With a deep breath, Jocelyn followed Octava into the elevator -- for better of for worse.

They emerged on the second level of the ship, which was much different than the first. Whereas hallways, chambers, and other various rooms filled the bottom level, this one was a single massive room, practically the size of the Slaves’ Nest back on Behyru.

Jocelyn noticed that the ship’s walls were constantly changing in color; rotating between a light blue tinge, to a thin grey, before turning completely translucent. The latter gave Jocelyn the illusion that she was drifting freely in the vast void of space.

Everything seemed so surreal.

Octava gently touched the side of the ship’s walls. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

“She?” Jocelyn asked.

“Yes.” Octava pointed to the center of the room where a large tree trunk was entrenched into the floor. The branches of the trees all pointed upwards where it held a large glowing orb in place with leafless fingers.

“That’s the heart of this Ysomara. The male hearts are black, whereas the females’ shines like the stars. It’s how we distinguish the Ysomara’s gender.”

The Asrai ships were alive.

When they first descended onto Behyru, Jocelyn had noticed the large gills on the sides of these ships, opening and closing like fish underwater.

What she assumed was some kind of aerodynamic idiosyncrasy was in actuality a creature, breathing.

The loud groans that resonated through the sky must have come from the Ysomara as well.

“How?” Jocelyn wondered aloud.

“I don’t understand your question,” Octava said.

“How is this even possible?”

Octava raised a brow. “Flight is not a new concept, even for a race as primitive as the humans.”

“I’m not talking about flight. How can a creature allow themselves to become a vessel for transportation?”

Octava laughed. “Is it any different from how your race uses horses?”

“We didn’t build elevators and rooms inside its body.”

“No, but you nailed iron onto their hooves and placed saddles on their backs.”

“We didn’t hurt them.”

“And you’re presuming that the Asrai have hurt the Ysomara?”

“Haven’t you?”

Octava laughed. “Silly girl.”

That wasn’t a definitive answer.

Octava motioned for Jocelyn to follow her.

“Where did the Ysomara come from? Are they native to your planet?” Jocelyn asked.

“The Ysomara were a gift.”

“From?”

“Asmodella, of course.”

“Who?”

Octava smiled. “You’ll meet her soon enough.”

Jocelyn could only imagine what this Asmodella was like. After watching the Pale Soldiers cut through flesh like butter, the Silent King summoning a meteor shower that obliterated Behyru, and Octava setting prisoners on fire without flinching, Jocelyn was weary of meeting anymore Asrai.

Octava led Jocelyn deeper through the ship, towards the Ysomara’s heart. As they drew closer to it, Jocelyn felt warmth seep through her skin and radiate throughout her entire body, as if she were sitting in front of a cozy fire. In comparison to the feverish chills she experienced nightly from her poisoned blood, it felt wonderful.

It wasn’t until they reached the Ysomara’s heart that Jocelyn saw all the other captives. Lined up around the glowing orb were a collection of different species, many of which Jocelyn never saw before. None were from Behyru.

A robed Asrai elder, sporting a hood draped over his head and a long frazzled white beard, greeted them. He was unlike the other Asrai Jocelyn had seen thus far.

Whereas Octava and the Pale Soldiers’ skins were smooth and without wrinkles, this man’s skin was old and weathered, like worn, white leather. There was a bright blue scar, just underneath his left eye, which traced from his lower eyelid and all the way to his prominent cheekbones.

He looked like someone’s wise, old grandfather.

“Gerhmaine,” Octava greeted.

“I’ve been holding my piss in since we left Behyru,” Gerhmaine said. “I swear, woman, you’re trying to rupture my bladder.”

Perhaps ‘crass’ was a more fitting word to describe him as opposed to ‘wise.’

“This is Jocelyn Dark,” Octava said, gently nudging Jocelyn forward. Gerhmaine examined her with inquisitive eyes.

“Only her?” he asked, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

“Yes, only one showed any potential,” Octava replied, as she flashed him a puzzled look. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to hold it in.”

Octava looked disgusted. “Go, do your business while I stand watch, but come back shortly. Asmodella isn’t the most patient or benevolent.”

Gerhmaine grumbled to himself as he darted off.

There was a moment of tense silence amongst everyone congregated around the Ysomara’s heart. This gave Jocelyn an opportunity to get a better look at it.

The roots of the tree trunk weaved in and out of the floor, like the laces of a shoe. Terminating the ends of each root were large, glowing white pods, half of Jocelyn’s height. They reminded her of the buds of a flower, waiting to blossom.

She counted ten of these illuminated buds, lined up in a circle around the base of the tree.

“What are those for?” Jocelyn asked Octava.

Octava grinned. “To go where magic is born.”

Jocelyn had no clue what that mean and spent the next minute speculating while everyone waited for Gerhmaine to return from his business. It didn’t take long.

“Better?” Octava asked coldly as he wipes his hands on his long white robes.

“I feel like the weight of the universe is off my bladder.”

“I didn’t need to know.”

“But I thought you should anyway.”

Octava’s long sigh displayed her annoyance. “Let’s just get started; can we?”

“We sure can.”

Gerhmaine placed his hand on the trunk of the tree. Suddenly, all the pods opened up, revealing a single, circular seat inside each of them.

“Choose the first ten,” Gerhmaine said.

Octava nodded as she began counting off her selections with her slender white finger. Thankfully, Jocelyn wasn’t one of those selected.

After Octava had made her choice, she gestured towards the pods. “For all those I’ve chosen, please take a seat.”

“What’s going to happen if I get in there?” one Dromedian asked. She was trembling.

Jocelyn shared her fears as well: a strange tree, glowing orb, roots like tentacles, white pods, and a living spaceship—who wouldn’t be scared in their situation?

“You should be more worried of what’s going to happen if you don’t get in there,” Octava warned.

The Dromedian frowned, but did as she was instructed.

As soon as the ten were settled in their seats, the outer skin of the pods slowly closed around them, sealing them inside.

“May Asmodella gift you all with new life,” Octava whispered.

In answer to her prayer, the pods suddenly began glowing. The burning white light was so intense that Jocelyn had to look away.

“What are you doing to them?” she asked.

Octava hushed her.

And then Jocelyn heard what sounded like a faint heartbeat, coming from deep inside the large orb on the tree trunk. The Ysomara let out another loud groan, similar to the one she heard when it first descended onto Behyru.

Somehow, Jocelyn managed to contain the fear that spread through her body like snake venom.

Not everyone was able to hold it together. “I can’t do this,” one of the captives screamed. He was a Cymerian, younger than any she’d seen. “I can’t go in there. Look, they’re burning them alive!”

Octava shot him an angry look. “Not another word.”

The man shook his head. “No, you’re all the same, whether it be Asrai or Xaksu. You’re all parasites. The Cymerians should have eradicated all of you when we had the power to do it.”

Octava pointed a finger at him like a gun.

“What are you doing?” the Cymerian asked.

“Bang.”

Flames suddenly engulfed him. The Cymerian’s screams were of pure agony.

Jocelyn turned away, her heart twisting to the chorus of his cries.

“Really, Octava?” Gerhmaine sighed. He raised a wrinkled hand and immediately the burning Cymerian’s head snapped backwards, killing him instantly. “You have this unhealthy obsession with fire.”

“I enjoy the warmth. And it’s pretty to look at.”

“It’s a cruel way to end someone’s life,” Gerhmaine pointed out. “His death was also not your decision to make. He was waiting to see Asmodella.”

“You heard him, he refused to cooperate. He also called us parasites.”

Gerhmaine took a deep breath. “Well Octava, maybe we are.”

A look of displeasure crept across her face. “You dare insult our own race, especially in front of these lesser beings?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think the Silent King will say when he finds out?”

Gerhmaine shrugged. “Well, I figure he won’t say anything, seeing as how he’s the Silent King.”

“You think you’re so smart,” Octava said, “So important.”

“I like to think of myself as useful.”

“Then why does Asmodella keep assigning you with all the misfits and the bastards?”

“Probably because I’m more patient than you are,” Gerhmaine said. “She’s afraid you’ll end up burning them all.”

Octava scoffed. “She gives me the gifted.”

“My misfits and bastards are no less gifted than the students you’re given.”

“Your students lose the Contest every single year.”

Gerhmaine didn’t respond.

“I thought so,” Octava gloated. “They’re inferior. You just have too much pride to admit it.” She turned her attention back to the pods.

The light radiating from them had begun to fade, like a dying light bulb.

“Let’s see who Asmodella has chosen,” Octava said, a wide smile drawn on her face.

The pods began to open with the grace of a flower blooming. Nine of the pods were empty. Only a Cymerian female remained.

White smoke evaporated from her body, like steam from a hot bath.

“I…” she said as she tried rising to her feet.

Octava walked up to her, grabbed her by the chin and tilted her head back.

“So you were the only one she chose?”

The Cymerian gasped. “What happened? Where is she?”

“Interesting,” Octava said as she inspected her eyes that were as lively as a wildfire. “I never had a female Cymerian charged to me before. I guess we’ll find out if what they say about Cymerian women are true: there’s magic hidden deep within their bones.”

“Please, I must go back and speak to her,” the Cymerian pleaded. “She needs to tell me.”

Octava laughed. “Silly goose, you only get to see Asmodella once in this life.”

“She has the answers though.”

“Of course she does,” Octava said. “However, that doesn’t mean she’ll give them to you.” Octava snapped her fingers.

A Pale Soldier emerged from the shadows.

“Take this girl, Willow I believe her name was, down to her quarters. Give her some food and water, and then allow her to rest,” Octava instructed.

The Pale Soldier nodded. He escorted Willow away from the Ysomara’s heart.

Octava turned to Gerhmaine and smirked. “And once again, Asmodella decides to give you nothing.”

Jocelyn could tell Gerhmaine was struggling to hide his annoyance. “We still have another ten—sorry make that nine—to go,” he said, “I almost forgot, you unceremoniously set one on fire because he voiced his opinion.”

“They’re prisoners,” Octava snapped. “They get no opinion.”

“They’re guests,” Gerhmaine corrected her. “And they do. Or should I take this up with the Silent King also?”

Octava laughed. “Why bother? We both know how he’ll respond.” She turned her attention to the nine who remained.

“Enter into the pods,” she instructed.

“What happened to the other ones that disappeared?” a Xaksu asked.

“They were blessed with new life,” Octava responded. “It’s a blessing of the highest order.”

The Xaksu shook his head. “They are gone.”

“Their physical form, yes.” Octava said. “They have all been enlightened. Now, enter the damn pod.”

There was no resistance from any of them this time. None wanted to burn.

Jocelyn looked inside her own pod. It was the same one which a female Dromedian had entered into, and then vanished.

Where did she go? And why did only one Cymerian return?

Jocelyn took a step back.

“Don’t even think about resisting,” Octava said. “I can burn you heathens all night.”

If her only two choices were either being set on fire or to sit inside the mysterious body-snatching capsule, she’d take her chances with the latter.

Jocelyn took a deep breath and stepped inside. She took a seat. It was surprisingly cool, like the inside of a fridge. She reached out and touched the pod’s skin. It felt like flesh pulsating against her fingertips.

She withdrew her hand immediately and shuddered. Some of the other prisoners were whimpering.

“Are you afraid?” Octava asked Jocelyn.

“I guess I shouldn’t be,” Jocelyn replied. “The worst that can happen is my death. I’m far down that path already anyway.”

“No one should fear the physical nature of death itself,” Octava agreed. “What they should fear, however, is how they’re living. There’s nothing worse than living a useless existence.”

Or an existence where you’re not wanted, Jocelyn thought.

“Asmodella will ensure that doesn’t happen to you,” Octava said. “Be happy.”

The pod began closing in around Jocelyn.

“I’m not ready to die yet,” she whispered, suddenly realizing that she was very afraid. She felt as if she was naked underneath a blanket of snow.

Jocelyn closed her eyes and held her breath as her body was engulfed by intense white light.