The night sky was illuminated by an inexplicable brightness, like light seeping through the cracks of an open door.

“This isn’t good,” Jaks muttered as he reached down for the rifle Rose was carrying. He pried it out of her dead hands.

Jocelyn was still too stunned to say anything.

Jaks had murdered Rose. This was the same Jaks who had planned a surprise midnight picnic for her in the name of love.

“Jocelyn, I need you to stay focused,” he said.

She had no response for him. Instead, she stared blankly at the falling debris from the obliterated Dragon Flies. They rained down from the dark sky like shooting stars.

Suddenly, through the cracks of light, four massive ships, each the size of the Slaves’ Nest emerged. Despite their resemblance to blimps—smooth, white, and aerodynamic—there was something unique about these ships. Their movements reminded her of a fish traversing through water. Large gills aligned the side of them and continuously flapped open and close. It was as if the ships walls were breathing.

A loud baritone groan erupted from one of these behemoths, shaking the ground they stood on.

“Take my gun,” Jaks said, handing her the same weapon he used to kill Rose. “We don’t have much time before they arrive.”

Jocelyn was hesitant to accept the weapon. She stared at the black pistol apprehensively and felt revulsion spit up from the pit of her stomach and into the back of her throat. She already killed one person tonight. She didn’t want to kill another.

“I can’t.”

Jaks looked flustered. “You need to be able to defend yourself when they come,” he stated.

“Against who? The Xaksu?”

Jaks shook his head. “If only we were so lucky,” he said. “It’s the Asrai.”

Jocelyn had only heard of the Asrai through whispers in the alleyways of the Slaves’ Nest, long after the sun had set and the lights went out.

The Asrai were an ancient race of powerful beings, human in appearance, with trademarked snow-colored skin and milk-white hair. They were known to still favor the old ways of the galaxy and were highly spiritual, believing in the mystery of magic and forgotten gods.

But why were they here?

Jaks seemingly read Jocelyn’s mind and offered up an explanation.

“The Asrai has joined in this war. Have you heard of Nexus?”

Jocelyn shook her head.

“It’s a planet comprised of a series of metropolises networked together to form the largest commercial hub in the galaxy. Almost anything could be bought there, if the price was right: food, weapons, resources, drugs—even slaves. You just need to find the right person. Like Glammora, the Nexus is neutral ground for all warring factions, as well as a designated safe haven for everyone to hold discussions, offer terms of surrender or peace, and trade openly with merchants without the threat of being killed.”

“And the Xaksu agree to this?”

Jaks nodded. “They don’t have a choice. If the Nexus is dragged into this war, the entire economic infrastructure of the galaxy fails. This Universe would no longer be one worth ruling.”

“What does the Nexus have to do with the Asrai coming here?”

“I’m getting to it. The Nexus is governed by its own elected council, which lays out one simple rule: violence from the war is forbidden on their planet. It’s a place where a Xaksu soldier can have breakfast with a Cymerian and play cards with an Asrai afterward if desired. Many had theorized that if peace were ever to come to the galaxy, its seeds would be sown in Nexus.”

Jocelyn could see where the story was going. “But that’s no longer the case.”

“All good things must end. One night, an Asrai merchant decided to take his infant daughter out for a walk through the night markets. He was pushing her in a stroller. It was on this night that the terms of peace were breeched.”

Jocelyn held her breath. She hated stories where children were harmed in anyway and had a feeling this was one of those stories.

“A crazed Xaksunian, dressed in a soldier’s uniform and carrying a gun, waited for them. I don’t need to tell you what happens next.”

“Why did he kill them?”

“Before any reason was given, the Xaksu soldier turned the gun on himself, ending his life abruptly as well. Asa, Empress of the Xaksu, had publicly condemned the attack, stating it was a personal vendetta as opposed to a Xaksu order. She even offered to pay restitutions to the Asrai, who stayed out of the war up until then. The Asrai had none of it.

“When it came to Nexus and the sacredness of the peace agreement, there was no second chance. The Asrai saw this heinous act as a declaration of war. They publicly stated they’d honor the two innocent deaths with the complete destruction of the Xaksunian Race.” Jaks looked at the warships drifting down towards them. “It looks like the Asrai has come to Behyru to draw first blood.”

Jocelyn shook her head. “More bodies, more blood.”

“Jocelyn, listen to me,” Jaks said. “We’ll need to fight. Take the gun.”

“Perhaps they’re not here to kill us.”

Jaks shook his head. “This is war. Unlike the Xaksu, the Asrai don’t take prisoners.”

Jocelyn frowned as she finally accepted the weapon. Her eyes fell on Rose’s body one last time. She deserved better. Everyone here did—servants and slaves alike.

It was then she made a startling realization.

“The guards, they’re all unconscious,” Jocelyn whispered. “They’ll be sitting ducks.”

“We can’t worry about them now,” Jaks said. “As I said, we’re on our own. We need to escape into the forest and hide.”

“Everyone in the Slaves’ Nest—”

“Are as good as dead,” Jaks stated. There was no sympathy in his voice. “This is the nature of war.”

Jocelyn closed her eyes. “Fuck this war.”

“They couldn’t have chosen a better time to invade,” Jaks muttered. “The drones are down, the soldiers are incapacitated, and the anti-air guns are disabled. Damn it, it’s like they knew somehow.”

Another loud groan filled the sky as the jaws of one of the Asrai ships began to open. It reminded Jocelyn of a whale, opening its massive mouth to swallow a school of fish for its dinner.

Out of the ship flew four winged objects.

Jocelyn narrowed her eyes, attempting to focus on what they were.

These objects, in actuality, were hairless creatures—tall, thin, and beautiful with white skin and large wings twice the size of their body. They were female, from the shape of their figure with two legs that resembled a gazelle’s but moved with the grace of a dove, dancing in the sky.

Jocelyn had heard about these creatures before, through chatter in the Slaves’ Nest. The Virgos were what people called them.

Tethered to the waist of the Virgos, via long black chords, were sets of six warriors—both male and female—armed with glowing swords crackling with blue energy. Large white bows were slung across their backs.

The term ‘ninja’ immediately popped in Jocelyn’s head as she stared at the Asrai soldiers in awe. Unlike the typical white hair of an Asrai, these soliders’ hair was black, and peeked out from dark blue shrouds worn over their heads. Their left arms were covered in polished black armor while the right was left bare. The men were shirtless, except for straps of black leather running across their chest, while the women were covered with a dark blue body-wrap. Golden belts fastened long white cloths to both sexes, covering everything below the waist.

“The Pale Soldiers,” Jaks whispered.

“Who?”

“I can’t beat them,” Jaks said. “I have scars on my back that will never heal because of those bastards.” He grabbed Jocelyn by the wrist. “We need to get to the forest to hide.”

They began to run.

As they made their escape, Jocelyn noticed that some of the other guards had awoken from the effects of the Makosia. Two of them stumbled out from the soldier’s mess hall. Judging by the looks on their faces, they were absolutely floored by the sight of four monolithic ships in the sky and the white angels hovering above them.

One immediately began firing at the Virgos.

The Pale Soldiers, carried by one of the angelic creatures, disconnected themselves from their tether, landing onto the ground with the graces of cats.

One of them made a rush towards the attacking guard while the others waited patiently.

“Help Jaks!” the guard firing screamed. The Pale Soldier danced around the bullets with ease.

Still holding onto Jocelyn, Jaks turned in the opposite direction and ran.

“Come back and fight, you damn coward,” the guard cursed.

Jocelyn looked back just in time to see the Pale Soldier’s arcing blue sword cut the man down.

She didn’t stop running.

They continued for what seemed like hours. Her lungs screamed for rest and the muscles in her legs felt as if they’d rip right off the bone. Yet, she kept on running.

They managed to reach their destination of the forest, where only a few nights ago they had their picnic underneath the trees.

Tonight, these same trees were to conceal them from the Asrai.

Eventually, Jaks stopped running, much to Jocelyn’s relief. She took this opportunity to catch her breath.

“Did we…” Jocelyn sucked in some wind. “Did we lose them?”

Jaks shook his head. “I don’t know. The Pale Soldiers are known to be relentless when they’re tracking their targets. For now, we wait. I don’t think either of us can go on without some rest.”

“Agreed.”

Jaks sat down and leaned against one of the trees. “Some rescue plan, huh?”

Jocelyn frowned. “Killing both Bulba and Rose was for nothing.”

“Sit,” he said.

Jocelyn folded her arms across her chest and shook her head. “I want to stand.”

“You don’t seem to trust me anymore.”

“I…” she paused, struggling with her emotions and the right words to say. “I just need a bit of time to think. I’m used to seeing death, but not when I’m the direct cause of it.”

“Bulba and Rose would have died tonight regardless,” Jaks said. “The Asrai would have made sure of this.”

“You take death so lightly.”

“I’m a soldier. I have to. It was either her or us, and I’d choose ‘us’ every single time.”

Jocelyn didn’t have the capacity to respond. She leaned up against a tree and closed her eyes.

The image of the Pale Soldier’s blade, sparking with blue energy was still fresh in her mind. The Asrai warrior seemed cruel and focused as he butchered the guard. It reminded Jocelyn of the Xaksu when they first invaded Earth.

What were the chances she’d survive two invasions?

“Jocelyn…” Jaks whispered.

She opened her eyes and was startled to see his gun drawn. It was pointed up at the tree branches, just above where she stood.

She followed the thin red beam from rifle’s scope, where it landed on the forehead of a grim face, hiding in the trees. The dark eyes of the Pale Soldier were emotionless.

Jocelyn felt her heart drop into her stomach.

“Run Jocelyn,” Jaks said, his gun still locked onto the enemy. “I’ll keep him occupied.”

Before she could respond, the Pale Soldier leapt down from the tree and landed with the quiet grace of a falling leaf.

“It doesn’t have to come to this,” Jaks said, his eyes still glued to his opponent. “We no longer serve the Xaksu.”

The Pale Soldier remained silent as one hand reached for the sheathed blade around his waist.

“Jocelyn, you need to go, now!” Jaks shouted.

“Jaks…”

“Now! Go now!”

The forcefulness of his voice lit a fire under her feet. Without looking back she fled, leaving Jaks to confront the Pale Soldier all on his own.

Her legs were still worn down from their last mad dash from the compound. It was only through sheer will that she was able to continue moving.

Meanwhile the sounds of gunfire erupted behind her. She held her breath.

Jaks.

The gunshots continued for only a few seconds before it was met with an abrupt silence. Jocelyn stopped dead in her tracks.

“Jaks?” she whispered to herself.

He responded with a loud scream. She had a vision of the deadly, crackling blade of the Pale Soldier again.

Realizing that Jaks was now probably dead, Jocelyn fell to her knees and buried her face in her hands. She felt as helpless now as she did when her mom had abandoned her.

Tonight was supposed to be a night of hope but instead had turned into a complete nightmare.

If only she had said “no,” to Jaks’ plan from the start. If Bulba were still alive and the guards still awake, they would have been able to repel this attack. Now, everyone on Behyru was doomed.

Suddenly, she felt a hand grab onto her arm, lifting her up off the ground effortlessly.

Jocelyn screamed at the sight of a female Pale Soldier.

“Walk.” The ghostly-white Asrai woman said. Her voice was cold and unwelcoming.

“Leave me alone,” Jocelyn struggled to remove the Pale Soldier’s hand off her body, but her grip was iron-tight.

“Walk,” the Pale Soldier repeated, her hand closing tighter around Jocelyn’s arm.

Jocelyn felt all the fight escape from her like hot steam from a kettle. She felt tired now. All she wanted to do was rest.

“Okay,” Jocelyn conceded. “Okay.”

The Pale Soldier released her grip. “Walk.”

The trek through the forest was long and tiresome. Jocelyn had pushed her body far beyond the physical boundaries of what she was used to and with the poison squeezing at her veins and lungs, she was constantly on the verge of collapsing.

A few times Jocelyn stopped to catch her breath by leaning against a tree.

Surprisingly, the Pale Soldier allowed her to do so. It seemed like they were in no hurry to reach their destination.

Eventually they made their way back to the Slaves’ Nest.

Gathered at the center of the square, on their knees and around the murder posts, was every living slave, along with a handful of guards who had been taken prisoner.

Jocelyn joined the other captives, falling to her knees. She was exhausted and used her hands and arms to keep herself from collapsing face-first onto the ground.

While trying to catching her breath, she heard some of the whispers from the other prisoners around her.

“What’s going to happen to us?”

“Anything is better than the Xaksunians.”

“We’re dead. We’re all dead.”

“Mercy! We’ve been kneeling here for over two hours.”

Jocelyn sucked in more air into her decaying lungs and forced herself to look up.

The Pale Soldiers were everywhere. They all shared the same grim look on their faces.

Jocelyn couldn’t help but view them as executioners, standing over the guilty and the damned. Meanwhile, hovering above them like satellites, were the Virgos that had carried them here.

Jocelyn scanned the faces of the captured Behyru guards. There were six. Jaks wasn’t among them.

Was that all that was left? A camp of over four hundred guards and all that remained from this attack were six?

Suddenly, a Pale Soldier pushed through the crowd, carrying a limp body over his shoulders.

“Trouble,” he said in a monotone voice as he tossed the guard onto the ground, “Alive still.”

Make that seven. It took a while for Jocelyn to recognize that the unconscious man wearing a crimson mask of blood was Jaks.

He was also missing his right arm, just below the elbow.

“Jaks,” she whispered. “What did they do to you?”

She was about rush to his side but stopped when all the Pale Soldiers suddenly fell to one knee, as if they were dragged down by some gravitational force. All their heads turned to the same direction.

And that was when Jocelyn saw the frightening man—if you could even call him a man—floating towards them.

His face was hidden behind a smooth white ivory mask, decorated with thin blue streaks flowing down the corners of the slits where each eye was. His armor was white as well, with intricate black and blue patterns adorning it. A long black cape drifted behind him, like a seamless flowing river. He towered over everyone with his seven-foot frame.

This was clearly the Asrai in charge.

One by one the Pale Soldiers rose as he passed by them.

“Who is he?” came more whispers.

“He must be the Silent King, ruler of the Asrai.”

Trailing behind him was a female soldier in pure black armor, her long, white hair seeping out from underneath her helmet that resembled a crown. Her face was ivory white like the rest of the Asrai, with eyes the color of sapphires that seemed to glitter in the darkness. She was young and she was beautiful.

The Silent King stopped in front of the three empty murder posts, and then casually raised his hands.

Immediately, all whispers ceased.

Jocelyn was surprised at the abruptness of everyone’s silence. It wasn’t until she tried to speak herself that she realized she couldn’t.

Her voice had vanished.

What the hell had happened?

“Smile,” the woman in black armor said in the common tongue. “The Asrai have come, along with the wisdom of the Silent King. I am General Amber Octava, his voice. You probably wish to speak right now, but this is a time for listening and watching. What we have to say will enlighten you.”

She pointed in the direction of the captured guards, still kneeling on the ground, arms bound behind their backs. “Bring me three.”

Despite not being able to speak, Jocelyn could see they were screaming through their eyes.

Octava walked over to the murder poles and stared at them for a brief moment. She ran a bare finger down one of the wooden poles and then scoffed. “Barbaric,” she said. “I wonder how many have died bound to these things.”

Too many, Jocelyn thought.

“Bind them to these posts,” Octava instructed.

There was a bit of a struggle but eventually the Pale Soldiers managed to tether their prisoners to the wooden poles, securing their arms and legs behind them.

The captured guards were completely helpless.

The Silent King waved his arms again, allowing only the guards to speak.

“Please, don’t do this,” one of them, a Xaksu, begged.

“Do what?” Octava asked.

“We’ll serve the Asrai,” another Dromedian guard pleaded.

Octava shook her head. “Currently we’re not hiring.”

“I don’t want to die.”

“I’m sure you don’t. Unfortunately, all mortals will die.”

There were more tears and groveling from the guards.

Jocelyn turned away. She couldn’t stomach watching them stripped of their dignity like this.

Octava turned to the crowd of slaves. “The Asrai are fair when it comes to justice. The Silent King wishes for one of you to give judgment to these guards who once cracked whips at your backs.”

Octava’s scanned the crowd, finally settling on a Dromedian smoldering with anger.

“You can speak now, Dromedian,” she said. “Tell us your name.”

“Dirge.” His voice was filled with spite.

Octava nodded. “Dirge, tell me, what should we do with these three guards?”

He didn’t hesitate to respond. “Kill them all.”

Octava raised a brow as a grin crept across her soft, white lips. “Is that your final judgment?”

“Yes, yes,” he howled. “Kill them all.”

Two of the three guards were still begging for their lives. The third guard looked exhausted and seemed to have accepted his fate.

“Killing without reason is murder.” Octava said. “Justify your verdict.”

“I understand what murder is,” Dirge seethed. “At night, when I’m haunted by the ghost of my dead son, the word ‘murder’ seeps into my mind. When I feel that aching emptiness in between my arms in place of my dead wife, I think of murder. These guards know what murder is too, because they are the ones that killed my family.”

“That’s a lie, I never killed anyone before,” one of the guards protested.

“Perhaps not by your hand, but all you Xaksunian loyalists share the same mind.” Dirge licked his lips with a forked-tongue. “You’re all killers. I saw it with my own eyes this morning when men and women I called friends died in pools of blood in front of me.”

The guard continued to plead his case. “That was the Overseer. He was the one who unleashed the drones and killed all those people. We just follow his orders.”

“And none of you were ever brave enough to stand up to the Overseer’s cruelty?” Octava asked before turning her attention to the slaves once again. “The fat creature is dead, by the way.”

Suddenly everyone found their voices as a chorus of shouts erupted through the open square. Everyone seemed happy that Bulba Fyore was dead.

“I wish the Asrai could say we had a role to play in his death, but we didn’t. Apparently one of you poisoned his food.”

So it was poison. Jaks lied to her, and in doing so, made her a killer.

Octava turned to the three guards. “The Overseer is dead and can no longer be accountable for your actions. You have been judged by those you have wronged.” She glanced at Dirge, who gave her a slight nod. “Your punishment is death.”

Before any of the guards could utter another word, they suddenly burst into flames, without the use of fuel or flame.

It was as if the fire had seeped out from the pores of their skin, completely engulfing them; some form of spontaneous combustion.

Jocelyn closed her eyes and covered her ears. Their screams were churning the contents inside her stomach.

“It’s magic. It has to be,” the old Cymerian kneeling next to Jocelyn gasped.

Magic? Up until now, the only magic Jocelyn knew of existed in fantasy books and fairy tales.

When the guards finally died, the Pale Soldiers removed their charred bodies and tossed them aside.

“Bring over the next three,” Octava instructed.

The looks on the faces of the last surviving guards said it all: they were terrified.

The Pale Soldiers bound this collection of prisoners to the poles with relative ease this time around. Seeing the blackened bodies of their friends had taken all the fight out of them.

“Three more soldiers ready to meet their judgment. Who will decide on their fate this time?”

Please, no more, Jocelyn thought.

Octava’s pensive eyes scanned the crowd before finally settling on Jocelyn. “You.”

Jocelyn was shocked by her selection.

“Well girl, what is your judgment on these three?”

“Live,” Jocelyn said. “Let them live.”

Octava didn’t seem surprised.

The rest of the slaves were.

“Are you mad,” one of them screamed. “They deserve to burn. Do you know how many of us they’ve killed?”

The old Cymerian, kneeling next to Jocelyn looked at her with sad eyes. “They took everything from me,” he whispered. “I have nothing to live for except this. Let me see the Asrai use their magic on them once again.”

Jocelyn shook her head in defiance to the mob. “No,” she said. “No. That’s my decision. Let them live.”

She had underestimated how much the old Cymerian slave wanted the guards dead. Jocelyn was shocked when he lunged at her, his large calloused hands finding the soft flesh of her neck. He squeezed, restricting the flow of oxygen to her airways. She tried to pry his hands off of her, but it was no use. He was too strong.

He was determined to have some form of vengeance tonight, on either the guards or the girl who spared them.

Just as Jocelyn was starting to black out, she felt the Cymerian’s his hands fall away from her neck.

Being able to breathe again was such a relief.

“Cymerians,” Octava scoffed. “Hard to imagine you pitiful creatures were once the race, chosen to rule this galaxy.”

Jocelyn should have been surprised by the sight of the old Cymerian hovering in the air, but after all she had seen and experienced this night, she wasn’t. The Cymerian’s body was tilted on an incline and his arms and legs dangled loosely as if he were caught in an invisible bubble of zero gravity.

“Is this magic?” the old Cymerian asked.

“Call it whatever you like,” Octava replied, hand raised. His head tilted back exposing his wiry-thin neck.

“It’s wonderful,” the Cymerian whispered, just before his neck was forcefully twisted around.

He dropped to the ground, dead.

“Savage,” Octava said, as she turned her attention to the three men, tied to the murder poles. “You heard the girl. Your lives are spared,” she said.

A Pale Soldier cut them free from their bondage.

“Your decision was unpopular, girl,” Octava said, turning to Jocelyn. “Care to tell me why you let them live?”

“Because all death should serve a purpose,” Jocelyn replied.

Octava grinned, and then glanced over at the Silent King. “There’s a lot of wisdom in those words,” she said.

Jocelyn couldn’t take credit for it, seeing as how it was lyrics to a new song she heard last week.

“And finally, we have our last guard,” Octava said, looking at the unconscious body of Jaks lying on the ground, “Another Cymerian.”

“He’s the worst of them,” one Dromedian shouted. “Burn him alive.”

“He deserves fair judgment as well,” Octava said, “And you have not been selected to make this decision.” Her finger drifted across the crowd and finally settled on a young human girl. She looked no older than seven.

“How about you, little girl, what do you think his fate should be?”

The girl seemed too shy and scared to respond.

“Well?” Octava asked, as she came down to the little girl’s eye level.

“I don’t know,” the girl said. “I would usually ask my mom, but she’s gone now.”

“That’s a tragedy,” Octava said empathetically. “Was her life taken by the guards?”

The girl nodded.

“No child should ever lose their mother to monsters like him.” Octava pointed to Jaks. “Do you know who that guard is?”

The girl nodded. “Yes, guard 76. When mom was alive she told me to stay far away from him especially.”

“And why did your mother tell you that?”

“Because he’s dangerous.”

Octava smiled. “Your mother was right,” she said. “Even with one hand, this Cymerian continued fighting my Pale Soldiers, as if he were possessed.”

Jocelyn could tell the girl was frightened by her refusal to look at Jaks’ blood-soaked body.

“So, little girl, the question I have for you now is what do we do with a man as dangerous as this?”

The other slaves weren’t shy about their opinion. “Kill him,” one shouted. “Set him on fire,” cried another.

There was a dark side to Jaks, Jocelyn saw this now. But on the other hand, there was a gentle one as well. He had risked his life to save her and by doing so lost his arm.

“Kill him?” the girl said, more of a question than a statement.

“Don’t! Spare him, please,” Jocelyn cried.

“The guard-lover,” one of Dromedian sneered. “Old Shanny did say that Jocelyn had a thing for the guards. Perhaps being treated like a slave tickles her human parts.”

“There’s been enough death already, hasn’t there?” Jocelyn cried. “Haven’t you all had your fill of blood already?”

Octava flicked her wrist, binding Jocelyn’s mouth shut.

“You had your turn,” Octava said. “You saved three pathetic lives already, be thankful for that.”

Please, let me save one more, Jocelyn thought.

Octava turned to the girl and smiled sweetly. “What is your name?”

“Ariel,” she replied.

“Ariel, are you sure you want guard 76 to die?”

She nodded.

“Then you must watch him die, do you understand? If you’re the one to cast judgment, then you must watch as its being delivered.”

“Okay,” Ariel replied. Her eyes were watering.

“After this is over, would you like to come with me?”

“Where are we going?”

“Someplace better,” Octava said. “I promise you.”

Ariel turned her attention to all the others slaves. “And they can all come too?”

“Some of them,” Octava said. “Others will be delivered to the loving arms of something greater than you or I.”

Ariel thought about it for a moment, before finally agreeing. “Okay.”

“Good,” Octava said. “Now watch the results of your decision.”

No, please, don’t kill him, Jocelyn silently begged. She reached out in a futile effort to touch Jaks. His eyes were closed and his mouth slightly ajar. He was barely breathing.

Octava slowly raised her hand, causing bright embers to smolder on Jaks’ uniform. He was going to burn like the other executed guards.

Ariel tried to turn away, but Octava held the little girl’s head in place with one hand.

Only a person with no conscience would force a child to watch someone die.

Jocelyn felt anger well up inside her—a dark pulsating feeling that tasted like ash and smelled like pure oxygen.

Meanwhile, the first flame burst from Jaks’ chest. He let out a scream.

“I forgot how long it took Cymerians’ to burn,” Octava muttered.

Something inside Jocelyn snapped. She felt her anger overwhelm her as a cold dark feeling crept through the length of her arms and settled in the palm of her hands.

Another flame burst from Jaks’ leg as he howled in pain.

“No!” Jocelyn shouted. She felt some sort of release erupt from her body, a sensation that was neither pleasurable nor painful. It just felt natural, like the feeling of holding her hands under running water.

Black tendrils suddenly erupted from out of the ground, covering Jaks’ entire body, smothering the flames in the process.

“The girl knows magic,” whispered a slave across from her.

“No, the girl is cursed,” another stated.

Jocelyn herself had no clue nor explanation of what happened. Her hands felt like they were clinging onto invisible leathery ropes that moved beneath her touch.

She forced herself to stop. By her command, the black, oily tentacles rescinded back into the Earth and disappeared.

The fire covering Jaks was gone now and he was still breathing.

Jocelyn stared at her hands with complete disbelief.

Octava seemed amused. “Well, what do we have here?”

Jocelyn looked up and saw the Silent King staring at her.

“I…” she was at a loss for words.

“Know magic,” Octava finished her sentence for her.

“No,” Jocelyn said. “It’s impossible. Magic is just a myth.”

Octava rolled her eyes, “Right. If that’s the case, then provide me an explanation of how you just saved the Cymerian there, or how I was able to set three prisoners on fire?”

“Parlor tricks,” Jocelyn protested. “You have weapons hidden under your sleeves.”

“That was some trick,” Octava noted. “Perhaps my King would like to show us a simple parlor trick as well?”

The Silent King didn’t say a word. Instead he slowly raised his arms as the rest of his body levitated off the ground.

The sky suddenly crackled with energy, just as a cold wind hit Jocelyn’s skin.

“Parlor tricks,” Octava scoffed mockingly as the winds increased in their intensity, so much so that Jocelyn struggled to stay on her feet.

“He’s opening the up sky,” someone whispered behind her.

Sure enough, the outline of a swirling vortex traced the heavens, a cyclone of dark energy which created a hole within Behyru’s atmosphere.

As the vortex grew in form, Jocelyn saw another sky inside of it—a mixture of fiery orange and purple streaks. It was as if the Silent King had torn open the starry night, revealing another layer of universe that was hidden away.

“Salvation,” Octava said.

Before Jocelyn could understand what that meant, red meteors began falling from this newly opened sky.

From a distance, Jocelyn watched in awe as a meteor, the size of a boulder, crashed into the Xaksunian tech facilities. Another one annihilated the control building, while yet another smashed the extraction facility, triggering a massive explosion.

All around them flames erupted from the ground due to the meteor’s impact against the volatile Erobium. Jocelyn was convinced they’d all die a fiery death, yet surprisingly she couldn’t feel any of the flames’ heat.

The fire was keeping a safe distance away from the Slave’s Nest. More magic, Jocelyn realized.

While the other slaves covered their heads and dropped to the ground out of fear, Jocelyn stood and watched the chaos with child-like wonderment.

There was something beautiful about it.

Octava leaned in and whispered into her ear. “Now tell me, does this look like a parlor trick to you?”

No, it certainly didn’t.