraderie. Caela, unfortunately, was damp tinder.

As they neared the meeting point, the crystallised tension of the past few days seemed to melt with the thawing snow, leaving Caela oddly calm. Things had gotten as bad as they were going to get. At least when they’d suffered tragedy in San Aria, it had been against a common enemy. Here, amid the barren pines, their enemy had become each other. What more, then, was there to be worried about?

“There,” Johannes announced, halting Caela with an outstretched arm. He pointed downhill, to where an outcropping jutted from the mountainside. On its far side, the rock had fallen away in regular chunks, leaving behind odd spires that could reasonably have been Ciria’s own fingers. They cast the copse below in tiger-striped shadow.

As they descended, an iridescent glow spilled from the Palm, painting each tree and rock in shifting hues. Long shadows sashayed across the frozen earth, welcoming them to a silent ceilidh.

At the centre of the clearing lay a shallow pool. In that sheltered hollow, its surface was like polished onyx, reflecting a sky spattered with galaxies. Leading the cosmic congregation, the moon marked their journey with a full stop.

And there, suspended above the pool, hovered the source of the glow.

It was a woman. Her lilac skin drinking in the pale moonlight and refracting it into her own hue. Her spine arched as if hoisted skyward on invisible cords. Bangles of gold and silver hung like planetary rings around willowy limbs that dangled listlessly. Though she floated several feet above the water, her gilt-lined skirts billowed as if underwater, her black ponytail fanning out in a twilight halo. Her eyes - blank white orbs - gazed up at the cosmos with a peaceful expression, lips slightly parted in awe.

From her brow rose a pair of horns. They had the same rippled ridging as Kazzik's - though where his followed his impish waves of hair, these twisted up towards the heavens. They were as bejewelled as the rest of the woman’s outfit, adorned with gold bands linked by fine chains. Only the slow sway of her pendulous earrings betrayed that Caela was not staring into a painting.

The figure rolled over in the air, vestments twisting like a flicking fishtail. She descended from on high, arms reaching towards Caela across infinities of perception. Instinct carried Caela forward to the pool’s edge. In its mirror surface she glimpsed a face: a pallid shape, scored with deep crevasses that the moonlight carved into shadow. She barely recognised it as her own reflection.

Fingertips caressed her scarred cheeks, and Caela looked up to see the face of the woman, inches away from hers. Her eyes were those of a sleepwalker: wide open, but looking into another world entirely. The woman’s lips parted; her voice, soft and faraway, grazed Caela’s ear.

“The thread is unbroken. You feel it still: whisker-thin, black and gold, stretching from icy peak to smouldering abyss. Right now, it feels like it’ll tug your heart right out of your chest. But hold firm, and the other will be pulled to you instead.”

The words prickled across Caela’s skin like an omen.

“I- I don’t understand…” she managed.

“They may hold most of his strings, but not all of them. He gave this one to you for safekeeping.”

The woman drew another breath.

“He hasn’t given up on you. He’s coming home.”

Hot tears welled and spilled into Caela’s spiderwebbing scars, filling them up like a river delta after a storm.

“Where? Where is he?” she choked.

Suddenly, the woman gasped, clutching her throat as if in sympathy. Unseen threads reeled her away from Caela. Her white eyes rolled, mouth opening in a silent cry. Then, with a twang, the spell broke. The aura vanished, and the woman’s limp body crashed down into the pool.

—

Wham.

Lux fell to his knees, the air knocked from his lungs by some drastic change in pressure. The floor was dark maroon stone, coarse beneath his fingertips. Half-dazed from the lurch, he traced its surface, the grain twisting into fractal patterns that seemed to swim before his eyes. As he tried fruitlessly to follow the lines to their source, he felt a pulse of warmth run through the stone, rippling towards him from somewhere down the corridor.

He looked up, head still swimming.

Kazzik stood over him, gazing around with something close to wonder. If he’d noticed the pulse, he didn’t show it.

Behind them, there was no trace of the rift that had brought them there - only the corridor remained, stretching into infinity. The ceiling vanished into featureless gloom high above, giving the hall an oddly claustrophobic quality. Of Valerios, there was no sign.

“We… made it,” Lux mumbled. “I can’t believe we actually…”

“You most certainly did, my candescent comrade!” Kazzik said warmly, hauling Lux up by the arm. His white eyes sparkled with mischief as he dusted him off.

“It was very brave, but I knew you’d pull through. After all, it is a once-in-a-lifetime proposal. How could you do anything but accept?”

Lux pulled away, frowning. “I haven’t accepted anything. Just wanted to hear it from the horse’s mouth.”

He glanced down the corridor. “Meaning no disrespect to your boss, and all.”

Kazzik turned his attention to his own garments, still speckled with meltwater and twigs. Fastidiously, he picked off the debris and straightened his collar.

“Of course, the Lady Mirazh demands respect. But I think she’ll like you.”

“Why’s that?”

Kazzik only grinned and ushered him forward with a showman’s flourish.

With no better options, Lux started down the hall. The air was thick with perfume - heady, sweet, almost suffocating. He felt Kazzik keeping pace close behind, the well-heeled man’s boots tapping the floor in perfect time with his own.

The corridor ended in a towering door of rough black rock, distinguished from the surrounding walls by an outline of molten orange light.

Sensing Kazzik’s silent presence at his shoulder, Lux stepped forward.

The door emanated heat, as if it had been baking under the sun for hours. As Lux tentatively reached out to touch it, he felt the warmth, the shift of the cracked stone, like cooled lava. He hesitated, afraid that pressing too hard might shatter the crust and let fire spill over his hand.

He left his palm there, trying to calm his racing thoughts.

He felt like a man sitting on the edge of a dock, legs dangling into dark water. Sure, he could get out, but his feet were already wet. What were his choices? Retreat and shiver on the shore, inch forward into the unknown, or take the plunge?

His thoughts turned traitorously to Caela, to Valerios and the others. What would they say? Did it matter? Like it or not, they were going to meet a new Lux - the one who could be the saviour they needed. He didn't need their approval, so long as they were safe.

With a deep breath, Lux pushed the door open.

—

“Oh, not again…”

The shock jolted Caela into action. As she dragged the unconscious woman out of the puddle, she found herself on familiar ground. It had been a river, not a pond, last time, but still…

Her rescuee spluttered awake, coughing up pond water and staring around wildly. Her shimmering raiments and feathery hair had quickly gone from ethereal to soaked through, and her shoulders shivered in the wintry night air.

Caela gripped her trembling hands and hauled her upright.

“Are you okay?”

The woman tried to answer, but her teeth chattered too furiously for Caela to understand more than a few stammered syllables.

“I-I-I’m fi-i-ine… ju-u-ust…”

“Here, my dear,” said Johannes, stooping to proffer a pewter mug. As it changed hands, a spark crackled from his fingertips, and the liquid inside began to bubble and steam.

The woman pressed both hands to the warm metal, clutching it like a lifeline. She closed her eyes and breathed in the rising steam, a blissful smile spreading across her face. When she spoke again, her voice was steadier.

“T-that’s better. Thank you, Johannes.”

Caela felt rather than heard Johannes’ sharp intake of breath, his hand twitching towards the orb in his pocket.

“I beg your pardon?”

The woman blinked wide, white eyes at them, alarmed.

“Oh! Sorry! I forgot you’re keeping things under wraps.” She laughed nervously. “Don’t worry - whoever you’re hiding from, I didn’t hear your name from them.”

She wrung out her ponytail, trying to recover her air of mystique.

“My name is Ashtoreth of Alathrien.” She gave a quick, curtsey-like bow. “I’m the one who sent Caela the letter. I’m so glad you’re here.”

Caela, mind racing, could only stare. This was their mysterious letter-writer? Mystical she certainly seemed, but Caela had been expecting someone a little more… composed.

Oblivious to Caela’s bewilderment, Ashtoreth looked earnestly up at Johannes.

“You’re the arcanist, aren’t you? The cards said I’d meet a great teacher.”

Johannes preened, none too subtly.

“A great teacher? Ha! Well, my methods are unorthodox, but it is gratifying to meet someone who appreciates true artifice.” He peered at her damp robes and jangling charms. “What forms of magic do you practice, my dear?”

“Oh, I dabble,” Ashtoreth smiled, twisting an ornate bangle around her wrist. “Nothing as brilliant as transmutation or conjuring flame, of course. My speciality is divination. Cards, tea leaves, stars - that sort of thing.”

“You mean the sort of trick they use to fleece people at carnivals?” Freija had evidently recovered some of her bite.

“Yes! Exactly, Freya!” Ash replied brightly, without a hint of irony. “It’s nothing fancy, certainly not compared to your command of nature.”

“Mmm,” Freija’s tone was unimpressed. “And it’s Freija. With a ‘zh’.”

Ashtoreth frowned. “Hmm. My reading must’ve been off. I’ll make a note.”

Wobbling to her feet, she made her way over to a small pile of abandoned possessions that Caela hadn’t noticed amid the chaos. She rummaged through a battered purple pack before shrugging in defeat.

“Must’ve been off,” she repeated thoughtfully. “Because I was expecting more of you-”

Caela’s stomach dropped.

Ashtoreth noticed at once, her face falling. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me I’m too late.” She clapped a hand to her forehead, stricken. “I dreamt about it - a hall, long and dark as dried blood. Two people. A terrible calling…”

She trailed off, fingers nervously tangling her jewellery. “I hoped I’d meet you in time. I was sure that…”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Caela. I can’t see everything, and I certainly can’t control it. I just sort of… bob along, trying to keep my head above the surface.”

“It’s okay,” Caela rasped. “He made a choice. They all did. It’s like you said…”

Ashtoreth’s earlier words echoed in her mind.

“What did you mean earlier - right before you collapsed? What was all that?”

Ashtoreth blinked, puzzled.

“When did- ah! That’s right. I had another moment. It’s happened before, when I reach a point in time I’ve been predicting for a while. It’s sort of like… all the fate unspools at once, and for a moment, I see more than I should. Problem is, I never remember it afterwards.”

“Ashtoreth-”

“Call me Ash!”

“...Ash, you said he was coming home.” Caela didn't mean it as an accusation, but the words were too heavy to be thrown around idly. “How can you be so certain? Even I don't know where he's gone.”

Despite her attempt to keep steady, Caela felt tears welling up again. “I’m sorry. I just…”

“No, I’m-” Ash, equally flustered, raised her hands uncertainly, before pulling Caela into a sudden hug. “I’m sorry!”

Her shoulder was damp, smelling of pondwater and smoky perfume, but Caela didn't mind. The awkward pats on her back were more warmth than she’d felt in a long time.

Yet again, her heart ached for the close affection of Ardelign - the intimacy that she’d long ago forsaken for arms-length companionship.

“Shh, it's alright, don't cry,” Ash murmured, steadying Caela like a wobbly vase. “Lux knows what he’s doing.”

—

Beyond the heat-moulded door, Lux stepped into a surreal scene.

It was as if a cavern had tried to coax its stalactites into the shape of an office, based on the description provided by some hopelessly lost bureaucrat. What he'd taken for wood panelling was in fact crystals of brown quartz, and the flickering sconces were filled not by candles, but cut tiger-eyes. An onyx desk crouched at the far end of the room, spiderlike, balanced on several bulbous legs.

And behind the desk...

Lux froze.

A woman’s body reclined limply on a stone formation imitating a throne. She looked somewhere past middle age, naked, papery skin wrapped tight over a bundle of bones. She might have seemed merely asleep - were it not for the fact her head was missing. Her neck ended in an abrupt stump that was tilted away from Lux, resting on the chair's monolithic back.

Then, with a dry cough, the stump burst into flame.

Lux staggered backward as a column of oily smoke surged upward, dashing itself against the cavern ceiling. Darkness bloomed, thick and choking, as the cloud spread across the stone.

He spun, hand flying to his sword’s hilt, searching for the exit - but the door was gone. In its place, Kazzik leant against the melted stone, arms folded with the air of a guard who’d really prefer to do things the easy way.

Finding himself at the dead centre of the room, Lux suddenly felt very exposed.

And then the corpse moved.

Jerkily, as if guided by an inexperienced puppeteer, the woman rose. Shadowy threads drifted down from the smoky ceiling to clothe her in an intangible shroud. The strands knitted together over her collarbones, forming a black locket in the shape of a heart. An iris unfurled on its surface, revealing a crimson eye.

The thing took a twitchy step, then another, leaning heavily into each one. Lux couldn’t look away, entranced by the labourious rhythm of her movement. She was still halfway across the room when the acrid smoke made him blink.

When he opened his eyes, she was standing right in front of him.

“Mirazh, Lady of Smoke, Trader in Fates, Doyenne of the Soul,” came Kazzik’s indolent drawl. “Grandmother - this is Lux.“

Mirazh's neck cocked to one side, one hand rising jerkily to fondle the necklace hanging over her heart. Lux was disturbed to notice that her fingers themselves were sharpened to pencil-points, like the legs of an insect. Looking up into the smoke, he thought he could see her formless head tilt, studying him like a hawk might a field mouse.

“Welcome, Lucian Alcedine,” she purred, “to my domain. I fancy this must be quite a shock - although you have had the pleasure of running into my hounds. Thank you for handling them, by the way - I would so hate to have them running loose.”

“Y-you’re a…” Lux faltered.

From the depths of his subconscious, his Guide supplied the word. Fiend! it screeched.

It was the first time Lux had heard its voice outside the water. Had it always been able to speak to him like this? Had it merely chosen not to?

Mirazh chuckled softly, tracing the ragged edge of her neck. “A mutilation,” she said, almost casually, “from a jealous lover. A mortal wound, so it’s a good thing I’m not. I do hope my little disfigurement doesn’t unsettle you?”

She stepped closer. Lux stepped back, drawing his sword. Candlelight condensed along the blade, coating it in radiance that glowed weakly against the room’s red haze.

Mirazh was unperturbed, her stance casual.

“Down, boy,” she said, clearly amused. “I’m here to help you, not hurt you. If I meant you harm, I’d have had Kazzik ventilate you the moment you met.”

Lux glanced back. Kazzik grimaced impishly and shook his head.

“I don’t need help,” Lux said, squaring his stance. He was beginning to regret taking Kazzik’s hand. This was all too sudden - and too far over his head.

“Oh, but you do,” Mirazh purred. “You’re shedding worse than a long-haired yugoloth. You lost your family, so you ran away from home. Then you found Caela and Valerios - and lost them, too.”

“Valerios - he came with us,” Lux cut in sharply. “Where is he?”

Mirazh gave a dismissive flick of the wrist. “He shouldn’t have interfered in things too complex for him to understand. He was halfway through when the gate closed - fell through the cracks, perhaps. I’m sure he’ll turn up somewhere across the infinity.”

She recomposed herself.

“Another loss. What about Hellebore and Rose? You freed them from their fates just long enough for them to die protecting you.”

Lux recoiled as though struck.

Mirazh smiled faintly and pressed her advantage.

“What of the people of San Aria? Perhaps the others can sleep at night, saying that they couldn’t have stopped Vozloc from destroying the containment chamber. But they weren’t the ones that put him there, were they?”

His stomach lurched. Ever since the tragedy, he’d worn his guilt like a hairshirt. Now, Mirazh was ripping it away, leaving him bare.

“I take responsibility,” he mumbled, palms slick on the leather hilt. “Next time, I’ll do better.”

“Next time?” Mirazh let out a high-pitched cackle. “Next time was Shade and Freija. Please remind me - how did that go? Kazzik gave me only the barest details.”

Her voice softened, a soothing chaser to a throat-burning shot.

“You need my help, child. You’re losing everyone you love, and you can’t staunch the bleeding.”

Lux raised his blade, more out of fear than anger. “Maybe you’re right,” he rasped. “But I have Caela. She always knows what’s best.”

“Caela?” Mirazh laughed. “Oh, dear boy. How can she save your soul, when she doesn’t even have one of her own?”

Lux tensed, coiling like a spring. His stance shifted, grip on his sword tightening. Just like he’d been taught.

“You don’t get to say that,” he growled. “You don’t know anything.”

“Poor silly puppy,” Mirazh sneered. “Tugging at your leash, desperate to chase every shadow. Are you sure you know what happens when you catch one?”

She stepped closer.

Fiend! Fiend! Kill!

Lux stood trapped between the electric mania of his Guide and the purring disdain of Mirazh. Instinct took over. He thrust.

The blade sank to the hilt into Mirazh’s flank. She gasped softly, collapsing against him as if delicately fainting into his arms. Lux tugged on his sword, feeling a sickening resistance as he tried to pull it free. There was no blood - just a few wisps of smoke leaking from the wound. Of course. Mirazh looked like all her blood and vitality had dried up long ago.

“I- I’m sorry,” Lux stammered, still yanking impotently on his sword, when a withered hand rose to caress his face. He froze as her parchment touch traced the line of his jaw, then came to rest gently on his throat.

“It’s all right, darling boy,” Mirazh purred. “Let it out. Take as long as you need.”

Smoke curled from the wound, wrapping his sword in haze as the Candlelight retreated back up the blade. One smoky strand lashed out and caught a golden polyp, drawing it towards where her face should have been. A faint glimmer flared within the smoke.

“Ahh, a pretty thing indeed,” she mused. “But wouldn’t you like something better? Something like Kazzik’s gift, perhaps?”

“No-” Lux began, but her grip tightened around his throat. “It’s everything to me!”

“It’s a trinket!” Mirazh snapped, her grandmotherly air vanishing. “A toy sword for a squire, meant to make him think he holds any real power.”

“It’s a part of me.”

“But what is Lux?” she hissed. Her other hand curled around his sword arm. “You move like the sea people who raised you. You fight with the arm of a dead man. Even this light isn’t yours. A gift - from a being that’s going the way of the void.”

Her tone held a cold smile. “You are an amalgam. I only offer you the final piece.”

“And then what?” Lux spat. “I dance for you like a damn fish on a line?”

“Nothing in this world is free,” she said sweetly. “I only ask a small favour in return.” She patted his cheek. “Don’t worry, it’s right up your alley! Just help Kazzik discover who forged that foolish little amulet, and make sure they can’t make any more of a nuisance of themselves.”

It didn’t seem so unreasonable, the way she put it. After all, they needed to do some investigating in Aegiswood anyway, to find Vozloc’s employers. Maybe their trail led to the same place.

“And if there’s trouble?” he asked through gritted teeth.

Two electric arcs flashed within Mirazh’s smoky silhouette, like eyes crinkled in a smile. “My gift should be more than enough to deal with a little row.”

A Mirazh row, Lux suspected, was probably a normal person’s worst day of their life. He had visions of war - Lux, the vanguard, fighting under someone else’s banner. Not his own.

“And what if I don’t?” he couldn’t resist asking. “What if you ask somethin’ I can’t do?”

The smoke coiled tighter around the strand of Candlelight. The molten gold spiked madly, fractals that collapsed as quickly as they formed.

“Your soul would be your own while you lived,” Mirazh said coyly. “But after death? I would claim it. And if we had a disagreement… I might not be inclined to take care of my new prize.”

“That’s it? I’d get to live out my days before you came to collect?”

“Believe me, Lux - if you broke our pact, those days would be few in number. Kazzik would see to that.”

The shadows braided themselves into the gold.

“But if you do well,” she murmured, “you’ll barely feel my touch. You’ll be able to enjoy your retirement… alongside all the friends who only lived because of you and your new power.”

From somewhere distant, his Guide stuttered: You must… You cannot… You must…

Why is it always like this? Lux thought. You never show up when I need you. You only ever hold me back.

The last doubt burned away.

I don’t want you any more.

“Do it,” he blurted. “If you’re so great - do it. Give me strength enough to protect them. I’ll pay your price.”

Was it a trick of the light, or did he see a cracked-glass smile within the smoke? Mirazh’s grip loosened, talons settling lightly on his cheeks.

“I knew you’d see sense,” she cooed. “Now - let me show you what your friends were so afraid of.”

With one swift motion, she jerked his head forwards, pulling it into the column of smoke.

Lux gasped, but his cry was swallowed by an inrush of scalding embers. He felt the world wrenching around him, and found himself staring into another world.

Though he knew on some level that he hadn’t moved an inch, to his eyes it seemed that he was at the centre of a vast nebula. It wasn’t pure blackness, he realised. The clouds rippled with all manner of crimsons, violets and verdigris. A galaxy of lights swirled around him: Mirazh’s diamond hoard. A single mote descended from the twinkling vault, sinking into his chest.

Searing pain exploded through him, as if he’d swallowed a red-hot coal.

Every nerve screamed. Every fibre of his being fought to reject the invader.

Mirazh’s voice echoed from everywhere at once.

“Fear not, boy. Your light is the glue that will make you whole. And when it does - my gift will be inside you.”

Lux screamed as his body was torn into glittering dust.

—

Kazzik lounged sideways in Mirazh’s throne, watching Lux with faint interest. The boy dangled from a smoky tendril, twisting helplessly - suspended by his mouth like a fish on a hook.

With another shadowy arm, Mirazh plucked the sword from her chest. She studied the chipped steel for a moment. Then the arm pulsed like a flexing muscle, and the sword disintegrated into a curtain of silvery dust.

Kazzik felt a brief twang of sympathy. Hopefully, Lux hadn’t named the thing - but, then again, that was exactly the kind of sentimental crap Mirazh despised.

Wiping her talons on her gown, Mirazh turned sharply towards Kazzik.  “Feet off the furniture, you coddled brat.”

Kazzik’s dodge was too slow. A tendril lashed out, snatching him by the ankle and flinging him unceremoniously to the floor beside Lux. He examined the boy more closely as he sat up, rubbing his aching shoulder.

“Haven’t I been tossed around enough already?” he pouted. “I’ve still got bruises from the hellhounds.”

Mirazh was clearly unimpressed by his plaintive tone. In the space of a blink, she was back in her throne: straight-backed, hands folded, pointed fingers dancing against her knuckles.

“Yes,” she drawled. “And now I have three empty kennels. Perhaps I’ll house you there next time you displease me.”

Kazzik grinned broadly. He was no stranger to backtalk - the edge of other people’s patience was his home turf. But this was nothing serious; idle threats were the closest thing Mirazh had to a love language. It was only when she started being nice that you really had to worry.

“It’s a good thing you are pleased, my Lady, isn’t it?” He bowed as he said her title, playing the humble servant like a hammy stage actor. “I closed the portal, recovered the amulet, and gave you him.” He gestured towards Lux.

Mirazh snorted. “True enough,” she said, grudgingly. “He’s got unbelievable potential, but absolutely no direction. You’ll keep an eye on him. Make sure he acts in our best interests. After all, he’s no good to me dead. If he was, I’d have taken his soul like that.”

A tentacle shot down from the ceiling, forming a cruel sickle just above Lux’s heart. He didn’t react, of course. His mind was far away, lost in its own storms.

“I can’t wait to see him after the upgrade,” Kazzik said, eyes gleaming. “Think he’ll be stronger than me?”

Mirazh tilted her head. In the next moment, she was in front of him, cool fingers lifting his chin.

“Apples and oranges, Kazzik. I’ve made you exactly how I want you, and you’ll always be my number one agent.”

She turned slightly, the smoky pillar flashing in the direction of Lux.

“But yes - he will be strong. I hope the next one you bring has as much promise.”

Kazzik frowned. “Next one?” he asked, his voice slipping back to its natural tone.

Mirazh stared down at him.

“Why, what else did you expect?” she purred. “There’s always the next task. That funny little coterie still has three other members, and a fourth seems to be making her application. I’m sure they’ll be on high alert after your dramatic recruitment of Lux, but…”

Lightning flashed inside the cloud, a jagged crescent smile.

“You’re a clever boy. I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

27. New Order >>